Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They had been born together, their birth was considered a blessing. Not just by the numerous doctors and nurses who oversaw their coming to the world, but also the government. They, however, were never the same.

Hongjoong was always the rougher of the two. He wrestled, climbed trees, scraped his knees and punched the local kids in the face if they got too mouthy. His twin, his identical twin and beloved older brother was the timid one, he was studious, and had an interest in science. He collected pond water and checked its p.h levels. They were a mirror-image only physically and that was where their similarities ended.

Hongjoong had a certain level of obedience to the circumstance of their lives. The family was not overly wealthy, but their father worked for the government and so they were afforded a better education than most average children. The younger twin chose to go into criminal justice, before transferring into an officers education department. He wanted to serve the government, and use his body for it.

Minjoong, well he and Hongjoong never really agreed, they always argued. Minjoong had a more curious mind, and so he often asked questions that best not be asked of the regime they lived under. But, in his tepid nature he never got punished for it outwardly. He did well to keep his mouth shut in school and Hongjoong was glad for it, it was one less place he had to defend his brother physically.

They started their jobs the very same day, in the same government building, but in entirely two different departments.

The hiring process was different, but they had signed paperwork that had explicitly outlined that they are not to talk about their work to each other. Though Minjoong was in a far higher security clearance department than Hongjoong, the two would inevitably end up working together.

The two walked in together, mirror images as always in their black trousers and white button-up shirts, they stopped in a large entrance lobby together. It was all white walls, reflective pale tiles with black trimming and furniture. There were people milling around, but mostly just security guards, and a singular secretary that sat at the front.

Hongjoong smiled and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Do well today, yeah?"

"I'll try, you too?"

"I'll do great, don't worry about me."

Hongjoong didn't seem to doubt himself as much as Minjoong did.

"Alright."

"And don't drop all those binders, what do they have you doing? School work?"

Minjoong blushed in return.

"No, I just... Wanted to be prepared, in case they ask me... Something."

"They have you studying for a test? Sheeeeesh~" The bewildered twin exhaled, shaking his head a little towards his older brother. Who pouted slightly in return, his shoulders rising in annoyance as he nudged Hongjoong.

"Alright hyung, I'll be seeing you." Hongjoong hummed pleasantly with a small chuckle.

"See you."

Hongjoong nodded and turned with a confident stride that only belonged to Hongjoong. He walked to the elevator by himself, and scanned a card that he had been given a week ago during his initial training for the job. Today was his first full day and he was being introduced to his team, so they could embark on a mission tomorrow.

A captain couldn't be a captain without his team after all. He had been looking forward to this day for a very, very long time.

It had been a long time coming. He had spent so many years studying criminal justice, and longer yet learning all that there was to learn when it came to being an officer. There was also plenty of physical training for him, he was not to be a purely standard soldier but there would be high-risk missions that he and his team would be taking on where he would need to be on the ground leading them as any good captain was supposed to.

Captain, of course, because this was the rank he had achieved before he had left the officer training to begin his proper government career. He could be promoted in rank in the field.

The government preferred their leaders to be a reasonable few ranks higher than the soldiers they were commanding. Though not so detached that they could not fight alongside them. Thus, Hongjoong's very serious physical testing alongside the mental aspects throughout officer school and some general training and expectations when he had first gotten hired and signed a severe government clearance non-disclosure agreement. Those that were not with the proper clearance would not be allowed to know anything he was doing. He was in truth, quite excited to have such a high level of responsibility on his shoulders, and to be carrying such secrets with him for an uncertain amount of time.

Hongjoong stepped out of the elevator. It was silent, it never made a sound, as if there were any breach in security it would not announce where the intruder might be. It was an attempt to discombobulate those that were not meant to be there. He followed a series of dark gray arrows that were along the otherwise extremely plain light gray walls of the corridor which snaked in harsh right-angles with little to no variation. Everything was plain and standardized.

The world that they lived in was rather bleak, the country having gone through a great deal of upheaval about fifty years ago had been taken over by a firmer hand. Once the dust of the civil war settled, there was only the strongest voice left. It was their current leader, but nobody had ever seen his face. He was always inexplicably masked and his voice heavily distorted during speeches if he ever addressed his people. Nobody ever stood against it, it was much easier to comply. Not to mention, the country had been safer and wealthier ever since the regime had come into power.

Hongjoong and Minjoong had never known any better. Hongjoong had never thought any better.

Several right turns and one left later, he was at the door that he was supposed to meet his team in. He waved the card in front of a scanner, inside there was another door that required a retinal scan which he provided quietly, shuffling inside. It was a generic conference room of a rather modest size. It fit a large polished wooden table that along its longest sides fit about six chairs on each side.

Hongjoong went to the end and dropped himself into one of the plush black office chairs. He leaned back into it, his fingers wrapping abrasively against the plastic armrests of the chair.

He could only wonder what his team would be like.

Would they like him? Would they think he was an insufferable know-it-all and not listen to him at all? He wasn't known for being a know-it-all. That was more Minjoong's style, but that did not alleviate his worries, the show of confidence from before seemed to melt away as he was faced with his immediate reality. He wanted to make his superiors proud, wanted to show that he was an extremely adequate hire and soon-to-be leader.

He hoped that they would like him.

But, there was no time for such worries, because he heard the high-pitched sound of the retinal scan going off on the other side of the door only minutes after he had settled comfortably in his chair.

The comfort seemed to bleed into tension within his body. A muscular relaxation to a deep stress in them. Hongjoong sat up a little bit, no longer feeling it was appropriate to lean back. His team was arriving, he had to appear like a real leader, not someone who was lax and did not know what he was doing. A genuine fear that he did not want to project onto the new team. He leaned forward as the door slid open with a most defining hiss. On the threshold stood a tall dark-headed male, he was thin and lithe like a feline, and he seemed to be almost entirely leg, his hair was slightly slicked back, but was otherwise rather neat. There was an illustrious tone to his eyes, and his skin was made of gold.

Hongjoong almost gawked.

Almost.

Instead he stood to greet, and the man stepped forward, placing a manila folder down on the conference table, before bowing to Hongjoong to his waist, a full ninety degrees.

"Captain Kim Hongjoong. It is an honor." He seemed robotic in his reciting of the words.

"I am Park Seonghwa. I will be your right hand with this team."

"It is a pleasure," Hongjoong remarked in return, but before Hongjoong could properly settle back down in his seat another walked in.

And another, and another.

Until seven stood around the conference table. Eight if one counted Hongjoong.

The seven bowed to Hongjoong, similarly to the way Seonghwa had. But they did not introduce themselves immediately. They seemed to stand shoulder to shoulder with each other, as if they had paired off.

Two were rather tall, but had undoubtedly the most innocent faces out of the rest.

Another two consisted of a fox-faced boy, whose lips were pursed together in a pout. Next to him stood a slightly shorter boy with tan skin, glued to the fox-faced one tensely.

There was a boy with nervous energy too, but he was the most muscular without a doubt, but as he stood there he was fidgeting with his fingers that were clasped together in front of him. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, just stared down. Hongjoong wondered if he had a nervous tick.

Between the glued couple, and the nervous boy stood one other. He was pretty, in a way that a government employee should not be with blotches along his face that made him particularly distinct to Hongjoong. He radiated a strangely confident aura, as if he knew the majority in the room.

"Introduce yourselves, to your captain." Seonghwa spoke, his gaze meeting with Hongjoong's for a moment before the crew started to speak. The air had been tense and stale up until this moment where they all spoke. But, the crackle of their voices broke the cold air of the conference room and gave Hongjoong a glimmer of hope.

"Kang Yeosang." He was the one with a confident aura, and a ubiquitously beautiful face.

"Jeong Wooyoung!" Though he was clinging to the side of the fox-faced male his voice rang like a bell, and he smiled in his greeting.

"Jeong Yunho." He was the tallest and had an overly pleasant face, if such a thing were possible. He radiated warmth and a feeling of comfort. His introduction triggered the one next to him to speak, he was quiet and his voice was quite low, clearly a bit shy.

"Song Mingi."

"Um, Choi San." The one with the fox-face murmured, his pout becoming a little more prominent.

"A-And I'm Choi Jongho."

Seonghwa stepped in then.

"Jongho-ssi just joined our ranks, he's the youngest." Though one could not tell his youth due to how muscular he was, he was rather reserved or at least that was the energy he seemed to radiate outwards.

"We have all been looking forward to this day, Captain. We have all been training for quite some time, excited to be put on a team finally." Seonghwa explained.

“So, you all know each other?” Hongjoong asked, he was standing there quite staunchly, though his thumb did keep rubbing against a loose piece of string that he had found along his black trousers.

“We do. Many of us trained in duos and trios going on mock missions together already.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong offered a smile to Seonghwa and then to the rest. “Then I have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Seonghwa seemed to not know what to do with the smile, and none of the rest of the team returned the smile aside from Wooyoung who found a bit of comfort in the humanity of Hongjoong's expression. It was not common to see such expressions, especially in the confines of the government. Hongjoong wholly appreciated the return of the smile, it made him feel a little more comfortable.

Wooyoung. He would certainly remember him and in that moment he felt he might even grow fond of the boy whose cheeks blushed pink like apples.

His smile faltered, he did not wish to linger on it for too long, it was not appropriate. There was a drawn out silence before Hongjoong cleared his throat and motioned with his hand for everyone to sit. Like well trained canines, they did. Every single one of them. Seonghwa sat the closest, and Hongjoong felt his heart leap into his throat having not at all been expecting for the man to sit next to him. Though it made sense as he had introduced himself as the second in command next to Hongjoong, he wondered if those stern looks ever softened. The captain felt his stomach tighten, curdling into feelings of want for a moment, to watch Seonghwa melt...

But it occurred to him that there were seven sets of brown eyes staring at him, all of them waiting for him to speak or to command them to do something. He remembered that this was meant to be a meeting to discuss their first mission together, and that it was not just an introduction and nothing else.

Hongjoong's training was over, and their mock mission days had come to a close. They were a team of eight now, a real team.

"Well, it is a pleasure to be meeting all of you and I am truly honored to be named your Captain. I know you did not pick me, but I will do my absolute best to do well by every single one of you. Though our job is quite dangerous, none of us need to die at the hands of rebellions, or criminals that stand against our government. I will be sure of it and will always stand at the front lines with all of you if the powers overhead permit it." He watched their faces, they were all quite severe and he wondered for a moment if what he had been saying was all wrong. Though, the reality was likely that they were simply trained to be this way and there was nothing here to be taken so personally.

"Well..." Hongjoong cleared his throat, looking towards Seonghwa who was perhaps the most intense of them all. Though, they looked at each other with no contempt, and Hongjoong saw the severity of the other's looks soften when they made eye contact. He had never seen a man so ferociously beautiful, and yet he knew better than to voice such an opinion. The government did not allow for such feelings to be aired, let alone exist. It was best if he simply looked respectfully, he was to be a subordinate, a right-hand man not someone to grow exceptionally close with.

Friendship was perhaps the worst thing one could do in this dangerous line of business. It was how feelings got hurt, and missions went sour.

But now was not the time for such contemplations, he allowed his gaze to trail down from Seonghwa's eyes to the lines of his neck, down his shoulder, his arm to the manila folder that was flat against the table almost invisible were it not for the fact that Hongjoong had seen it before, seen it when Seonghwa had entered to introduce himself to the captain.

"Will you introduce our first assignment, Seonghwa," Hongjoong called out, shifting the energy in the room towards his right-hand. Chairs creaked, fabric brushed against fabric and six sets of brown eyes moved to look towards Seonghwa who looked towards his folder and nodded. A well-manicured thumb lifted one corner of it drumming it against the table with a rush of snaps.

"Yes. Thank you, Captain. It is as I said an honor, and we will all be doing our best to be the best team in this building." Seonghwa started, clearing his throat as he moved to stand the motion of his doing so pushed the chair he sat in back a little, it twirled to the side on an axel. Hongjoong simply observed as the folder opened to reveal eight sheets of paper which had printed text on them, but they were quite small and from his vantage point he could not read them, not until they were being passed out. One sheet for every single member of the team. The folder would close and Seonghwa would stand upright to read. Hongjoong's eyes never left Seonghwa. It was sheer perfection, even the way his fingers held onto the delicate paper so steadily, and they were thin and long. His heart skipped a beat when he shifted...

"Captain Hongjoong will proceed forward..-"

"Hm?"

"I was simply saying, that after we have infiltrated the outdoors site of our target, you will proceed forward, ahead of us and determine enemy positioning?"

"Oh. Yes, please continue." The captain swallowed, there was a dull droning in his head as if he were persistently hearing white noise. But it was only because he had not been listening to his right-hand read the mission assignment. He should have been more diligent, he was the captain. He had to know everything, Hongjoong looked down towards the paper in front of him and looked it over. There was an outline here, he would have to memorize it for tomorrow - the day of the mission.

It would be the first official mission, not only for him, but for the team. It was well known, among their superiors, that the first one was indicative of how the rest of their careers would go. But it also was the most nerve-wracking one, it was the first time lives were actually in danger and a team could face very real threats without the option for being pulled out of the simulation early from being over-exposed to unsavory elements.

Their first gunshots ringing through the air.

The first time they would see death.

Hongjoong felt a distinct tension arise in his throat, it was the moment he had been waiting for, for so long. Yet excitement did not seem to fervently beat in his heart. Instead, it was a strange welling of anxiety. Slowly, he would bring his attention back towards Seonghwa who was still giving the full report to a silent room, eyes sternly against his person like daggers not out of malice but from the intense acuity, a byproduct of the team's rigorous training. Hongjoong was not as sharp, he had a softened gaze, dull indeed this dullness carried a silent authority. It would work well with the rest of the team, or so Hongjoong believed.

"Once we have infiltrated the building, Wooyoung will take up the leading position within the group. San, you will be at his rear. Jongho to his left, Hongjoong-ssi to his right. Myself, Mingi and Yunho will remain outside and cover parameters as necessary to avoid surprise attacks. Yeosang, you will continue to provide support from our designated rooftop as an aerial visual, if the camera gets shot down and you lose visual, please continue by providing aid in what you can see with your own eyes." It was less than ideal, Hongjoong realized if their drone got shot down that they had little to no choice but to continue with a handicap but this was reality it seemed.

There was no information on the brief that he had in front of him about what it was they were retrieving - information, and papers over some cryptic radio transmissions that would be returned to be translated - but how this was relevant to the grand scheme of things was left to the abyss. Hongjoong supposed it made some sense, they were rookies, and the government was not known for being open about information. Many civilians lived in the dark on a day to day basis, there was a naivety built around civilians to keep them content with their lives and in general, life seemed without much hardship, everyone had a stable job, hobbies that they were allowed to participate in. It was easy to forget that they did not have all the information. But not Hongjoong and certainly not his twin Minjoong, who had been quietly curious about the world surrounding them, so much so that he had chosen a career path so he could learn more. Hongjoong wasn’t entirely the same, he just wanted to serve, despite his light curiosity. Needless to say he was very content at this first junction of his career path. Though nervous, he could feel the prickling of sweat dripping down from the nape of his neck down his back, soaking into the fabric of his white button-up.

Seonghwa finished his report and delicately set the briefing down against the table, his brief appeared the same as Hongjoong's, but a quick inspection of the rest of the table, the details seemed less intricate. So the team was being kept in the dark as well, far more in the dark than the captain and right-hand man.

"Will that be all captain? We will rendezvous for our mission in the morning... For now," Hongjoong watched as Seonghwa's gaze addressed the crowd.

Sheer perfection.

He couldn't tell if he was sweating from having embarrassed himself, his anxiety for the mission, or the way Seonghwa was standing. The latter definitely was being sequestered to the background. It was not an acceptable response to his right-hand, well, it certainly shouldn't be.

"Wooyoung, Jongho you were being called to Li Kihyun-seonsaengnim. He wanted to talk to you two about something?" The two youngest immediately perked up, but it was not out of excitement. They had to visit with the doctor, which was never anyone's preference, even in their world. But in this case, it was even more strange because Li Kihyun was one of the top researching doctors in the building, his interest in the two of them would not be for a simple 'check-up'.

So, Wooyoung and Jongho would rise, nod to Seonghwa before giving respectful bows to Hongjoong who stood to wave them off from the meeting room. They left and the attention returned to Hongjoong.

"Yes... Well if we are all in agreement. Rendezvous as Seonghwa-ssi stated tomorrow morning, go over your briefing, and be there on time so that we are equipped with the arsenal we need before departing."

There was no response, only Seonghwa seemed to nod his head in agreement. He silently was the voice for the rest of the team.

Hongjoong didn't know how he felt about this, but he knew that he would simply have to win the team over so that everyone saw him as a competent leader worth listening to and following.

"You are all dismissed, and if there are any questions, I will be in my office." He had not seen his office but once when he had been in his week of training it was simply a space for him to do his paperwork throughout the majority of non-mission days.

Today, being his first day, was one of those days. So, as the rest of the crew filed out he would toddle to his office, having quietly picked up the mission brief by sliding it quite unceremoniously from the flat surface of the wooden table. His office was a small space, nowhere near what one might expect of a captain. But he was a rookie, one day he would have an expanded office, of this he was certain. It was a few weaving gray corridors down from the meeting room.

Hongjoong's arrival was announced with a finger scan, and an abrasive high-pitched ding that allowed him inside. He stepped in and inhaled the strangely clean air, highly filtered by state of the art technology, another pride of the nation. It was barren and clinical, a desk at the center towards the back of the room, a swiveling chair on his side, and a chair for anyone meeting with him on the opposing side. There was a bookshelf, but it only had books of law... No windows, but there was a camera in the corner in the ceiling so Hongjoong knew he was being watched. He felt it, so he wandered towards his seat and sat down, the metal and plastic creaked beneath his newly added weight.

That was when he noticed a folder and binder in front of him, bursting at the seams in paper. Slowly he would pull it open, feeling the weight of the white unsuspecting plastic against his fingers. It landed against the desk with a 'thunk', the other side revealing that Hongjoong had no time to sit around and waste.

None at all, and as he settled into the most mundane part of his work.

It made Hongjoong wonder how his brother was getting on.

Chapter Text

The world was buoyant, sticky, and warm. Darkness from every side pressing down, he felt perfectly submerged surrounded by this strange substance from every side. It all felt cozy, familiar and yet entirely foreign at the same time - as if he had never experienced this feeling before despite its constant pressure against his body. It was not pure liquid, not like being underwater, but more viscous and intense. It stuck to his body, and tugged at the strange appendages that were attached to him, they tugged at parts of his body but it was a dull droning to his sensations, it had become nothing short of a consistent feeling.

A jolt, like lightning - and more strangely he knew the description for it - shot through his body very suddenly, and pain flooded him. First, the blurriness of vision, there was light and figures moving around dressed in white, on gray and green shapes through his opaque world. Then, he could hear, and he knew what it was to hear, and he knew that he could. The voices were distant, just like his vision it felt like auditory opaqueness, present but far though coming closer. There was the buzzing of a filter nearby as his amber eyes focused through the liquid on something, he didn’t know what it was, but he was focusing, his eyes stung from the feeling of liquid pressing down on them. He couldn’t breathe as the pain of the tubes that had been in his nostrils being pulled out became more apparent. There were many tubes. They attached to all parts of his nude body as the filter very suddenly turned off and everything went silent in his sensory vacuum, except for the murmurs beyond.

Then, the feeling of buoyancy was draining, literally. His head came from under first, he gasped instinctively, his hair wet and draping down along his shoulder blades and over his forehead. Dripping with chemicals, a mysterious liquid and glistening with a strange much more oily substance. His shoulders became suddenly very cold, then his chest, his stomach, his groin, his thighs, his shins and finally his feet.

He reached up, knowingly moving his hair out of the way. No longer did his eyes sting, they just looked at the world around as his legs buckled underneath his weight no longer suspended in liquid. He, whoever he was, fell against the glass of his containment… He couldn’t come up with a name - but he knew names existed. Now, he was staring at the world in front of him with bloodshot eyes, panting lightly as if he were recovering from a run. Slowly, methodically his hands would help him to stand, pressing firmly against the thick glass in front of him, squeaking from the slippery texture. What he saw were many men and women standing around. White coats, scrubs, suits, some stared on, others were grouped around a figure in a wheelchair with tufts of equally wet blond hair sticking out. He could not make out what was happening.

Thighs quivered beneath him but he managed to hold himself up, the musculature working overtime to do so in his lithe frame, everything about him like a feline ready to spring into action even the way he looked out towards the men and women below who gawked in amazement, yet they did not move, they remained perfectly still like statues. For the most part, emotionless.

Waiting…

Finally, he slammed a flat palm against the glass and he saw one individual twitch towards their hip. More mumbling, not as obscure as before, yet still he could not make it out.

Then he saw him.

Shorter than the rest, clutching onto a clipboard pressed close to his chest, he seemed excited, happy, or hopeful. The emotions were hard to pinpoint, hard to understand, but he stood out among the stoic faces.

Someone motioned, an older man who stood near the shorter young man and three guards in masks came up and around. Cold air hit the confinement of the humid tube as it suddenly parted from the back. The masked men pulled off the rest of the tubing from his body and then put him into a wheelchair, forcing him into it. It was sticking to his skin unpleasantly and his pupils were blown out from focusing, looking at everything around himself attempting to gain familiarity whilst simultaneously knowing that he had seen it all before… He just didn’t know where.

The wheelchair moved along at a bumpy pace, bouncing his nude body in it as his hands found the arm rests to grab onto. His awareness of the world was becoming more critical, there were many tubes here but the one he had come from was one of the largest, and elevated on a ramp, there was a second next to it. They were the only ones that were like this. The rest were scattered around the laboratory. Some had body parts, others had animals suspended within. But there was no buzz or attention towards any of these tubes, only the now two empty ones.

He got wheeled right up to the squirrely young man, who also wore a white lab coat, and the old man.

“There is our number three.” The old man spoke, only for the younger man to look towards him.

“Three?”

“Ah, yes… As I showed you earlier, our first attempt did not go well. He is the body you saw on the way here being dissected, he had a spinal issue somewhere in our genetic sequencing something went wrong.”

“I see.”

“Well, that’s why you are here anyway. You will be helping us make sturdier models and maintaining them.”

“Models, sir?”

“Well, not truly. They are clones.” The old man turned to the boy, ignoring the clone. “Officially you are now the sole biological maintenance staff. We are hoping to organize and streamline a process of creating many more such models of our best and brightest soldiers so that we no longer have to maintain our own people and ask them to protect our country from any threats.” Then he looked back over towards the sitting clone, some strange affection in his eyes, as if he were an object. Staring him down, wet hair, nude body, blown out pupils and all.

“There will be the future of our military. The safety of our people is in your hands, Minjoong-ssi.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then, abruptly he was being wheeled away and he was being taken somewhere else, he didn’t know where exactly. He just knew that the squirrely boy with the old man was stepping ahead of his chair and leaving the room in haste with another man in a lab coat. This other man was a little older, with slicked back black hair, and rounded glasses. He had a certain air about him.

003 kept moving, his eyes following the movement. He was becoming critically aware of how cold he was, and fearful of what was going on. Though, perhaps fearful was not entirely the right word as he sat there, definitely anxious. The awareness bled and stained his consciousness, he did not understand why he understood all that he did. These words that kept flooding his mind, seemingly abstract concepts, yet he had no memory of them. In fact, he had no memories at all, only what he had thus far experienced. A test tube, guards, individuals in lab coats, a wheelchair and many cold gray corridors.

They came to a hurried stop in front of a metal door which had a scanner in front of it that indicated to 003 that it would be a place to put one's hand for a scan. A scan like this opened a door, to keep unwanted individuals out.

Thirty minutes leaked by, though it was impossible for 003 to really quantify that. All he knew was that it was taking a long time. Longer than his mind was capable of entertaining him, the wait was making him tired, his shoulders weighed down with gravity. Slowly the long-haired clone leaned back into the wheelchair, noticing that there was still a masked guard behind him. Not a twitch to his body, he stood with hands wrapped around the handles, immobile, waiting for something.

003 opened his mouth, and his voice bubbled out, croaking uncomfortably as his vocal chords woke up now for the first time in his existence. Whatever words he had wanted to speak seemed to spill out as an eerie moan that echoed and bounced across the barren walls of the building. The guard did not react, not a twitch. He stared onwards until suddenly the door shifted open and inside stood the squirrely little thing, he wasn’t beaming anymore…

“Bring him in.”

The guard moved, wheeling 003 inside. The doctor with the glasses was here too. The guard left immediately when he was dismissed by the waving hand of the doctor. The room was an office space complete with a metal desk and clean white floors. Everything was very sterile, there was a ficus plant in the corner that appeared to be the only form of life within the space itself. On the other side, there was another door but it was closed.

“As before, Minjoong-seonsaengnim. I will do the physical. You will perform the mental evaluation.”

Minjoong. The squirrely biologist, the first to look at 003 with some strange sense of affection. Or at least, it felt like affection. He reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder, and 003 flinched, the flinch had the hand retreating immediately and a frown tugging at those blushing cheeks.

“Hello. Nothing to be scared of.” The tone was assuring, and he briefly glanced to his clipboard. “What do you remember?”

“Remember?” There it was, his voice, he was hearing it for the first time. It felt groggy, like waking up for the first time.

The other doctor was busying himself, moving joints - from his wrist, to his elbows, shoulders, pushing and pulling everything to make sure everything was in place.

“I’m,” He coughed hard, his voice raspy as he tried to speak properly. “I remember voices.” There was not a lot he remembered, and he wasn’t speaking very loudly, but at least he was responding and capable of doing so. The rubber dressed hand was running fingers through his gel-gooped hair, pushing his back away from the wheelchair, down his spine for any irregularities.

“Are you in pain?” The man asked coldly.

“N-No. No pain.”

Minjoong was writing something on the clipboard before looking back towards him.

“Could you elaborate on the voices? Inside or outside of your head?”

The fingers kept roaming with a certain amount of precision, as if they had done it all before. Eyes roamed too, looking for marks and imperfections in what was supposed to be a blemishless specimen. Each hair was parted, and joint manipulated. It felt bizarre, but mostly he just felt extremely vulnerable being touched the way the doctor was touching him.

“Huh?”

“The voices, could you please elaborate?”

He didn’t call him by his number, though as he looked down to follow the doctor’s movements he noticed a registration number on his left pectoral, printed so nicely out of eight digits, split in two by a dash.

1000–0003.

“I, uh…” He had to think, dark eyebrows knitting together, lips pressing together. “Just outside, people talking. I could see shapes… Then I could see clearly. I was alone. Was someone talking to me?” His interest was entirely now in Minjoong, his tone was soft in comparison to the man who was spreading and lifting his legs now so that he could inspect in between them for those same marks and blemishes, structural inconsistencies, but nothing was coming up even as the doctor ran his hands down every part of him nothing felt out of place internally, on himself. It all felt right, straightened, strong. His chest lifted as he inhaled deeply, he felt like an animal - but he didn’t know why he felt this way, it was an odd thought to have, why an animal… He knew what animals were, conceptually, visually but he had never seen one. His mind was hurting, he felt exhausted.

Why was he exhausted? It was just talking. It wasn’t anything special.

“Do you feel anxious?”

“A little bit.”

More scribbling.

“What is your overall mood?”

“Tired.”

“I understand.”

The questions were dry, like stale bread. It all turned to sand in his mouth, and 003 looked up towards Minjoong some questions later, his toes being manipulated, tugged on lightly, some giving a few pops as the jointed areas let out trapped air from having been suspended in strange thick chemicals for so long.

“I’m thirsty.”

“No problem, let me get you s-” “No.”

“No?” Minjoong looked towards the doctor who had stopped his inspection for a moment to look up towards the younger male.

“He can drink when we have dismissed him.”

“But he’s thirsty.”

“Irrelevant. He drinks when we allow it.”

“B-”

“It’s not up for discussion.”

003 looked between the doctor and Minjoong but his gaze lingered longer on Minjoong whose stoic expression seemed to waver. There was something natural about him, like a warm blanket or perhaps it was just 003’s mind attaching to the first individual that had shown him kindness, like a duckling imprinting on its mother. 003 watched the bobble of Minjoong’s throat move as he swallowed quite hard, the words mouthed out of view of the other doctor - an apology for not being able to do much else to help him. The power was not in Minjoong’s court it seemed, despite 003’s thirst.

Once each part of his body was inspected the doctor stood and removed his gloves with a snap discarding them in a hazardous waste bin. Normally gloves would go in a regular waste container, but with touching an experiment there was not much knowledge of what sort of things they might be carrying, including a potential for contact radiation. Though the chances were slim, there was nonetheless a chance. The questions ceased, the scribbling continued and Minjoong was not looking at 003 anymore though 003 was looking at Minjoong with a desperate longing for their gazes to meet once more.

The clipboard was set aside, and the doctor was handing over some kind of fabric. It felt soft, not like the stiff scrubs that some of the nurses had been wearing in the room prior where he had been initially placed in the wheelchair.

“Stand and dress yourself.”

The doctor stood back giving him space, but he was watching him like a hawk. Each movement was inspected now with the physical exam over, he wanted to see him move.

003’s muscles engaged, nervously at first as he was not certain he could stand without assistance. But he did from sheer force of will. It burned a little first, but he went through the motions, standing up, picking up what he without a shadow of a doubt knew was a shirt, a black semi-cotton shirt and sliding it over his body it stained in spots from his still damp body, but for first time now he did not feel cold on his upper-half, first time since his exit from the suffocating liquid.

The pants were made of a stretchy fabric and were quite soft and thick overall. They felt like sweatpants, a bit fuzzy on the inside and quite thin on the outside. 003 struggled to put them over his legs, leaning heavily into the wheelchair for some assistance though as it started to slide away he found himself falling over sideways. He didn’t yelp, he just fell over as if he were not comprehending that he was fully falling over until it was too late. One pant leg was on, but the other not so much was draped all over the ground haphazardly.

A resounding groan left the doctor’s throat, as he watched the pitiful experiment collapse to the ground.

“Careful,” He seethed, though did not move to help. Minjoong in haste went to help, before the doctor could so much as protest this act of goodwill.

“It’s alright, let me help you.”

“He should do it himself.”

“It’s his first time,” Minjoong spat back, clearly irate with the doctor’s attitude by this point as he started to start to grab the waistband of the trousers, maneuvering 003 in a soft comfortable way, helping to lift his hips and wiggle the second leg of the trousers up properly.

“There we go.” He adjusted and ironed out the little creases with a great deal of care with the palms of his hands. 003’s heart had stopped and his breathing had halted too. They were so close now, and there was warmth radiating from Minjoong’s body.

“That’s enough, get up.”

The doctor reached over to pull up Minjoong by the upper arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Minjoong retorted quickly, yanking his arm from the doctor’s grasp, adjusting his lab coat.

“First day and already getting snippy.”

“Nowhere in the protocol does it say to touch your comrade and coworker.”

“Nowhere does it say to assist the experiments in dressing themselves.”

The doctor’s gaze shifted sharply towards the pitiful 003 on the ground.

“Get up, 003.”

003 stood, he found a surface to lean against - a small side table that held a lamp for idle office decoration - his muscles quivered but he kept leaning and standing.

“Now, follow Minjoong-seonsaengnim.” Cold, with no praise for his accomplishment, he moved to the desk and sat at it in the black plush leather chair.

“Follow?” 003 asked, he knew what it meant, but with how his legs shook he wasn’t sure he could make them move.

“Yes, follow. You will have to learn how to walk eventually.”

Minjoong had turned towards 003 and hooked an arm through his and started to lead him forward but towards the door on the other side. 003 leaned a bit harder into the little doctor, realizing now just how short he was in comparison. The door opened with a bit of shouldering and opened into a decently sized corridor.

It was sterile and clean.

“Put your hand on the wall,” Minjoong instructed softly and 003 did. A palm pressed firmly against the wall to guide him along.

“This is where you will be living. All the way down is a common area where you will relax, there is a kitchen in there too. Just next to it are the showers.” But that was all the explanation that 003 received. Instead, Minjoong pushed opened a door to the right with his foot.

It opened to a medium-sized space, there was a bed against a wall, twin-sized with a thin blanket and pillow rolled up at the foot of it with a bare mattress on top of the frame. There was a desk with a lamp and no windows though a standard bright day light hung in the center and illuminated the room adequately. Everything was clean here too, even the floors were made of a singular texture for easy clean-up. There was also a little drawer stand in a corner made of some kind of steel.

“This is your room, your space. It’s not the most inviting but I’m sure you’ll personalize it in time.” Minjoong helped him to the bed and sat him down.

“You aren’t alone, 003. 002 is in his room too.”

“002?”

“He’s the other one that was made alongside you.”

“There’s another one of me?”

“Not exactly you, his natural is a different person.”

“Natural?”

“The real person we took the genetics from to create you, and him. You are two different people. I am sure you will see your naturals in time, for now I suggest getting used to getting up on your own, walking, you’ll have a lot of training soon so it’s best you are prepared… Oh! Let me get you water.” Very suddenly, he rushed out of the room though the door remained slightly ajar. 003 just sat there on the bed, hands wrapped around the most circular part of his knees, finding the feeling of his flesh against his soft hands to be quite intriguing. Familiar, and entirely new. Somehow, everything felt this way. 003 wondered what this ‘training’ meant and what he would have to undergo.

Some moments later, before he could get a better look around his little room, Minjoong returned with a glass full of clear fluid. Water.

“Here you go.”

003 took it and pressed his lips against the rim, he took a few sips before deciding to drink it all at once. He drained the glass and handed it back to Minjoong.

“Thank you,” He whispered bashfully, finding that being at the mercy of someone else was quite embarrassing.

“You’re welcome. Now… I have to go. But I’ll bring dinner for both of you later. Please start adjusting, and get plenty of rest. You will have another similar check-up tomorrow…” There was a flash of worry on Minjoong’s expression. 003 didn’t understand, but none of this really made a lot of sense. He was neither human nor animal. An experiment with no name other than a number and he knew somewhere deep in his subconscious that a number was not the equivalent of a name. There was a distinct confusion and lack of identity, and there was another just like him. Perhaps they could talk… Would they even like each other? He hoped, but he didn’t know why he was hoping.

“Another?”

“Yes, just to make sure everything is alright with you both physically while I finish on a maintenance serum.”

“O-Oh. Okay.”

“Alright. Have a good night.”

003 nodded, but a part of him was quite sad to watch the kind man turn and start to leave. The door remained slightly open, an invitation for him to wander out, or close it for privacy reasons. But he did neither, he just sat there his body felt sore and after taking that fall he wasn’t sure he could get himself up.

So, 003 took the chance to simply lay back on his bed. The frame creaked slightly under his weight, the mattress bending and adjusting to his figure. He stared up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids. Weary and in need of sleep, he felt that exhaustion settle into every part of him wave by wave, moment by moment. He realized now, how much he loved to not be submerged in that warm safe feeling, but rather to feel the air circumvent his lungs, for gravity to tirelessly caress his body. Though it tired him, he realized he was alive and though his future was most definitely uncertain he at least found some solace in knowing that he lay here, alive and very much not alone in what he would live through.

Chapter Text

The air had a stifling quality to it, but now even more so as Seonghwa arrived to work that day. The day of the team’s first mission. The thought of it had been hanging over his head all night and he had done his best to get a good night’s rest. This was made even more difficult, by the rigidity of his mattress, the best he could afford for the time being so early on in his career. He did not mind it much, as he had slept in far worse conditions throughout his training process. The team had undergone extensive perils, to make certain that they were prepared for anything and everything that came their way.

The government spared no expense in making sure that the best soldiers made it to the final lineups. They were an incredible team for that reason, ones that had pushed through, even if it was in some cases through sheer force of will. Seonghwa had to agree with the tactics - there was simply no other way to determine if someone was ready to take on the weight of the world, without experiencing excruciating pain and everything in between.

As always the lobby was bustling, interns shaking and rushing to find their superiors holding onto five cups of coffee by the skin of their teeth. A secretary in the area seemed busy, though did not give away that she was somehow overwhelmed despite the constantly ringing telephone whose shrill call filled the immobile air. It was strange to Seonghwa, how air could be so cold and sterile, yet remain so still as if one could very well suffocate if everyone just stopped moving for one moment. He showed his two identification cards to the guards at the front and received notice to pass through, one pat down and hand scan later he was allowed to actually move through the building itself.

There was a buzzing in his head, an intense droning that he could not get to silence. It had not stopped since the meeting the day before, with his new captain - Kim Hongjoong. He was not good at pinpointing his emotions and never had been. The world they lived in did not value emotional intelligence, and Seonghwa never cared to explore it for himself. The buzzing, in this case, he wrote off as a case of some nerves about the mission. In the grand scheme of things, it was minor, a test of the team’s resolve in the real world. But, for inexperienced soldiers things rarely went well the government had a plethora of enemies and though uprisings got put down, they somehow managed to come back up again under different names, different leaders, but there was always one somewhere and today the mission was to put down a small faction of a growing underground organization.

There would be blood.

Seonghwa was not naturally violent, however, so he was not looking forward to killing others. But, for his people and his government? He would undoubtedly and unabashedly do it all.

The rendezvous was in an underground facility, Seonghwa scarcely knew what it looked like and only had vague directions on how to get there. Each turn, right or left, felt like another one within the cog. He could barely remember what he had done the last time as he clicked for the ‘next step’ in his encrypted government phone. It didn’t speak, just made one singular sound whenever his thumb pad pressed up against the smooth surface of the screen.

Turn left, left, right, right, left…

It was a maze.

A deliberate one, created so that those without specific instructions could never get to where they were wanting to go, or simply did not know where they were going. There were many doors, made of a strong steel material. All of them were locked and attempting to turn any one of the handles would result in a belligerent alarm - this much Seonghwa knew from his training days. Not wishing to be mauled by a series of faceless guards, he continued forward without touching a single door, a single handle or wall. He just kept moving, just the sound of his feet clicking across the ground, his polished dress shoes making the majority of the noise in an otherwise soundless vacuum.

One soft sigh left his lips, he felt lost. Though he knew that his phone was calibrated to lead him to the right place, he could not help but feel as if he were moving towards his doom or execution. The droning in his head was getting louder for one reason or another.

He would see Captain Hongjoong soon enough.

Finally, it seemed after ten minutes of weaving into an eternal oblivion his phone started to beep quite loudly, brown eyes would focus in on the screen to see it flashing an arrow pointing straight ahead.

‘Door #801 Access Granted’.

With a steeled expression and a fast beating anxious heart, Seonghwa approached the unmarked door the device was directing him towards. The phone directed him to place each one of his fingers on the finger pad individually. It was a thorough inspection of his fingerprints before something, a device clicked and the door started to open. It seemed slow at first, but then adequately sublimely slid to the side - each mechanism perfectly crafted for its duty - Seonghwa stepped through and it shut behind him as if it had never opened.

For such a standard sized door, the area it led to was practically a giant atrium. A bunker of sorts with multiple military vehicles, an entire war plane at the center, and many young men and women were moving about, Seonghwa ducked back as some moved through with an engine. Then as he continued to walk forward, he had to duck under a platform. He did not complain, and no one paid him much mind until he reached some railings, he was on a raised dock and he could see and oversee all of what was happening below - including where the airplane was stationed.

It was in an inactive state, which meant several mechanics were on top of it, checking it all around and someone was near the front scrubbing the white metal clean. Seonghwa’s fingers wrapped quite hard around the railing, knuckles turning a bright white as he realized just how far up he was standing above the rest.

“There you are!”

Seonghwa’s heart almost jumped into his throat at the unfamiliar voice, he turned his head and an older man with a trimmed goatee was standing behind him, he was wearing a black suit adequate for an office job. He did not look particularly memorable or interesting, just another no-name. An uninteresting man was well-suited for a government job. Seonghwa definitely strived towards this sort of lack of recognition. Yet it seemed, he was not quite there yet.

“Park Seonghwa, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” He turned to face the man, to address him respectfully with a bow of the head.

“The rest of the team is already here, follow me.”

Seonghwa felt an immediate drop in his stomach. Was he late? He flashed a glance towards his wrist where his watch laid firmly against it. No, fifteen minutes early, and they were all here already? Perhaps anxiety had gotten the best of everyone, he hoped that their captain would be able to calm everyone down before they embarked.

The two men walked, Seonghwa several paces behind, keeping an eye out for anyone else walking around that could prove to be a hazard to his trajectory. But the man seemed to know which paths to take well enough that they did not run into any issues or obstacles. Seonghwa had many questions bumping around in his head, as the droning was seemingly replaced by the white noise of the entire bunker, walking, working, drilling, talking… But he didn’t dare ask anything, he knew better. He knew to keep his mouth shut when it was necessary.

They arrived at another door, and the man waved his card in front of a scanner. It beeped quietly, a far less abrasive sound than many of the other doors in the building and they both stepped through to a room. This room was more of an average sized room, but it was lined with uniforms and weaponry. Everything that a team could possibly need for a mission. There were eight packs set on a table and seven individuals standing in a circle. All of the attention was on Wooyoung, who was quietly though quite animatedly speaking to the rest of the team, Hongjoong and San looked flustered at the way his face contorted as if worried about something.

Seonghwa walked past the man that had brought him to this room towards the circle, stepping up just behind Wooyoung and Yeosang who stood shoulder to shoulder while the second youngest continued to chatter away. Though, he stopped when he noticed the looming figure.

“Where were you? You didn’t get lost, did you?” He poked fun. “I already memorized the way to get here, it’s left, righ-” A large hand was suddenly over Wooyoung’s mouth as San’s presence made itself known and he shut the boy’s mouth up.

“Are you crazy?” San’s lips pressed against Wooyoung’s ear, whispering something so quietly that Seonghwa could not make out what he was saying. He looked over his shoulder briefly, the older man was inspecting a piece of paper on the table where all the backpacks for their mission were but otherwise did not seem to notice Wooyoung’s boisterous attitude this morning. Tension bled from Seonghwa’s shoulders for a moment, and he looked over towards Hongjoong, who was standing there with a demure, timid look. Flustered, perhaps? It was hard to tell, Seonghwa was not the best at reading people, or himself. But looking at Hongjoong did give him a boost of confidence, just having their captain here things felt a bit more complete than ever before. He was certain that the mission would be a success.

San stepped away from Wooyoung when the younger of the two stopped squirming and agreed to be more quiet. Seonghwa knew that Wooyoung had a good memory, but he did not think it was that good. It was impressive and a little concerning, considering how big of a talker the youth was on a regular basis. What he had seen yesterday, the stoic quiet Wooyoung pressed close to San was not the usual, at least not throughout their training. Perhaps he had just been nervous to meet the captain? But, now that ice was clearly broken by the looks of how things were turning out in the moment.

Seonghwa combed his hair back with his fingers nervously, before he turned fully to Hongjoong and gave him a bow.

“Captain.”

“Good morning, Seonghwa. Ready for our very first?”

“I believe so.”

But nobody was ever truly ready and false confidence would only be the entire team's undoing. So, Seonghwa wanted to remain grounded in reality, with a focus on making sure that his Captain saw a successful mission without any casualties. He would be unfit to be the right hand man if he wasn’t here to fully immerse himself in making sure the missions went smoothly for their leader.

They were now officially eight. If yesterday did not solidify that, this mission was about to.

“That’s enough standing around,” The older man called out. He was looking up to the grouped up young men, clearly a bit grouchy that they were just standing there. “Get dressed. You will find everything you need in these packs… Your captain will delegate weaponry based on your briefing yesterday.” Those were the commands and the man left them to their devices.

Once the metal door slid shut and clicked into place, Hongjoong clapped his hands together and Seonghwa’s attention snapped to the petite captain. It was strange, how someone so small could be given such a grand title, but it was not entirely surprising as attending an officer’s education often did rank you up significantly around ‘regular’ soldiers. Though, none of them were quite ‘regular’ in the truest sense.

“Let’s get to it then!” Hongjoong announced, his tone slightly jittery as he stepped up to one of the eight packs, it had his name written on it.

Seonghwa watched him quietly step up to the pack and then followed after him, he might have been last to arrive but that meant he had to make up for all of that self perceived lost time. He had to be a leader alongside their captain. With resolve in mind, he found the pack that had his name on it and pulled it off the table.

It was a horribly heavy thing in all black, with a plethora of straps that bound it tightly to itself. It bulged in spots where it had been packed a little too full, but much to Seonghwa’s surprise as he pressed down to pop open one of the straps, nothing came flooding out. He was relieved, and started to pull on what was inside. Each article of clothing came out neatly folded though not without an extra tug from how snuggly it fit inside of the backpack. Slowly, one by one, Seonghwa would pull them all out. It was all very methodical and cleanly - he had always been that way - unlike some of the other’s, especially San and Wooyoung who were scattering their items with a frivolous lack of care, shoving things on and whispering with each other about their new uniforms.

The laid out clothes were just that, a uniform. Black tactical trousers, with plenty of pockets. A set of black combat boots, steel-toed, but with padding on the inside to hug the foot, ankle and lower half of the shin quite snuggly for ease of movement. The tops were black high neck sweaters, and then a configuration of black leather straps that had holsters attached to them - these were for firearms.

Seonghwa started to dress. His tie came off first, slowly unfurling it from his neck to set it on the table to the side. He did not put in a great deal of effort to hide his body, though, as his white button-up slipped off of his shoulders. None of them were really hiding, so he did not either. He had a few scars on his back, chest and stomach. Scars he was not proud of, and wished he could put a magical ointment on to make them disappear. But, he was a human and this was among one of those little things that reminded him of his humanity. The black top slipped over him easily, hanging loosely as he realized that it had some weight to it, his gauge of this was that it was a form of kevlar based on weight and texture alone.

As Seonghwa started to unbutton his office pleated trousers, he caught Hongjoong’s nude torso out of his peripheral. This would not have normally elicited a reaction from the older male, but something about the captain’s body triggered a response in his mind, one of panic. He froze with his hands pulling down at the hem of his pants, breathing hitched in his throat as he simply stood there.

“Alright, Seonghwa-ssi?”

Seonghwa realized that he had been standing there in a strangely stoic robotic way, it was from any angle impossible to tell that he had been staring directly at Hongjoong’s undressed body, and it was better that way. He would be out of a job if anyone saw him looking at any man, in a way that was deemed suspicious… Anything but platonic.

His attention snapped towards the deep voice. It was Mingi who was fumbling with the chest and shoulder straps necessary for a fully functional shoulder holster. His shirt was still fully untucked and he was standing on the cold ground with nothing but black socks, having foregone putting on the boots yet.

“I’m alright, I suppose I’m still waking up.” It was a bit of an excuse and not a very good one.

“Don’t put those holsters on yet,” Hongjoong voiced towards the fumbling Mingi.

“H-Huh?”

“We need to put on proper vests for protection before we put the holsters on. They didn’t include them in the packs.”

“Oh.”

Mingi pouted a bit, but then slipped out of the holster, dropping it haphazardly on top of the backpack. It almost caused Wooyoung to giggle, the restraint evident on his features.

Seonghwa finished dressing, but left the holster to the side as their captain opened up what appeared to be a cabinet. The inside was lined from top to bottom with extra gear pieces, the main part of which were vests folded one on top of the other. Hongjoong started to pull them out, determining sizing for each member of the team quietly, delicate fingers pulling at the heavy material to place them on top of the table where the backpacks had been. As he placed each one down, he would utter a name. Somehow, he had managed to get the sizing right for every single person. Seonghwa blinked, a feeling welling in his chest. It sprung into his throat, and bloomed like a bouquet out from his lips. He couldn’t speak, just stare, he didn’t know this feeling, he didn’t know how to describe most feelings but this one was like a gushing waterfall and it made his head hurt. It was ever since yesterday, ever since their eyes first met.

Slowly the right hand picked up the vest and with a slight thunk lifted it and dropped it over his shoulders. It was a significant, heavy duty bulletproof vest that would allow them to take on attacks a little easier. Now, they could put on their shoulder holsters, though Yunho ended up helping Mingi putting on his as the younger of the two kept struggling with the straps.

Seonghwa finished dressing, everything in its exact place. Sweater tucked into trousers, and trousers tucked into boots. The vest tightened to his torso and back appropriately before he addressed the shoulder holster. Once everyone stood ready, Hongjoong started to assign weapons as was determined would be necessary for the mission itself.

Every single one of them received a state of the art automatic rifle, and two hand guns to be placed into each side of their shoulder holsters. One had a silencer attached. Wooyoung received a special set of knives.

Seonghwa and Yeosang were the only ones who were deemed as needing to bring their backpacks - Seonghwa for a rifle attachment for longer distance precision shooting, Yeosang for a drone and a headset that would allow him to communicate with the rest of the team from a distance. The rest of the team had ear pieces that would allow for that communication to come through seamlessly.

They fell in line, Seonghwa directly behind Hongjoong as they filed out of the room with all of their things in hand, Seonghwa noticing that their high neck sweaters had an extra piece of fabric attached that could be pulled out and cover the lower half of their faces. It would not be necessary this time unless a great amount of debris was stirred. But, the group that they were putting down, based on all of the information he had, was not prepared for this attack. It was unlikely that they would have a great deal of explosives on hand to retaliate in any significant way.

As they walked, Seonghwa noticed that his heart was beating out of his chest. It was an unusual thing for him, he should be treating this as any other little day - them going on a training - but this was much more than just a little day and he knew that, his heart knew that and it beat heavily against his chest he was worried that each beat could be his very last. It was not uncommon or unlikely for rookies like them to be completely wiped out.

But, he steeled himself as they were directed into the back of a heavy duty van. It was reinforced and completely bulletproof - it had a pretty significant area in the back that an entire team could sit in, and was decently equipped with basic equipment in case something was ruined or destroyed on a mission and needed to be retrieved again. A few extra guns, packs of bullets, belts, holsters and first aid kits - many spare parts that would allow for missions to go off without a hitch. But most prominently were the bench seats on each side. There was no outside light, and no air flow, though it somehow felt less stifling than the office building. Seonghwa took a seat to the right of Hongjoong, rifle in hand though placed against his lap as he sat with an upright back, fingers off the trigger and the safety on. All of them sat this way, though Wooyoung was scraping at a strap on his trousers and Mingi was visibly bouncing his foot up and down. The air was palpable, thick with anxiety that all eight of them were breathing in.

It was a thirty minute drive to the other side of the city, weaving through the many roads and tunnels of their complicated world. But, none of them could see outside, their location was not necessary for them to know, just for their bosses to know. Perhaps Hongjoong knew, but Seonghwa certainly did not, and he looked over to the smaller man next to him, who was staring as wide-eyed as a squirrel that had seen a predator nearby.

The vehicle lurched to a stop, and their rigid bodies did too, the smaller ones of the group seeming to be affected by the movement all the more in comparison to some of the sturdier team members - Hongjoong, Wooyoung and Mingi especially so. Seonghwa remained steady, and waited for the word of their captain.

“Up.”

It was the first true command from Hongjoong, and they all stood. Hongjoong walked towards the back of the van where the double doors remained shut, nobody would open them, it was up to them.

“Do not doubt yourself,” Hongjoong turned to the group of seven. “We are here to perform one task. Follow the instructions and my command. Let us not create unnecessary cracks in the world, it is our duty to patch those cracks up. For a perfect world.”

“For a perfect world.” Seonghwa echoed the captain, and the other six followed, then Hongjoong threw open the double doors and landed swiftly onto the concrete of the world, in broad daylight. Seonghwa immediately squinted and flinched back from the light for a moment. After a while in the van with the darkness all around them his eyes now had to re-adjust. There was a beat of admiration in his chest for the way the captain suddenly carried himself, he trudged into the world without a care for if the sun was shining or not. Seonghwa followed after him, his knees bending as he hopped out of the vehicle.

They all moved quickly, Jongho shutting the doors tightly before rejoining with the rest behind a building where the shade was more prominent.

“Yeosang, you know what to do.” Hongjoong spoke up once they had collected, and Yeosang gave a single nod, glancing briefly between San, Wooyoung and Jongho before he left. Seonghwa knew that he would be staying here, with the rest of the team in his captain’s lead.

“We are about half a klick from the site of their hideout. Once we have eyes from the sky, we will move.”

So they stood ready, Hongjoong built a formation with him at the very front, the rest in groupings that allowed them to have eyes in every direction. It was semi-circular, with no one in the center to avoid creating an obvious target for anyone who might spot them.

Soon, though, a static sound crackled through seven ears.

“Alpha, tango, double-echo, zulu-Com-e-in..?”

“We’re here yankee, do you have eyes and ears?”

“I have both.”

“Good.” Hongjoong’s gaze moved towards the rest of the group, and for a moment Seonghwa and he lingered on each other. Seonghwa felt himself flutter internally, once again that strange droning buzzing through his body. He killed it with a swift internal bullet, he needed to focus. “Let’s head out.” Hongjoong whispered and Seonghwa nodded to him. The group of seven moved.

Their journey was quiet and swift, and Seonghwa thought it too good to be true. It was too quiet and too swift. With zero interruptions, which was what made it all the more suspicious, and he hoped that the captain also believed that this was entirely too quiet of an approach for them to have come across no opposition. He hoped, but there was no way of knowing, it was one of those moments he wished he could read minds. Another thing that made him human, limited in his ability to serve his country. If only he were a sturdy robot, that might have made him more useful, though the government always told them that they were entirely indisposable.

They stopped behind a wall, moving in quickly and kneeling. They made themselves small to avoid immediate detection. Seonghwa’s gaze moved towards the bright blue of the sky, so blue that it appeared simulated. It was impossible to hear, but the drone was hovering like a speck in the sky.

The crackle came into their ears again.

“Two guards, overseeing the courtyard from watchtowers.”

Seonghwa listened and then looked towards Hongjoong who put a hand up in a fist.

“Wait here.”

It was part of the plan, they were in the outdoor area of the site. Hongjoong was to enter first, fully determine enemy positioning. Yeosang’s job was to warn them of anything they might not see before entering an area to avoid unwanted aggression.

Hongjoong disappeared then, Seonghwa had not fully noticed his departure either; he seemed to slip away like a ghost. Now, Seonghwa was in charge of the team until their captain returned. He pressed his back against the wall taking a deep breath in as he held the automatic weapon close to his chest, eyes closing for a moment as he cleared his head of the droning.

One shot rang through, then a second. It echoed, filling the silent air with deep dread. Seonghwa swallowed hard, was it the weapon of their captain or their enemy shooting? He hoped it was their captain obtaining a small victory over unsuspecting guards. But it also announced their presence, the inevitable.

The first two shots were followed by many more, and all Seonghwa could do was to remain in this fixed position with the rest of the team. It was not their time to move in, they had to stay still, if they did not they could run straight into a situation where they would all get shot down. Sometimes, one person could do the job better than multiples. It was a matter of trust, something that was gained, and in this case was difficult to find swimming in his chest - this was only their first mission together after all. Trust would come with time.

A singular explosion went off, and it shook the wall they leaned against Seonghwa braced himself against it, feeling dirt and debris fall over them.

“Shouldn’t we help?” Wooyoung called out, looking clearly concerned. He was likely the most emotional of them all.

“No. We have to wait…” Seonghwa’s hand reached up and he pressed it against a button against his ear piece. “Come in Yankee, this is Papa Sierra… What is the status?”

“Situation is under control, firing off a drone strike in five-”

Five seconds later, the sound of high pitched bullets traveling faster than the death of a star lighted the air and silence echoed louder than any explosion.

Hongjoong appeared from around a corner, his cheeks splattered with blood but with a look of light exhilaration.

“We’re moving in, now.” Time was of the essence and the group reorganized immediately.

Wooyoung took up the leading position in a grouping of four, San was at the back of this group, Jongho to Wooyoung’s left and Hongjoong to his right. The remaining three were left outdoors.

Seonghwa took a position in the center of the courtyard behind a dilapidated wall. Yunho and Mingi climbed respective watchtowers, tossing the corpses of the guards off the side before positioning themselves low to the ground with their assault rifles out towards the windows of the building being infiltrated. They would remain here to mitigate any special surprise attacks or reinforcements coming in, while the other four retrieved and put down the enemy units indoors.

Seonghwa huddled down effectively, his eyes just barely over the wall, watching as the four of them went indoors, worried he chose to cover any rising of potential emotions by concealing the lower half of his face. Perhaps the fabric attached to the sweater would not be so useless. He yanked it up, covering up to just his ear lobes. He kept a grip on his rifle, his eyes on the four until they disappeared. There was silence for a bit, and then the need to shoot came as men dressed in strange uniforms were popping up along the windows. Had they mobilized in such a short amount of time?

They started to shoot, the watch towers first having noticed the tufts of hair sticking out.

Round for round, the two units shot at each other, deafening cries with bullets when something struck the wrong way. Seonghwa always aimed to kill swiftly, an efficient marksman. He worked to attach the extension to his rifle so that he could do more precise work from this distance, and he used the fact that he was not immediately noticed to do so. His hands were shaking, though he was breathing slowly to steady them.

Then, a familiar cry called through the courtyard.

Mingi was down.

Seonghwa searched for the target in a window, calibrated, breathed in and out before pulling the trigger. Blood splattering the window shattered, glass scattered everywhere and the man fell half way forward into the window, hanging over it teetering as if he might fall to the ground from four stories up. Seonghwa put on the safety of his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder quickly, a hand moving up to his ear.

“Juliett Yankee, cover me.”

“Copy.”

Seonghwa rushed backwards, his back towards the windows with all of his trust vested in Yunho as he rushed towards Mingi’s watchtower, hands clamping onto the metal sun-seared ladder. He climbed ferociously up and up until he pulled himself up. Mingi was on the ground, laying in blood, whimpering as he held onto his arm though the back of his head was not much better as his fall backwards had caused him to break open skin.

“S-Seonghwa-ss-s-i…” There were tears in his eyes and Seonghwa rushed to him, ducking as a bullet flew with a blistering whistle overhead.

“Shh…” Seonghwa voiced, sliding in low a hand underneath Mingi’s head, tightly gloved fingers checking for the wound. It was not deep, but it was a decent gash and it made the younger of the two wail. “It’ll be okay.” Seonghwa assured, though it meant that their job was now all the more difficult. Yunho was the only one defending the courtyard while Mingi was out of commission and Seonghwa was making sure that he didn’t bleed out. There were first aid kits in the van… But that was too far away for him to make the trek now. He lifted Mingi up as he sat cross-legged and placed the larger male’s head into his lap; he hoped that the contact with the fabric would help soak up and stop some of the blood. Seonghwa leaned forward to avoid his own head being out in the open, this made his proximity rather close to Mingi’s face. He placed his palms against his cheeks, a thumb rubbing against his cheek in a circular fashion, soothing.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

More bullets flew overhead, and Seonghwa closed his eyes, it took everything out of him to not tense against Mingi.

Yunho kept shooting, more bodies dropped to the ground, some falling over their window spots, colliding heavily with the compacted tan dirt below.

Seonghwa placed a bloody hand against his earpiece and pressed the button.

“Yankee, come in-..”

“Yankee, here.”

“Do we have eyes on the prize?”

“Not yet…”

“Co-”

A high-pitched scream erupted from inside of the building, like an animal and Seonghwa dared to poke his head up to witness Wooyoung leaping onto someone with a knife in hand. He attached like a feral beast stabbing the opposition in the neck brutally, blood dripping and gushing everywhere.

“I have eyes.” Seonghwa called to the attached microphone. “Whiskey is on the move.”

“Copy. Another drone strike incoming.”

“Copy.”

Another set of high-pitched bullets flew through the area, silencing the world around them. Even Yunho seemed to pause, Seonghwa briefly noticing him poking his head over the side to check for more opposition. For now though he was holding onto Mingi keeping his head raised.

“Hey… Hey talk to me, okay?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your name?”

“S-Song Mingi.”

“How old are you?”

“T-Twenty three.”

“Good, what’s your favorite color?”

“B-Blue.”

One of Seonghwa’s hands moved away from Mingi’s face and to his arm to inspect it. “I’m going to look, alright? Don’t move too much… Keep talking.”

Mingi kept talking, mostly though he was whimpering and wriggling as Seonghwa tried to keep him still and inspect the bullet wound. It was clean, had gone straight through the muscle, unfortunately the kevlar of their sweaters was not made for high-powered assault weapons, only up close blunt force handguns - their vests were different… He would likely lose solid mobility in his arm for a little while until the wound closed up. As long as he didn’t lose too much blood before they returned at least to the van for first aid, Mingi would be okay.

Seonghwa’s stomach was in coils, he was anxious wanting the infiltrating four of their unit to come out already. He was not a medic, he didn’t know how much longer Mingi could hold out with the gash on the back of his head, he just kept him talking but he could tell even with all of his best attempts he was fading. Worse yet, he had no idea how they would be getting him down safely from the watchtower… Perhaps they could make a human ladder to slowly lower him down to the strongest of their eight - Jongho. It would likely be their only option at this point.

In due time, the fighting inside also seemed to quiet down, at least from what Seonghwa could hear. He was hardly focusing on that anymore as much as he was noticing the blood that had completely soaked his black trousers and in some of the padding of his boots. He swallowed hard and kept brushing soft circles over Mingi’s face. Yunho remained alert in his watchtower, though even from this distance Seonghwa could tell that Yunho was antsy sitting there.

Five minutes later, when Seonghwa had all but run out of questions to ask, four bloodied young men came out of the front door. Wooyoung was the worst of them all, a little rascal that had too much fun. Hongjoong leading the way as their formation had changed upon exit and in all the fighting, San’s arm was bound with a random piece of fabric and seemed to have blood running down the side of his arm to his gloved hand.

Jongho did not seem to be any worse for wear, though all four had foreign blood splatter along uncovered parts of their bodies - and parts of their uniforms were caked.

“Kilo Hotel, come in, Sierra Mike is down in the watchtower, adjust formation to bring him down safely.” Yeosang’s voice announced through the team's earpieces. For a moment, the four on the ground stood still, breathing stifled by the news.

“Down?” Hongjoong’s voice rang out, a tremble to it.

“He’s alive.” Seonghwa shouted down. “But we must hurry!”

The call was heard loud and clear, the entire team started to clamor around the watchtower. Hongjoong climbing to the top, directing the strongest to be at the bottom for the catch, Yunho and Jongho present to grab onto Mingi safely who was blubbering to himself almost incoherently.

It took effort, and a bit of teamwork, but they managed to get him down to the ground. Yunho quietly volunteered to carry Mingi, his head cradled against his chest to avoid him losing more blood. Seonghwa agreed to it. Hongjoong called for a turtle shaped formation with Yunho towards the center rear, being shielded by Seonghwa and flanked by Jongho and San. The remaining two - Hongjoong and Wooyoung - made a line at the front and the seven left the area.

No words were exchanged, but Yeosang did join them near the wall where they had initially separated and now moved towards where the van was hidden near a garage. Hongjoong and Wooyoung pulled the doors open. They all settled in their spots, but not Mingi he was placed down in the middle and Yunho was on his knees near him grabbing at a first aid kit to start bandaging the back of his head and cleaning it out, also caring for his arm at the same time.

Hongjoong stepped towards the front where the driver sat and knocked on it eight times, a signal for them to move and as before the van lurched forward and they were in moving darkness.

Seonghwa sat in his spot from before, a space for the captain to his right, but he was staring nervously at Yunho as the largest member frantically worked to help Mingi.

“Did we succeed, captain?” A nervous hand fumbled with his earpiece to pull it out, they didn’t need them anymore.

“We did. The enemy location has been put down and we have acquired necessary files and information for what their next move will be.”

Seonghwa was listening, but he couldn’t stop looking at Mingi. He wiped some of the blood from his hands against his trousers, everything felt sticky and the adrenaline in his heart was now turning back to anxiety.

“I hope that it was worth it.”

Chapter Text

Long eyelashes would flutter as an alarm rang nearby, eyes sticky with morning and the presence of the Sandman. The young man reached up to rub at his eyes, as he forced strands of gold from his view, a whine vibrating through his pale lips as he forced himself to sit up with a slight grumble. His body felt sore, and tinged with tightness. His left hand lifted to run along the musculature of his right bicep, fingers delicately wrapping around to rub that tight feeling, awareness prickling through his skin of how touching himself felt. It was like rubbing something clean, or freshly formed - smooth and stimulating.

The alarm turned off, suddenly.

Slowly he would move to stand, the air filled with the humid scent of pre-made rice and chicken from the night before, the plate sat off to the side.

He found his footing and the ability to stand as his muscles engaged and hurt beneath him. He shuffled one foot in front of the other, the bottoms of his feet feeling the cool texture of the sterile floor underneath, until he reached his door and cast it open. This too took some work as he wriggled the door handle with the finesse of a toddler.

As it cast open, an unceremonious thud resounded through the corridor, followed by a groan. When he stepped out and shut the door, he found a dark-haired male holding onto his face, laying on the floor. He briefly remembered him from yesterday. Immediately the blond’s eyes widened with remorse.

“H-Hey! I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Mm, never better,” A pinched nose as the knocked over male started to stand up slowly, teetering as he did, not unlike the blond himself. The movement was familiar, they both were still learning to move and understand things.

“You’re 002?”

“I think, that’s what they kept calling me.”

“I’m 003. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice… to meet you.”

002 nodded. He had no idea that there was someone here with him though it certainly made sense since they had come out of parallel tubes, though his awareness had been shot at the time of their extraction. Things had been quite blurry until dinner arrived with a commotion. 002 eyed 003, he was a little taller and his body looked nice. His legs appeared sturdy beneath him. 002 glanced down at his own. He had thin legs, he could tell the musculature was not as developed and he was shaking as he stood even now.

“Put your hand against the wall,” 003 said, he had a neutral expression on his features and it was quite intimidating. A natural pout formed on 002’s lips, it tugged at his features without any sense of control and he reached out to the wall placing a firm pale palm down against the sterile white wall that refracted the fluorescent light from above the corridors were strangely well lit, almost with an artificial eeriness. As he pressed his palm down against the wall, he realized that although the tight muscles along his arms were engaging, some of the pressure was alleviated from his legs.

“How’d you learn that?”

“Doctor taught me yesterday.”

“Must have had a nice doctor,” 002 retorted, eyes fixating now on 003’s facial features. He had a curved nose, and his cheeks were pink, likely from the impact of the door against his face. There was no blood, a good sign, it meant that he had not hurt him too badly, though the vigor with which he had swung the door, he was genuinely surprised to see that no damage had been dealt. Or perhaps he had imagined swinging the door open hard. After all, he could barely stand. Something about his body, and 003’s body, it wasn’t lining up. Were they sturdy, or frail, or something in between?

“Why are you out here?” 002 finally decided to ask, staring at his new companion’s lips as they parted to speak. He watched, observed. Curious as to how these sounds were leaving his mouth. There was something fresh and unanswerable about the world around him, he knew it all but felt ignorant all at the same time. Why did he know the meanings of the words he spoke? How did he communicate, without truly knowing the extent of movement? Why was 003 knocked over but not bleeding? 002 understood blood, but did not understand why. Why did he exist?

“The alarm woke me up, I thought I’d wash.”

“You heard it too?”

“I think it’s set in the wall.”

“Oh.”

Was 003 more well acquainted with the logic of the world? Full of questions and answers, 002 chewed on his lower lip for a moment and then leaned towards the wall opposite of the one the both stood at, palms against the smooth texture of the surface as he started to watch 003 shuffle. There was a grace to his shuffle that 002 did not deliberately feel in himself. He followed after him to a door, watched him open it, he did so gently the movement was far more controlled than he had been. It was then that 002 noticed how long the raven black hair was, it dipped just to 003’s shoulder blades and it all at once flooded him with awareness of his own hair. The streaks of gold like sunspots in his vision, he brushed them back with his right hand again, but then kept feeling down the length. His hair too was long, down to his shoulder blades.

“Do you remember our hair being this long?”

“Not really…”

But the memories were all fuzzy. Were they real memories at all or just ideas of what their hair was supposed to be like? The weight on his head, he didn’t remember it ever being this significant now that he was aware of it. He didn't remember his hair being golden either. He remembered it like what 003 had, raven black. But why did he remember it like that? He was himself, or so he thought.

The door opening revealed a lit up bathroom. It had several shower heads with walls built in between not unlike an athletic locker room. The fronts were open with basic plastic curtains in white all drawn back to show that they were stocked with the essentials. There were seven sinks, all with toothbrushes and toothpaste tubes. 002 followed 003 inside, the sinks were labeled with numbers.

002.

003.

But there were more as 002 walked down the line. 004, 005, 006, 007, 008…

“What are these for, there’s only two of us…”

“Not sure, maybe there were more? Or more are coming?”

That did strike 002 as odd. Why did the numbers go from two to eight, but there was no ‘one’. His lips pursed together in that pout from before, he was deep in thought for a moment, snapped away from any intrusive thoughts by the sound of running water. It was a quiet roar. 003 was brushing his teeth, and washing the morning away with water at his sink.

002 returned to his own assigned sink and started to do the same. The toothbrush felt rough against his teeth and gums, but he brushed anyway, looking in the mirror that was mounted in front of each sink. Now he could fully see his long hair, and his eyes… His eyes were an off-putting blue color. It was not something he expected, in fact it jarred him significantly enough that he fell back against the tiled floor.

“I-”

003 turned at the reaction it seemed, patting his face dry with a towel. Another addition, the sinks were all equipped with hooks that had towels on them, basic white towels with a rough texture, but towels nonetheless.

“Are you okay?” The roles reversed in this one moment, now both had fallen but both times had been 002’s doing.

“My eyes.”

“Huh?”

“They’re blue.”

“I’d call them more hazel.”

“B-But they aren’t supposed to be.”

“They’re not?”

002 bit down on the length of the toothbrush as he stood looking at his eyes, and then comparing them to 003’s.

“Yours are…”

“Different too.”

“Don’t you have that feeling? The feeling as if we’re supposed to be different?”

“I’m not sure, honestly. But it’s likely because we are clones, 002.”

“Clones?” That made sense, it would at least explain why they had come out of a tube instead of a mother. He knew, as before, that mothers and fathers existed. He knew that they did, he knew the complex feelings that were associated with pairing up, and he understood childbirth. Something in his body told him that he too had a mother and father somewhere, but what 003 was telling him made it impossible for either of them to have parental figures.

“The doctor that I spoke to, he said that we have naturals. That’s what they’re called, the original people that we were made from.”

002 leaned forward, trying to avoid his own gaze; it would take time for him to adjust to this eye color.

“Did you see everyone around us yesterday? They were all with hair like yours, why is mine so yellow if we are clones of people like them.”

“Maybe it’s an accident?”

“Am I an accident?”

“No. The hair? I don’t know how it works. The science.”

002 realized that he was talking with his mouth full at that moment and opted to simply brush his teeth. So he did, and spat out the mixture of water, saliva and toothpaste from his mouth that had turned to froth. It ran down the drain of the sink, he rinsed his mouth out with some water and rinsed the toothbrush as well before placing it where he had grabbed it from, an attachment in the wall that held onto the toothbrushes, but otherwise let them drip dry to avoid any fungi growth or dirt to accumulate, as would happen if they rested in a cup.

He washed his face too, rubbing the water into his skin in huge messy splashes that dripped along his elbows haphazardly like a flood of rain from the heavens. Once he was done, the front of his shirt was damp. But, he took up the towel nonetheless and wiped at his face his mannerisms nowhere near as careful and precise as 003’s who had not splashed a single drop of water outside of the sink, something that 002 could scarcely imagine being capable of doing. He had never been too careful, though his never was only a day and some hours, was it not? Still, he was grown and capable of so much already, he felt like he had lived a life already sometime ago, but he could not pinpoint as to why. Perhaps it was just that he was a clone and the sensations of the past were arising from the very man that he was cloned from.

“I don’t know anything,” 002 admitted, finally looking over at 003 who was standing near a wall, a single hand against it though he appeared much more casual than before. Something about the casual posture gave 002 a new feeling as if he had known 003 for a while now, that this was not their first time meeting each other. Yet, he was certain that ever since he had woken up, this was in fact the very first time he had met anyone aside from those guards and doctors that barely spoke to him and treated him with sterility. It had made him feel more like an object than a human, and he was human, was he not? Clone or not. Being human though, that was a strange thing to try and define. He didn’t really know humanity, he just knew what he had come face to face with up to this point, and despite his intuition and his feelings of reality he knew nothing at all. He was a fresh face in this strangely lit new world.

The lights were so bright, so white and fluorescent. Unnatural.

“I suppose knowing is not too necessary,” 003 shrugged and moved to the open door to shuffle out of the bathroom, he took a turn though away from their sleeping quarters down the way as if he already knew where to go. 002 followed as quickly as his legs would willingly carry him. Another door was opened revealing a much cozier area though the lighting all the same. There were couches, and a kitchen counter with a refrigerator.

“Oh. I didn’t know we had this.”

“You can get your water here if you get thirsty.”

“Seriously? Why did no one tell me?”

“They aren’t ones to spill information it seems.”

002 moved around the perimeter of the room using the wall as his guide all the way to the counter until he managed to reach the fridge, this too he would open awkwardly but there was nothing inside aside from stocked bottles of water in neat rows.

“Oh…” 003 echoed, approaching from around the wall as well to peek over 002’s head. “Why did he bring me a glass?”

“Who?”

“The doctor.”

“He brought you a glass of water?”

“Mhmm.”

002 raised a brow looking over his shoulder back towards 003 who was lingering ever so close to him.

That was when the announcement came and both of them jumped at the sudden cold voice that called to them from the beyond.

“Breakfast has arrived.”

Moments later a guard moved into their common room and placed two trays on top of the counter before leaving without saying a word. 002 reached out to one of the plates, the portions seemingly measured out to utter perfection.

The trays had a main dish, two side dishes, napkins and utensils.

Rice, but it appeared shiny and congealed. 002 inspected it for a moment, before sliding the fridge closed and then sitting on the floor. He did not feel brave enough to move over to the couches in the middle of the room to eat yet so he sat down right where he stood, and started to lean his face down. It smelled safe and then he licked it.

“We have forks…” 003 commented.

“But you can drink it.”

003 sighed and shook his head, the metal prongs of his fork moving into the congealed rice as he too sat nearby and started to eat.

They ate the mushroom porridge in silence, 003 occasionally using his napkin to dab and clean up around 002’s lips up to his cheeks with a tender amount of care.

“So messy,” He fussed as he drank a clear broth soup and nibbled on the offered kimchi.

002 had to admit that he enjoyed this sort of attention being afforded to him, and he smiled lightly at how 003 treated him though the smile always seemed to be wiped clean off of his features when he noticed the more staunch expression on 003’s face. He was rigid, and stone cold. Or maybe that was just his perception.

“You’re like a mom, or a dad.” 002 commented at some point.

“Hm? Why is that?”

“Just the way you are worrying about me eating.”

“I just don’t like messes.”

“Oh. Well… You’re still like a parent regardless.”

“If you insist.” 003 grumbled, not taking to the statement it seemed so 002 shut his mouth and proceeded to finish up his breakfast with a certain level of hastiness as if he were really truly starving. Still the thought lingered in the back of his mind, if they were clones, and were without parents perhaps it was best to rely on someone as a parent… But would that be fair to 003 who would then be the parent and still be unable to cope? But, he didn’t seem to need to cope, at least from 002’s perspective.

Once their meal was finished, the rest of the day was boring. At some point they braved sitting down on one of the couches away from the walls. Their legs became, slowly, sturdier underneath them as they decided to train walking back and forth between one wall and the next in the common area. A few times, 002 fell and 003 did too. Though 002 laughed a few times, and 003 did not, 002 at least saw a smile break onto 003’s face a time or two at their deer-like attempts at walking.

There was only one clock in the common room area, it was built into the wall and told the time. Without it, there would be no concept of day or night. So it was evening time when they were both tired from training their legs to walk without the assistance of a wall and had laid down instead on the ground to stare at the ceiling.

“Think we’ll ever get out of here?”

“We’re here for one day and you already want out?”

“I mean, to go out and see things outside of this… area.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you *think*?”

003 sighed in exasperation and looked over towards 002, eye contact was made.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

002 made a sound, his tongue clicking against his teeth at 003’s non-committal response. He wanted something more. A yes, or a no. A strong feeling in this world of gray. But it did not come, he did not part his lips to speak again to voice a new opinion. But 002 was not done yet, he turned his head again looking at 003.

“Can we sleep together?”

“Huh?”

“Sleep? Together?”

“In the same bed, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Mm…”

“Please?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I have.”

“Mmm…” It was a long, drawn out pause. One that made 002 wait with a painfully bated breath. Then suddenly words, 002 felt like he had stopped hearing for a moment, his mind numbing with anticipation.

“Yes?”

“I said fine, didn’t I?”

A big smile broke out on 002’s features and he sat up immediately, feeling the muscles of his stomach engage as he did.

“Yes!”

So they did. After dinner, they shuffled with a new found confidence in their step to 003’s room and placed weary heads down on the small bed where 002 insisted to be held, directing 003 on how to hold him in a way that was comfortable. As if he knew what was comfortable, he didn’t really and it took quite a long time to adjust properly enough that they were both ready to sleep.

But, once 002 fell to sleep it was as if death had taken him.

Chapter Text

The world was high-pitched bullets, drone strikes and the tumultuous din of gunfire.

‘Keep talking’... But he couldn’t keep his lips moving.

‘Keep talking’...The bullets flew overhead, now sirens, he could hear sirens as if he was running a drill. Suddenly, his body was standing and he was running a rifle strap over his shoulder as he held onto his weapon, ducking to avoid the gunfire.

‘Keep talking’... The voice was soothing, familiar. He felt warmth against his cheeks, but he could not react to that warmth. He did not know where it was coming from, but he continued running. He was perspiring, his uniform clung to his back and to the center of his chest.

The world was high-pitched bullets, drone strikes, and it was spinning.

He felt nauseous as he ran, still ducking to avoid getting shot. Then it was all for naught, a bullet hit him in the shoulder, then another in his chest, and then in his stomach. The velocity and power that they maintained against his more fragile body caused him to catapult back. He stepped back, once, twice and then he was falling. There was red, red all over his uniform. It splattered against walls that were not there, it bled like watercolor on a piece of paper, all through his shirt like tye-dye, swirling moving like tendrils outwards.

There was a moment where he felt weightless, graceful, light as a feather, his lips parted -

‘Keep talking’ but nothing came, as if the bullet in his lungs was keeping him from communicating, making it impossible to talk, impossible to say anything, just choke on the air that gave life. He coughed, and then plunged into a deep unknown darkness.

This moment, a terrible swirling feeling as if he was falling faster than he could process had him, suddenly opening his eyes.

Eyelashes fluttered open with urgency, adjusting to the idle buzzing of iridescence that was the bright light overhead. Air left his lungs at once and now he was all too aware of just how painful his body felt, each joint and ligament was tight and aching. But nothing was sharp, nothing like when he had been laying staring at the top of the watchtower in fear of his own death. It was dull pain, though he doubted that this was not by design. Upon a delayed inspection, Mingi noted that he was attached by wire and needle to several tubes, most likely painkillers and fluids.

Slowly, step by step, Mingi came to realize that he was not in his own bed at home. But rather, he was in a hospital bed but there was no sign as to how long he had been laying here. The walls were barren. There was a single chair off to the side and a bouquet of some flowers near his bedside. They were pink, and he knew who they were from immediately.

Nobody was in the room with him, but he had secretly wished that someone had been, at least so that he could speak to someone. It was clear to him that at some point he had passed out from his injuries, though he could not say for certain when it had occurred. He barely remembered getting down from the watchtower, and it was unlikely that his recollection was remotely accurate. It was not as if he had walked down from it, but it certainly felt like he had based on the movement he had remembered.

The dream was re-occuring from the moment he had fallen from reality, all he could hear was bullets and the sound and pain of his failure. All the way up to this point, where a modification in that dream had caused him to wake up unceremoniously all at once as if from a nightmare. Now, Mingi was aware of reality, the scent of the stifling air and chemical cleaner that kept this room without a single germ. The windows were strangely blacked out. It was likely that this was a regular hospital, though perhaps he had been given the honor of a hospital bed in a government sector and that is why the windows were blacked out? Mingi had the distinct impression that this was not a regular civilian hospital, and the smell here did not help to alleviate this impression. Hospitals smelled clean, but a particular kind of clean. This smelled clean, but it also felt like a prison, the kind where you shook the bars and begged and pleaded to be released but could not leave. This was the kind of scent this place carried, it was enigmatic in a manner of speaking but it was signature to where he worked, and it lingered.

Mingi adjusted himself, sitting up slightly without bothering the needle in his arm. The base of it was taped down to his arm with plenty of skin tape to avoid it from moving around too much. A grunt left him as the movement dizzied him and he realized that his head felt as tight as an unstretched muscle. He moved his arm, touching fingertips to his head to find a series of gauze and bandages wrapped around his head.

It flooded like a crystal vision, he had fallen back upon taking the hit to his arm, the other arm the one not hooked up to the intravenous needle and bag that sat by his side. This arm was in a sling and immobile to avoid further injury it was heavily wrapped. Did he have to have surgery?

Mingi had always been a touch dramatic, small inconveniences turned into big ones. Big inconveniences turned into ones the size of mountains. Some of his team had grown irate with him from time to time, others found it at least slightly endearing. But, this was no ‘small’ inconvenience, it was the result of getting shot at and being hit and Mingi could not imagine being hit again. At least, he didn’t want to be hit ever again.

“Ugh, why’d I have to be the first one?” The young man pouted lightly, his lips pursing forth as he considered the ramifications of all this. It meant that he would have to sit out of missions and training. Unless the whole team would be put out of missions without him for the time being, which meant he could not imagine what could be worse. Holding back his team, or having to wait to rejoin them once more. A conundrum for the ages as he shuffled a little bit in his white little bed.

The blankets were a bit short for the length of his legs, so as he moved to sit, they at least started to cover the entirety of his feet as well. He was wearing blue socks with little pads all over them that would allow for a better grip on the surface of the hospital floor, though he had no reason to get up so he could only wonder why he was wearing them at all. His feet were quite hot in them too. So, he wiggled his toes quietly, trying to find a good grip between his big toe and his index toe so that he could grab the socks and start to yank them off, pull by pull until they were off of his heels where he could shirk them off, peeling them unpleasantly from sweaty pink skin that had been boiling within their confines for who knows how long. The desire to rub his feet was there, but he couldn’t quite fold his legs within the confines of the bed, his long limbs being a genuine nuisance. Mingi and Yunho were the tallest of the team, which at times meant things were a little more difficult on them both, things were simply not built for their respective heights including - as Mingi was now discovering - hospital beds. He squirmed a little bit, trying to get comfortable when the door slid open automatically.

The heart monitor he was attached to leaped suddenly and for good reason as a looming finger stood on the threshold, with fairly short black hair that was parted just down the middle. Mingi could not make out the man’s face immediately, not until he stepped into the light and a familiar face was illuminated. Mingi considered running for it for a second, he did not like to be scared.

As bright as the sun, he held a small bouquet of pink flowers unpackaged. They seemed fresh from a field or garden with a sweet scent.

“Morning sunshine,” Yunho’s voice was always bright and effervescent, soothing to the ears even at his most neutral. It was as if he could not help but be excited to live, or at least be happy to be awake. It was not a trait that many came across often and Mingi certainly did not come across it often. Mingi was energetic - something he was all too well aware of - and was easily swayed by the whims of society because he was scared of many things, and undoubtedly scared of going against the grain, the pressure of being judged hung heavy upon him. So he almost never stepped out of line, it made him a good soldier, a loyal one too. But it did not make him very good at being an individual without insecurities. Yunho was not like that at all, he was the security blanket. The hard-working, reliable, trustworthy dog that everyone could easily fall in love with. He assured Mingi always, even when he felt most self conscious of himself, always reminded him of their duties to their state. Always reminded him that they needed nothing but to do their jobs, and to be content in life. Mingi listened, and loved the older boy for it. They had grown closer during training, close enough that Yunho was aware that Mingi preferred pink flowers and that Mingi needed an extra helping hand.

“Morning,” Mingi responded. He glanced at the flowers once and then towards Yunho’s face. He liked to look at his face. There was a genuine appeal to the way his cheeks rounded upwards, like apples that blushed pink in the sun. Mingi shifted in the bed trying to sit up a little more.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Yunho chided immediately, taking several slow steps forward, though his steps quickly covered the length of the room and he was at his bedside in short order, placing the flowers into the vase, pulling out the old ones and holding them in one hand.

“I’m not.” Mingi responded, pouting almost immediately. “I’m fine.”

“I wish you were, but you got pretty hurt out there. So, don’t move around too much.”

“I know, I mean my whole body hurts a lot.”

Yunho pulled up the single chair that was left in the room and sat down in it, the back of it against his chest as he leaned forward to place his arms over its back, draping them, his chin resting on top of his arms.

“Yeah?”

“It’s awful.”

“It’s why I said to not overexert yourself.”

Mingi could not help but whine around Yunho. He always played the role of a gentle giant that could take care of himself around the rest of the time - for the most part - but around Yunho he seemed to fall apart and kick his feet like a petulant child in the midst of a tantrum. He really did want to get up and leave the room, he felt stifled from waking up. But at the same time, Yunho was probably right, he shouldn’t exert more than he had to. He had gotten shot after all, it was not as if he had stubbed his toe. Being shot and stubbing one’s toe were different affairs, though even Mingi had to admit that the last time he had stubbed one of his toes, he had cried for five minutes about it.

“I know… I just… I just want to go home.”

“You’ll get to go home.”

There was always a feeling that Mingi got around Yunho, the feeling that Yunho wanted to touch him, at least in a reassuring sense. But they never did touch. They never grasped at each other, they were kept at bay. The cameras in every corner of their existence, they knew better. Mingi knew better than to suggest it, though his chest swelled with the idea now with Yunho reaching out to touch the top of his hand, and to run his thumb gently over the soft skin there. Soft, because Mingi took great care of his body, he didn’t want to be calloused and rough, it was just not who he was at his core.

“Yeah, but I don’t know when.”

“But you will eventually.”

“You always have an answer for everything.”

“I do.”

“You make it easier to sit in this bed,” Mingi admitted softly, tilting his head back, his lips parted as he let out a sigh. It probably sounded odd, he was too busy looking up at the ceiling to have seen Yunho’s reaction, but from the tone that he had adopted it likely was not totally negative.

“Why that bed?”

“Any bed.”

“Any bed?”

“It’s just easier. I feel less like I’m going to explode.”

“What would you explode from?”

“Feelings. Emotions.”

“Mingi, you know we aren’t supposed to give into those sorts of things. The world is better when we are quiet and content.”

“But sometimes not everything makes me quiet and content, in my head.”

“But you must try.”

“What if I can’t?”

“You must try,” There was a pause, the brightness in Yunho’s face faded for a moment and he leaned in as if he were trying to tell a secret. He was quiet aside from the chair creaking beneath his applied weight. Mingi’s brows furrowed. “Or it will be your undoing.”

The words were ominous and hung in the air like a comic strip balloon dialogue, one by one the letters popped out of existence but the feeling in Mingi’s stomach remained. The feeling of peril, the same one from the nightmare that he had fallen out of. Like he was in danger, and had no way out.

“You ruined it,” Mingi finally uttered with a huff looking away from Yunho for a moment. But he could not look away for long, his brown-eyed gaze always seemed to return to Yunho, as if the elder were magnetic.

“Ruined what?”

“The moment.”

“There was a moment?”

“I said the thing about sitting in bed.”

“Oh…” He noticed the apples upon his upturned cheeks turn pink in slight embarrassment. But while the pink remained the expression and tone returned to a trained neutrality, Mingi too leaned into being more neutral. He did not want to trigger anything on the cameras around the room, or at least he presumed there were cameras. There were cameras everywhere, sometimes in places that one could scarcely imagine cameras being. It was, however, very normal especially in relation to public buildings and privately owned government sector buildings. The hospital was not unlikely to be monitored.

“Sorry?” Yunho offered a mediocre apology, and Mingi simply shrugged. The moment was gone, but at least what had been immediately on his groggy mind had been said, and Yunho knew that he played an important role in his life no matter how short of a time they had genuinely known each other. Mingi felt a kinship.

“How is the rest of the team?”

“They are getting along. Seonghwa-ssi was worried about you.”

“Was he?”

“Sure, you hit the ground pretty hard, I don’t blame him.”

“H-Have they visited me?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Even the Captain?” For some reason, Mingi could not imagine the Captain visiting, he was probably busy and they had not known each other for that long.

“Yes.”

The word settled his worries and the turbulence in his stomach, he looked down the length of his legs, wiggling his feet back and forth in thought. It was strange to think someone could worry about him and not even know him all that much either. It did mean a lot though, and it said a great deal about the character of their new leader.

“How long have I been out?”

“A week.”

“A week?!”

Mingi had not imagined when he had seen nothing but darkness that it would be a week. In truth, it felt like a very short amount of time. Like going to sleep and waking up not five minutes later, except with the opportunity for a nightmare to reoccur an almost infinite amount of times. As he wiggled his feet back and forth, the socks that he had previously removed were beginning to limply hang off the edge of the bed. The pop of color was something that Yunho noticed it seemed because he yanked both of them from the sheets and hung them awkwardly near Mingi’s face.

“You’re supposed to wear these, you know?”

“But it was *hot*~” Mingi whined in response, resisting the immediate urge to pout.

“You shouldn’t have taken them off, Mingi.”

“Well it’s too late now, isn’t it?”

But it was not, because Yunho was already up on his feet and shifting the blankets away from Mingi’s feet and started to dress them back up. Mingi would have protested, might have even kicked a little but his body was too sore to do it, nor did he have enough space without accidentally yanking a needle out of his body.

“Yunho-ssi~” He wriggled, trying to pull his foot back, but the grip on his ankle was strong, and Yunho was rolling up one of the socks to start shifting it onto Mingi’s toes to start then down the length of his foot, over his heel and up to his ankle he snapped them into place, his hands lingering there for a moment longer before he did the same to the other foot.

“They stink!”

“No they don’t, quit wiggling.” Yunho chided and finished up with the second foot, leaving a slightly distressed and pouting Mingi looking at Yunho in annoyance in his bed.

“Wait till I get out of this bed, I’ll get you back, it took a lot of work to get them off!” He protested.

Yunho shook his head, patting Mingi’s socked feet gently, his touch a light reassurance.

“I’m sure you will.”

Yunho was quick to glance at his wrist watch though, as if he were in a hurry. Or, perhaps that he could not stay long.

“Ah. There it goes. Sorry Mingi, I have to go. Team meeting - whether we’re going to have missions without you or not, while you recover.”

“I hope not!”

“Heh… I’ll keep it in mind, but if the boss says…”

“I know…”

Mingi looked away, dejected but Yunho’s hands held onto his feet, squeezed them once before reaching up to where the bare of his leg started and gave another squeeze along his shin and calves.

“It’ll be alright Mingi, just rest and get better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Mingi sighed and shifted slightly as he watched Yunho take his leave. But it really was easier to be in bed with him around. Any bed. Or really anywhere and he felt like he could melt now like better.

All because of his promise.

Chapter Text

It was like floating. No, it was floating. The feeling of suspension and his limbs, free of restraints. The sensation was strange, especially from the heavy feeling attached to his face. All of these feelings rushed to him like a grand ocean wave all at once, drowning him in newness and novelty.

His eyes opened, but he could not yet see. There was darkness consuming all around, arms moving through liquid, pulling at strange wires until delicately formed hands reached his face, he touched it there was something there, covering him and any attempts to pull were thwarted by a painful feeling. Whatever it was, was suctioned onto his face, and a liberal amount of fear poured through his newly racing heart. Was it stuck on him forever?

What was forever?

The world was dark, but he knew his eyes were open. He was aware of his existence, but did not yet understand how it had come to be. The mind was processing all that there was to process in the void, an attempt to make sense eternity without understanding its implications.

No memories came, though he was trying to think of them. A blank canvas, the white of his mind with nothing scribbled upon it but vague concepts, ideas of reality. A cryptic understanding that he had a body, and a mind, and something was attached to his face, and that he was undoubtedly suspended in liquid because his limbs were moving so slowly.

A loud noise, an industrial buzzing startled him. His pulse pounding in his head as light flooded his senses all at once, blinding him. His eyes closed, and he was suddenly aware of how painful it was to look out into the world. Painful to have his eyes open in the liquid.

He knew what light and dark were, and now he knew more than ever that going from one to the other abruptly hurt. A sound bubbled somewhere in his throat, but it never made it out from his containment.

He was in a glass container, or at least it appeared to be glass from his vantage point; it appeared smooth and it was perfectly see-through. Glass was made of fire and sand, that much he knew but he did not know why he knew it. Only that he could identify it, it came to the forefront of his mind before fading away into obscurity. But with the light came many emotions, feelings that he had never felt before that seemed terribly familiar, and he was not sure as to why. He grasped at them in the crevices of his mind, curious to know them and become intimate with them.

Then the feeling of loftiness was draining from his limbs, gravity pulling down against his shoulders forcing him down and it was that he became aware of the liquid around him disappearing, draining down until he was forced to stand on his own two feet. But he could not, so he fell hard against the surface of his container, fingers and palms splaying against the slippery glass. It was glass, that much he could confirm. Like a snake, the apparatus around his mouth disconnected and slipped away, and he found himself gasping for breath as if he had never felt air before. His skin felt taut, his body like a newly born baby, though strangely sore as his bare feet hit the ground. He buckled unceremoniously, sliding up the slippery glass to try and get a firm hold on his body; the limbs that had once been suspended were now being forced to work. Each muscle engaging with unsurmountable force was painful and new. Newer now even more than the darkness, the liquid and the light.

People, people were all around, he could see it now. They were no longer blurry shapes, but realized figures in white coats, dark-headed with stoic faces that gave away no emotion, no feelings. He knew that they didn’t, because of pure instinct, the purity of existence for only a spare moment, breathing for the first time, now.

The glass fogged as he exhaled onto it, and his fingers traced a pattern along it, curiously before something behind him shifted, it clicked open.

Two men stood, not like the others. They wore dark clothes, and some kind of gear with a wheelchair.

The man not holding the wheelchair reached out, pulling him from his tube to place him into the chair before he started to move. The air was cold as it touched his skin, it had a drying effect on him as they moved down a ramp towards a young man with dark hair.

“Hello, 007.”

A look of confusion crossed his features, brows knitting towards the center.

“That’s your name, your number.” The young man pointed to something on his chest, prompting 007 to look down.

There it was: 1000–0007.

As he peered down upon his pectoral he realized how long his hair was. It had not been given any thought moments ago, but now the sensation was all too prevalent against his shoulders. The right hand went to touch it. It was slimy, wet and limp but nonetheless was sticking to his flesh. Curiosity bubbled in his stomach again, as before, to all that he felt and all that he was perceiving and understanding and so he picked up a lumpy strand and sniffed it before placing it in his mouth to suck on it.

“Oh. That’s unlikely a good idea,” The kind young man said, his tone almost sheepish by its cadence. 007 though did not remove the strand of hair, not until he tasted the bitter liquid that had soaked into the strands themselves. His nose crinkled, scrunching with disdain as he spat out his own hair like a child having for the first time tasted bitter greens, a small pout as he wiped lips against the back of his hand, wishing for the taste to be gone. Try as he might, it would not diminish, only through the acting of swallowing his own saliva did it eventually start to dissipate.

“Take him to the examination room.”

007 tilted his head to the side, staring up at the young man that had made the command, but he could not stare long. He was very suddenly being moved at a rapid pace across a brilliantly white and clean floor out of the room that he was in. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what this room was. But it had many different tubes and glass containers, though all of them were drained and empty as his had been. There were so many people, papers and clipboards and shoes moving across the floor with a staccato. It was new and curious and he would forget to blink before rapidly blinking all at once to lubricate his eyes so that he could stare once more.

“Wh-” He tried to speak, his tongue and mouth forming words that felt foreign against the tip and yet he knew them well. He understood and knew what he was about to articulate, but his vocal chords were weak and his throat felt dry and he knew it was dry because he coughed, leaning forward a bit, his abdominal muscles contracting.

This motion made him realize that he was nude, while all of those around him were very much not nude. His brow furrowed now, why was he nude? Why did he not receive any clothes to wear, and why had he been in a strange tube? Was he kidnapped? 007’s tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked at his lips, exercising his ability to speak would be easy, once he could get his throat in order.

“What’s an examination room?” It was a weak question, the words like the croak of a frog, a pitiful frog, on its last leg that had perhaps been run over once or twice before. It made 007 cough again as he reached up to touch his neck, fingers running across its width, rubbing it and warming it up gently.

The question went unanswered, the guards towing him forward were as stoic as before and refused to speak.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna talk to me?” 007 voiced, craning his neck upwards towards the guards. But they did not make eye contact with him, just kept on wheeling him. In protest, he placed his bare feet and put his heels down against the surface of the smooth floor, trying to stop the chair from moving, but he found that his feet and legs were not strong enough and instead he was just burning his heels. It felt like burning, or what he imagined fire would feel like if it touched skin, so he pulled his feet up and back where they were meant to be. Unfortunately, the guards would not speak nor fall for any protest. 007 was looking ahead now, unsure of what to expect when he would enter this ‘examination’ room. Perhaps he felt a touch nervous or scared about the unknown. This feeling made his lips purse, at the tightness and swirling in his stomach as he listened to the whims of his mind take over. A whirlwind of emotions.

What was he being examined for? Was he ill? Perhaps it was just a regular check-up like any doctor. He did not remember anything before, but that perhaps also meant that he was having memory loss, a strange conundrum for him to understand the concept of memory loss and yet not recall anything before the tube encapsulated by pure darkness.

They stopped in front of a door and one of the guards walked up to it, he did something. It made noise, high-pitched button clicking noises before a sound of universal approval and he 007 knew that too. The metal door clicked and slid open blisteringly fast before he was pushed into the room. It was a large office, decorated mostly in white with a plant in a corner.

There was a man here who glanced towards 007 and then the guards before motioning them away.

This man too was wearing a white coat and was sporting an expression as dark as the deepest reaches of the seven seas. He was not a pleasant looking man.

“Stand.”

007 obliged, unsure of what inside of him was forcing him to do so but something in his mind clicked with the command and he stood except he couldn’t quite stand up on his own. So he fumbled and fell into the desk that the man was sitting at. There was not a single flinch on those frosted features.

“Help?” 007 called out, but the man did not move or flinch towards him.

“Stand.”

007 whimpered slightly, a whine croaking from his dried throat for the first time in his entire life. Or, at least what he remembered of his entire life. He pressed his palms down against the desk, finding his limbs underneath himself, his feet pressed down as his palms did and soon he was standing but only with the help of the desk. Only then did he see the man move, a drawer opened and he pulled on some blue gloves they snapped against the man’s wrists who stood with an envious amount of ease.

“What do you remember?”

“I dunno, just waking up and being brought here.”

The man paced around the desk and stepped up behind 007 his hands along his body making 007 jump immediately.

“Ah, what are you doing?”

“Examining your health, stay still.”

007 grew rigid as the man examined him. Was he a doctor? He poked and prodded and checked each ligament and joint to see if he had the full range of motion in every aspect.

“Are you in pain?”

“No.”

A grunt and he continued, ignoring 007’s presence aside from his physical one.

“What is your overall mood?”

“Not sure.”

“Do you feel anxious?”

“A little.”

It took ten minutes of his body being put under a microscope. Each part of him was touched and inspected. 007 felt a growing discomfort at this poking and prodding, he wanted to protest but something in him said that it was not a good idea at least not yet.

“Why are you doing this?”

“It is for your health, 007. I have already stated this, be silent.”

007 found it incredibly difficult to stay still and to be quiet. Everything in his body screamed at him to move and run around. He couldn’t really run around though, as his legs were jelly beneath him.

Ten dragging minutes of questions and confused answers that questioned the very essence of their own existence. Finally the man would step away, taking off his gloves and tossing them into a trash can before he picked up a bundle of black fabric and placed it on the table.

“Dress yourself.”

He knew what it meant, to dress oneself. It was to put clothes quietly onto one's body, but for one reason or another it felt foreign like everything else that he had thus far experienced. Everything felt foreign, even though he knew how to do the essence of everything. His brows furrowed once more, and using his palms he shuffled towards the clothes, pressing his thighs hard against the edge of the desk. He grabbed the top piece of fabric - a regular t-shirt and started to pull it onto his torso.

It yanked and pulled at all the wrong places making him whine in annoyance as it yanked at his hair. Long, sticky black hair. Why was it so long, could he not have just had it yanked off of his scalp? It was overstimulating, but finally he got the shirt on even though his knees were practically buckling in on themselves, they would touch every so often making him feel as if he was going to collide with the surface of the desk he was leaning up against. But as he worked and struggled to get the clothes on, the man paid him no attention nor made an effort to assist him as he fumbled around. The trousers were perhaps the most difficult to pull on, and he had to sit himself down very carefully on the ground, each limb splaying out like a baby deer learning how to week for the first time as he did so to try and get the pants on. Eventually he got each leg into its right hole and for a moment 007 felt very proud of himself and he glanced at the unfeeling man.

“Look! I did it!” It was a childish sort of excitement, and he even realized it. But it was uncontrolled, his mouth and mind synchronized and spoke this excited babbling nonsense as he tried to pull himself into the wheelchair. The feat went unrecognized by the man who was looking towards the paperwork in front of him, shuffling it, a pen clicking to write on it. He was deep in his work before he seemingly realized that 007 was still there. The man looked up, and their eyes met. 007’s brows furrowed, there was something unsettling by the man’s gaze, as if he were looking at him in loathing and disdain. It made a strange coil appear in his stomach, like a serpent, winding itself, burrowing in sand dunes. The man’s hand moved and a buzzing sound, like the one from before sounded the door from before slid open and the two guards re-appeared they took hold of the wheelchair and started to wheel 007 out.

007 let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping forward.

“At least I’m dressed.” It felt as if he were finding his voice, the natural pitch of it working through and settling higher in his throat, slowly rising to his nasal passageways. Vibrating as he spoke.

Once more he decided to take a chance with the guards who seemed to feel and care about nothing. That twinkling in his eyes never subsided, he was curious about where he was being wheeled off to now. There was no kind-eyed man to tell him that he was being taken to the examination room after all, just silence from a far less kind-eyed man. In fact, 007 would venture to say that it was not a kind-eyed gaze, it was a contemptuous one, a murderous one. The feeling was frightful in his stomach as he was continuously pushed down corridors with not a single clue as to where he was going to end up. If it was about the journey, he had no idea what the purpose was and certainly was looking forward to the destination.

“So, where are we going now? Do you guys talk at all?” He craned his neck back comically, waiting for an answer, but he remained unacknowledged. The guards just kept pushing, or at least one guard kept pushing while the other was walking near him.

“Why are there two of you?”

Once again, no answer, but 007 could not imagine why there needed to be two guards. Surely, one would suffice? Unless they expected to fight someone and two was an optimal number. But 007 was in no state to fight anyone as he could barely stand properly on his own two feet. Yes, it was a strange situation to be in, but his mind was not making it any easier to parse through. There was, after all, so much to consider.

007 placed a thumb to his lips and found it interesting to nibble on the tip of his finger, until the hard surface of his nail made contact with his teeth and then he would begin to bite and nibble on that thusly. It served as a good distraction, not that he had realized that his mind had wandered away from the guards and their lack of answers and to contemplations over his existence and the purpose of all this. The purpose of the exam and why he could not stand but could think so well and be aware of his inability to stand. After all, a baby did not know that their arm was attached to their body.

None of his thoughts or inquiries on the matter seemed to matter though as they came across a door once again and there was another guard standing directly in their path. The guard looked down, inspecting the cargo and the two guards that had brought it with them before nodding and stepping aside to type in something that 007 could not make out into a pad. He finalized the code by placing his thumb against a scanner pad. It allowed for the door to slide open very suddenly and for the guard pushing him to shuttle him inside. Inside was little more than a corridor, with a door at the very end, and a plethora of doors all around otherwise. The guard continued to push all the way to the door at the end of the corridor that upon focusing, 007 realized was actually left ajar and it was not one of those fancy doors that he had thus far seen. It was a standard door that hung on metal hinges and seemed entirely unspectacular.

He was pushed until he was pushed into the entrance of the room, that curious gleaming continued on as if he was expecting something spectacular to occur once they entered the room. As if moving towards the light at the end of the tunnel, he was excited for what would come next. Was this the destination he had been waiting for? He did not even glance at the guards, a lack of interest in them now as a new interest in the future formulated all around him the serpent in his stomach ceased its hold on him, unwound with mercy as the fresh scent of cleaning solution filtered through his lungs.

“We need to agree on a cleaning schedule I won’t be h-”

In the room, there were six others. They were all positioned at different points in the room, some sitting on a couch, others leaning against a countertop of a little kitchenette. Varying hair colors and styles, with varying expressions on their features as they all as one turned to look towards 007. 007 smiled, his cheeks pressing into dimples as he gave an unceremonious wave to the collective.

“Hello! I’m 007!”

The expressions softened and the guards waited a moment before the one who had been following along moved and pulled 007 out from the wheelchair in one movement, he expected him to stand and then they left as quickly as they had come. But 007 was on the floor just as quickly unable to hold himself up without assistance from some kind of surface.

A scattering of footsteps was immediately heard, every single one of the six coming to his aid, lifting him and helping him to the couch. 007 was beaming, excited to be in the presence of these others, whoever they were. But they looked familiar, even if he could not pinpoint why this was the case.

“007, I’m 003 and this 002…”

The one named 002 was a blond pouting type. 003 was thin with an authoritative expression and quite large eyes.

“I’m 004.” He was the tallest, with black hair and a strangely friendly expression though his face seemed to be at rest.

“I’m 005, and that is 008.”

005 was a wiry off-blond like 002, he had a pretty face and 008 was quite muscular with a blank expression.

“008? Why am 007 then?”

“We’re not sure.” It was 003 who spoke, was he the leader? 007 looked towards 002, perhaps the numbers did not matter too much in this situation. 002 was definitely the most handsome.

“I’m 006,” A grumbly whiny deep voice sounded, his hair was also dark but a little longer than some of the others. That length made 007 aware of his own long hair and he grabbed at it.

“They’ll come and trim it for you, later.” 002 spoke up, he had not yet stopped staring at 007 it seemed and 007 did not mind.

“Oh.”

“So… What’s all this? Why?”

“We’re… Not sure of that either. We just live here, and we get fed. They don’t talk to us either.” 003 was explaining once more, while the others sat or stood nearby. Different postures and poses, nodding in agreement.

007’s brows knit together for what felt like the millionth time that day, confusion and curiosity filling him.

“008, get him some water,” 003 commanded. 008 nodded, unfolded his arms and wandered over to the kitchenette sink to pour a glass of water for the newest addition, handing the glass abruptly to 007 who gripped the glass almost fumbling it before he took a sip.

“Oh! That’s much better! I didn’t think I needed that at all!” Perhaps it was his nature to be forgetful about these sorts of things? It certainly felt like it, to not remember to care for oneself.

It felt almost natural. Slowly he bit down on his lower lip grinding his teeth along it only for 002 to speak again.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?”

“On your lip.”

“There’s something on my lip?!” It was a moment of panic, and 007 almost dropped the glass of water to try and grab at his lip and pull it away.

“N-No! Nothing’s wrong!” 003 tried to reassure, looking slightly exasperated as he did, he reached out with a caring hand to take 007’s into his to put it down.

“It’s just a mark, it looks nice, 002 just asks questions he doesn’t need to ask.”

“Oh.”

Perhaps that was something he and 002 had in common. He stared at 002 for a moment, and then looked towards the rest of the group.

“So I live here now?”

“Yes.” 004 sighed out, as if they were explaining this again and again to the dumbfounded newborn.

“Perhaps this is overwhelming…”

“No!” He interrupted 003 quickly, but 003 did not seem entirely convinced. He glanced over to the pouty 002.

“Show him to his room, get him settled in.”

The command did not go unheeded, 002 stood and seemed to easily hoist 007 up into his body. 007 giggled.

“I’ll learn to stand in no time! Watch me!” He tried to wriggle out of 002’s hands but was kept in place with a firm grip.

“Not yet. You aren’t ready yet,” 002 chided, eliciting a pout from 007. But the two would begin to walk and 007 seemed to kindly oblige the idea of getting to walk with the blond.

007 found himself getting the hang of walking, though he never leaned away from 002, finding his presence almost soothing in a way as they walked.

“Your room is over here on the right.”

“How do you know?”

“Because there are only seven rooms…”

“Oh.”

They walked up to a door that was closed whilst the others upon inspection stood open.

“Here, lean against the wall, put your hand against it.”

007 obliged, quietly putting his palm and most of his body weight into the wall as 002 opened up the door so that he could lead 007 inside.

It was plain, but based on the lack of decorations everywhere else he was not entirely surprised.

“This yours, all yours… We meet up in that room where everyone was, usually, and there is a bathroom just nearby with showers and such…”

He led him to the bed, 007 sitting slowly down, hearing the frame creak beneath him.

“Thanks.”

“Mhmm…”

007 shifted on the bed, he was actually a little tired from the events. Perhaps a little nap would do him some good.

“I can talk to everyone tomorrow again, right?”

“Of course. We don’t leave. We’re just a group, and we’re always together.”

“Oh. That’s great though! Like a bunch of friends!”

“Right.”

007 blinked, confused by the unenthused response from 002. Did he not like the others? Did he not believe that they were in fact just a bunch of friends put together in a space? It certainly brought a deal of comfort to 007’s chest where he felt a warmth bloom lightly.

“Do you not like them?”

“I like them. I just… Don’t like that we’re in here all the time.”

“But it’s okay, right? If you’re with your friends?”

“Sometimes a bird just wants to go elsewhere.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“Not sure… A month. Maybe two.”

“And you haven’t gone out?”

“Aside from exams, no.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody’s told us… Only Minjoong-ssi comes in here.”

“Minjoong?”

“Minjoong-ssi. He’s one of the ones caring for us. But he definitely cares the most. He brought us strawberries. 003 really likes them. And apples… Though he hasn’t come around recently, we think he got in trouble.”

007 was building a picture in his head, but something about the picture was incomplete like several scattered puzzle pieces at the center of the puzzle portrait.

“But don’t worry about it for now. Just rest, yeah?”

“A-Alright… 002-hyung.”

002 smirked then and leaned over to ruffle 007’s hair eliciting a laugh that bubbled from 007’s lips.

“Yeah, I’m your hyung aren’t I?”

“You are.”

The smile lingered before 002 nodded and turned to leave and 007 was left to his room with the delightful prospect of a nap.

Chapter Text

It was as if he were taking care of children, mindful children, but nonetheless individuals that were still figuring things out in the world as their very existence was wrestled with. To Minjoong, it was clear that this was hard for the seven clones to understand; they had been brought into the world by force and given no tools to succeed aside from the section that they lived in within the government building that was strictly off limits to anyone without high enough clearance. Only caretakers such as Minjoong were given this sort of priority.

In the weeks following 007’s awakening, Minjoong had doubled down on the work that he was hired to do. A serum had to be made that would be administered to the clones to avoid deterioration. In a sense, the government was creating immortal replicas, working towards making real soldiers inevitably expendable. The little biologist was not certain he agreed with the methods, or the morality of this immortality, especially enacted on people who were still mentally attempting to understand their existence.

Naturally the serum was highly toxic to natural human beings born from wombs, growing from childhood to becoming geriatric. But, these individuals, human beings born from thick liquid and tubes, were special. Their genetics were modified to withstand many different things - something Minjoong had to inevitably explain to the most vocal of the seven when questioned about why their hair and eyes were so different from the rest. Not to all, but it was obvious that they were not perfect replicas of the ones they were supposed to be perfect replicas of.

Minjoong did not think they were ever meant to be perfect, though he did not know for certain, as all of them had physical modifications that allowed them to be far greater than any natural human could be. They were faster, stronger, saw better, heard better, they were simply superior. One step from being artificial intelligence, though some could argue that they were better than that - except that artificial intelligence could be programmed to be obedient and without thoughts. The seven confined were not quite this way.

The serum, after many painstaking nights of balancing chemicals and burning skin on his fingers from accidental drops, would be developed. Of course, Minjoong had no way of knowing if it worked properly so it was administered to one of the rat clones that the government still had around from when the clone project had first been brought into question. The poor things were kept alive almost by a thread as they had full muscular atrophy at this point and were propped up on little wheels to get around in their poorly kept cages.

Minjoong felt a sinking feeling as he administered his serum to the rats, his jaw tightening, crestfallen in a manner of speaking as the little thing squeaked and squirmed in his hand as he poked it with a needle. It was not fair… This was what the clones were like on a larger scale. Rats in a cage, waiting for deterioration to hit them if he did not come up with an answer to the government’s problem. They would pass away in time if he didn’t figure it out. Just like these rats.

The rats were thusly left alone after administration, though in only two short weeks Minjoong could note that they had a reversal in their poor state. So much so, that their back legs had started to kick around and they rejected the attached wheel mechanisms. It was a miracle and the government - whoever they were - quickly approved Minjoong to administer it to the seven clones waiting in their own cages.

So he did.

One by one they would be led to an examination room. A different one from their first time, this one was Minjoong’s office instead of his partner's office. Though, it was similarly fashioned into an examination room with a proper table and all the utensils needed for Minjoong to do his job with the clones. Not that he had used it yet, it had been unnecessary even in the administration of the serum which was a simple direct injection into their arm.

The seven were kept under careful watch after, watching for side effects or anything that could be deemed as a dangerous reaction for their health - physical and mental.

Two weeks passed…

There was no real change in the clones - aside from 007’s hyperactivity growing in a slight but measurable way - but they had not been in such bad shape as the cloned rats, which with no changes, Minjoong presumed the dosage had worked as there was no other way to test if it had or not. If the clones started to deteriorate sooner rather than later, then it would be a sign for Minjoong to increase the dose, or work on the formula.

Either way, he knew that for now, all was calm and he did not have to keep coming to the surveillance room to watch them on the hidden cameras placed all throughout the rooms that they lived in. There were no guards here that kept watch, it was purely an observational space for those that were studying the experiments. Minjoong was the most frequent visitor.

As the weeks flew by, he found himself frequenting more out of curiosity, to watch and listen in on their interactions. They were pure.

007 often laying himself across 003 and 002 begging for attention when the group was in the common area. 004 and 006 had bonded too, with 006 often trying to sit in 004’s lap, though 004 felt that he was entirely too large for such gestures and yet still let him do it. 008 and 005 were the quiet ones in the corner, exchanging glances, though 008 never spoke that Minjoong could tell. Perhaps he was just the quiet type?

There were times when 007 would bother 005, trying to bite him, causing spats among the collective that 003 would inevitably have to break up. It was human, watching them was like watching his very own children that he had somehow had a hand in. He kept them alive, made sure they were healthy, and then watched them. Minjoong spent a lot of his time doing this, especially after the building had shut down for the day and everyone had gone home for the evening, trying to enjoy time with their loved ones.

Minjoong had fallen in love with these seven in a terribly short amount of time. They had such a brilliant endearing nature about them. It was like children at play, though at the same time, Minjoong could relate to them and their pranks and jokes with what little they had.

Unsurprisingly, he had started to bring them gifts. Little things, stowing them away in his office during the day, waiting for everyone to leave before he would come to see them after hours. A guard was always by the door, but seldom did the guard question Minjoong’s presence, especially when he started to come on a more frequent basis.

This was how he had discovered that 003 loved strawberries, or that 007 was a particularly overzealous eater of honey butter chips. Instead of having them rely on three meals a day, he started to bring them things to stock into a refrigerator. Yogurts, drinks, and little snacks to keep them entertained throughout the day. Minjoong delighted in watching 003’s face light up when he brought him fresh strawberries from the market, or candy that had fake strawberry essence in it.

He was in love. In love with all of them, like a mother or a father, bewitched by the guiles of their child, in this case - children. 003 was special in this regard, he fell in line with disciplining the rest of the group so much that Minjoong felt closer to him in the short time that they were breathing and cognizant of the world. Closer in a way that made him bashful, and fruitlessly have to throw away thoughts that he knew were unsavory ones. Or at least, ones that Minjoong deemed unsavory. He knew 003 did not reciprocate, how could he? He and the rest of them were wrestling with reality, existence itself was a difficult thing to be thrown into, but fully capable of speaking? Thinking? Minjoong could not imagine the mental pressure that they had beseeched upon them from it all.

But, the day finally would come.

The government had deemed them appropriate, ready to continue onto the next step. Minjoong’s heart sank. They were so innocent, the idea of it hurt him to his core. But he knew he could not reveal the feelings he had, he had to keep them all contained. It was simply the way of the world that they lived in. Minjoong had always been more emotional than Hongjoong, a point of contention between the two brothers. Hongjoong always poked fun at Minjoong when they were kids, and now that emotion and feeling of parental attachment was rearing its ugly head, making it so much more difficult for him to simply function. It would be easier if the clones were emotionless, had no feelings, thoughts or ability to act or speak without command. It was not the case, and he would have to suffer for it all, suppress, and keep the bitter truth tied up inside.

The news was why he was carrying a manila folder today towards the clones container, a solemn look on his features. He felt as if he were carrying the weight of the world. The dread of it weighed upon his shoulders so much that he felt he might collapse before he ever got to them.

Minjoong approached the guard who let him through. After he pressed his thumb against the scanner the door opened and he slid through quietly before it was closed with a click. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the reactions of the clones… But he could hear them now, at the end of the corridor where the common room door was wide open and the inside was full of jovial life. It made his stomach turn in knots, but he had to put on that face that they knew.

So he walked forward and as he did, a dark headed head poked from behind the ajar door.

“Minjoongie-ssi!” 007 greeted, bounding towards Minjoong ferociously before he jumped at him with a hug. Minjoong twirled from the momentum, being thrown off guard by the friendly attack as strong arms wrapped around his much thinner neck.

“Ah! 007..!” He found his footing, now the remaining six had looked out from behind the door, all with pleasant expressions. They were all seemingly excited though they always looked like this at him. Minjoong put a hand to one of 007’s forearms and pulled down lightly, just applying some pressure to signal to let go. 007 pouted, but did so. Minjoong proceeded, followed swiftly by the overzealous 007.

“Hello everyone.”

The greeting that came to him in return was chaotic, a series of hello’s, min’s, minjoong-ssi, minjoongie-ssi and minjoongie’s followed as they spoke over each other filling the room that Minjoong stepped in with the echo of their life.

“Everything alright?”

“I think so, we were just discussing whether a variety pack of tea is better than a pack of tea that is of a singular style.” 004 spoke, and everyone seemed to agree. Minjoong chuckled.

“Is that right? Well, isn’t the right answer that there is merit in both?”

“How so?” 005 piped up, a raised eyebrow and a judgmental look.

“Well sometimes, you know what kind of tea you like so you just buy the singular style. But, other times you want to try a series of new things, without committing to any one style, right? So you buy the variety pack to try a little bit of everything.”

“But what if someone doesn’t want to try new things?” 007 whined, going to sit on the couch with a plop, pouting a little bit towards Minjoong’s explanation, or at least that is how Minjoong had interpreted the pouting.

“Then I suppose, you would carry on buying the single style tea.”

“But everyone should be buying single-”

“No! There should still be options!”

Much like the greeting, a cacophony of emotions and opinions erupted over the room. Voices lifted higher and higher in volume as everyone made an attempt to get their opinion in, heard, validated.

Minjoong was left standing there awkwardly unsure of how they even knew that such tea options existed out in the real world. Had he brought them tea before? He was certain he had not, but perhaps he had forgotten. He felt the manila folder in his grasp teetering a bit as he stood, waiting for a signal or a moment where things turned quiet so that he could speak. But no such moment came, not until 003 stood and moved over to stand by his side.

“Quiet! I am sure Minjoong-ssi has come to us for a reason,” 003 said, he always had a delicately authoritative tone. It was never too loud, never too quiet and it immediately got the attention of everyone sitting there. Their eyes turned to him, and then to Minjoong.

“We weren’t done with our points, *mom*,” 005 emphasized with a hint of mockery to his tone.

“You are now, 005. We don’t need to waste his time.”

Minjoong glanced at 003 briefly, a smile of gratitude flashing across his features, 003 only nodded in response before he moved to sit down again. The spotlight fell back on Minjoong, though he realized he did not actually like the spotlight being on him. It made him nervous, just as it did when he had been put in the limelight of having to present his ideas and research at university. Nonetheless, this was not a room full of peers or fellow students that would scrutinize, they were… They were friends. At least, in a manner of speaking, so he swallowed down his fear a little bit and proceeded. Lifting the manila folder to show them that he was holding something of meaning and pertinence.

“The seven of you will no longer simply be sitting in these rooms, you will be put to work.”

“Work?” 002 was confused by the word it seemed, he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, work… But it’s not typical work. It’s… It’s what you are all made for, it’s not…” Minjoong was having a hard time getting the words out, everything felt like it was stumbling from his mouth in a haphazard disorganized fashion.

So he took a deep breath.

“It’s alright Minjoong-ssi,” 003 voiced his voice soothing Minjoong from a distance.

“I have already told all of you, and if I have not, you have spoken amongst each other - you are clones. Where you live, it is not a normal place to live. We all leave, go home outside of this building at night. Your naturals do the same. You were made with a reason, a purpose. It wasn’t just to sit around here. It was to fight. You have sat here up until now because it was an adjustment period, us figuring out if you would survive, if you were viable. And now, it’s time for the real tests, and for you to start working as a team.”

Now, the room was silent, only the whirling mechanisms of air conditioning could be heard but even they seemed slow and muted in comparison to the normal liveliness of this space. The atmosphere was dampened.

“The reality is that the seven of you were created specially to be soldiers. Immortal soldiers. Well, theoretically immortal. The serum I gave you is meant to maintain you in this shape, forever.” He did not add however that the government was planning on doing more, replicating more people, more top class soldiers within their ranks. Minjoong could not imagine why so many immortal soldiers would be necessary, and it made him wonder if the government was planning on expanding their borders, attacking their neighbors… It was a bleak thing to think about, that he could be the very cause and spark for an incoming war.

It was 007 who broke the silence, his expression somewhere between quizzical and frightened. Though he was usually the most lively one, right now he seemed more concerned than ever and the quality of his tone had shifted. Serious, and quiet, his eyes never leaving Minjoong.

“But … We… Well *I* don’t know how to fight.”

“You’re right.” Minjoong looked around the seven now solemn faces, a deep sigh shaking through his lips. He wanted to be confident, but he found himself incapable of doing so. It felt like every ounce of his strength was going into this little speech of his.

“You’ll be trained. Starting tomorrow… Though I do not have any idea on how the training will go, I am sure you will all excel. It’s meant to train you in all sorts of combat, and general field training as well. This is what you were made to do, so I doubt you will have issues with it all. In fact, I’m certain you will do nothing but exceed every single marker that they have set for you!” It was turning into a strange pep talk and while Minjoong was speaking, he felt himself cringe inwards. He didn’t want to give them false hope that this was somehow going to be the best time of their short lives. But, he didn’t want to scare them or leave them with a sense of ominous anxiety once he did leave. That was the hardest balance to strike he was finding, what was too much and what was just enough?

The silence continued to permeate, not giving in. The air was thick with tension, and Minjoong thought he might choke on it.

“Tomorrow…” 003 echoed, his arms and legs crossed as he sat there, his gaze moving from one clone to the next.

“Tomorrow?” 003 repeated now with a more curious tone indicating it towards Minjoong.

Minjoong nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier? I mean… It would have been a lot easier to prepare, if we knew earlier on that this would happen, no?”

“I didn’t have the clearance.”

“Clearance?”

“Permission.”

Minjoong felt his own features contort in discomfort, something tugging at the strings of his heart in an almost painful way. This was perhaps the worst thing that could ever happen, causing pain upon those that you loved so very much. Those that you wanted to keep safe from any harm, or the sad realities of the world. It was especially sad because the world that they had been brought into was not like Minjoong’s or Hongjoong’s. It was a world full of control and lies. Minjoong would have argued that his world was similar, but he knew that to compare his world and the world that these seven had been forced into would be inadequate and unfair. He got to go home, have friends or at least acquaintances since he was not the most social person in the world.

He had a twin brother, and they had grown up together. He had parents and would always have them as memories in his head. He would never have to wake up in a strange dark tubing system, surrounded by goop. He knew the warmth of his mother’s arms, and his father’s affirming words. That was his reality, no matter where he had a job.

They were here, in a sterile environment that was regularly maintained by equally sterile people. They had rooms, with no decorations and minimal furniture. All they had was each other, and the warmth that it could bring.

Minjoong’s heart sank then, the realization washing over him like a tsunami wreaking havoc upon the peaceful shores of his mind. It swept away all other thoughts and comparisons.

They only had each other, to tear them apart in any way would be an act of terrorism on their emotional and mental states.

He hoped now more than ever that those that would be in charge of the training would not make them go forward without at least one companion. To isolate them would be a form of abuse higher than the unreachable galaxies beyond the stratosphere.

A fleeting moment moved through Minjoong, the final gush of the large wave in him. A cool disorientation as he stood in silence staring at them, and them staring back.

He wanted to cry.

It was for the first time in a very long time that he genuinely wanted to break down. Minjoong, the emotional one, the one who knew how to suppress his emotions regardless of how he felt because he had always been commanded to do so by the world around him, influencing him to be steadfast with a perfect mind.

Happiness was perfection. Perfection was happiness. Crying was a series of cracks in perfection and happiness. Don’t cry.

His stomach clenched, but he bit the feeling away. The welling of tears was bid goodnight. He wouldn’t do it here in front of them, especially not with the cameras pointing at them from every direction. If anyone got a hold of it, it would be a problem that he would have to explain. So instead, he took another moment longer to recollect himself, his fingers curling into the manila folder, crinkling the thick paper structure a little bit before he exhaled with resolve.

“It’s alright, here…” He opened the manila folder and pulled out seven pieces of paper. Each one had been printed special for each individual clone. Once they were all handed out he stepped back.

“This is what you will all be training in, and your general genetic predispositions. Just something interesting I thought you all might enjoy reading. Maybe it’ll boost your confidence too?” Though it occurred to him that it was entirely possible that the clones didn’t really know how to read, having never been taught. But it seemed that their eyes were moving in a scattered way over the papers they had been handed.

“Cool!” 006 voiced. “I’m good at mid-range and my size allows me to tank incoming attacks!”

Chatter broke out among them except with 003 who was looking down at his paper with that still solemn expression. He stood and wandered over towards Minjoong, but the chatter did not die; it kept on and a part of Minjoong felt relieved. At least it was some kind of distraction, but he would have to figure out how it was they were capable of reading.

Not now, just later.

“Are you sure about all of this?” 003 whispered.

Minjoong beckoned for 003 to follow him out of the room and as they moved it seemed that the rest of the group did not notice their departure.

“No, 003. I’m not. I’ll be honest, I knew this would happen. But I didn’t know to what extent. I still don’t know to what extent this will all be. I hope you understand.”

“I understand. But I don’t know about the others. They’re still trying to get a grasp on things.”

Minjoong looked at 003 sadly, his brows knitted together as he admired the taller male’s features. He was especially handsome, well, they were all quite handsome but this one to Minjoong was special. It was his mannerisms, his stature, and features - everything about him was put together and attractive even if he had to suffer by pushing those thoughts to the back of his head. They had become more abrasive with time and it left shallow cuts along his mind. Small things would remind him of 003.

“I understand that, but there’s no choice to be had here. And, frankly, telling you at all was something I argued for.” Minjoong looked down, though he soon felt a weight on his shoulder, brown gaze would move to see the slender hand pressing down in support.

“We appreciate everything you do for us, even if they don’t realize what you do, I am sure to remind them, always.”

“Thank you. I care,” He looked up to meet the light-eyed gaze of 003. “I care a lot. But they don’t see you as human.”

“No?”

“No. I suppose they see you as expendable. And as clones they can always borrow DNA from another natural, or the same natural and recreate you over and over again without fail.”

“Then why the serum? Why immortality?”

“Because it costs money to rebuild, and while they are capable, they are reluctant. All of these early stages are to see how strong all of you are.” His voice lowered as he explained, he hoped that his voice was not caught on the microphones… Perhaps he could loop a portion of sound to deceive the system later on.

“But we are human, aren’t we?”

“In my eyes. I’ll convince the others soon enough, they’ll treat you better.” Minjoong found himself insisting, inhaling harshly. “They will. But for now, you will have to endure it all. Whatever may come. Take care of them, and I’ll take care of you.”

003 nodded, though the concern never quite left the soul of his eyes. Minjoong could see that soul, he saw straight into him. He could see heaven there. This was the piece that the rest of the world did not see, or did not care to see.

Expendable non-humans that only took human form. It made him sick. He would convince them, at some point. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but he would. It was a vow he had made, and was just now reminded of, remaking, because he was staring into 003’s soul.

“Alright… I have to go. Take care, yeah?”

“Bring strawberries?” 003 asked; halting Minjoong in his tracks.

Minjoong laughed, a moment of bliss swirled in his chest like clouds obscuring a mountain’s peak.

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Text

“Finally, a day off.”

The air was cool, the sun had set beyond the horizon ushering in the calm of darkness. The day was always so bustling, tumultuous and full of prying eyes. But the night was still, as if even the wind did not dare to stir the peace.

It was hard, even on days off, to find time to meet up and be together with anyone. Family, friends, acquaintances. Wooyoung did not have an easy time with work life balance, he was dedicated to his job more than the government itself could even fathom. Of course, it was hard to tell with him - and he knew it too - because of how much he talked when it was perhaps best to remain silent.

He had gone into the military, to work for the government because he had wanted to find some kind of discipline for himself. As a youth he had been rambunctious and wild, his antics often resulting in trouble for his parents who worried that he might break the law and have delinquency officers descend upon their home. But he never overstepped that boundary, he found it difficult to do so. There was always a lingering guilt that he was ruining his parent’s lives. Lives that they had built, cultivated with their own two hands from the ground up. Their home and work was their pride and joy and Wooyoung knew where to draw the line. So, he found the military in an attempt to cull the rest of the wildness left within his soul. It did not work, it instead redirected itself into a new form of wildness. A strange thirst for blood, or at least the blood of traitors. Traitors of his world, his country, his city. Especially his city.

But within all that, a new guilt had clawed to the top, forcing its way to the forefront of his mind. A guilt that he had been growing and watering in the most sheltered parts of his soul, parts he could not bare to the world. But nonetheless it continued to grow, and continued to flourish into a spacious garden. It was a place he returned to when he felt most insecure and alone in his fifth floor apartment. It was a place even safer and more secluded than his apartment because there could not be a secret camera anywhere in his soul. Of course, the odds of his apartment being rigged up was slim, but never zero. Nonetheless where his mortality lay itself in the spacious garden, this is where he knew he could be the most safe without any prying eyes, ears, or mouths. They could not hurt him here, could not establish that Wooyoung WAS in fact some kind of delinquent when he had fought so hard for so many years to be anything but that dreadful thing that could smear his family name in blood across the most sharp of stones, and most treacherous of pits. He was terrified of it.

Despite all this, Wooyoung had spent a great deal of time thinking and parsing through the emotions that he had watered and grown in this place. It was like sifting through endless parchment or sand that slipped between fingertips on the beach. It felt impossible, because it was a fountain of repression. Repression that he wanted out of his body.

Years of training, months of getting closer. Wooyoung and San were inseparable. Two peas in a pod. Wooyoung could never step too far away from him either. Always shoulder to shoulder, in-training, missions and all the moments in-between. There was something about San’s scent, hair, face, things that Wooyoung could not perfectly pinpoint. But he could pinpoint that the garden had grown lush with San’s presence. He had become the centerpiece of Wooyoung’s garden. But as each year and month went by, Wooyoung continued to sequester it all away, hiding reality because he knew what he felt and he knew it was wrong.

At least, the government would undeniably tell him it was wrong. Jail him. Beat him to an inch of his life to be certain that such perverted feelings would never arise in his body again, in fear of pain.

It did not feel wrong in his stomach, in his chest, where the feeling bloomed like marigolds. Orange, yellow and red like fire bursting in ribbons from his entire body. It was the best feeling in the world, and the most sickening one all at the same time. It was a feeling he no longer wanted to dwell on, and it had brought them to this spot, a central park of their city, in the dark of night, walking down an empty pathway as always - shoulder to shoulder.

“They don’t like to give us many of those, huh?” San remarked, and Wooyoung was aptly listening, hanging onto each word as if his life depended on it. He breathed San, because San lived in that garden, and the garden was a source of oxygen.

“Not with how many rebels there are to put down.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“People hate to follow rules, I suppose.”

“Yeah… Maybe that’s what it is.”

“Those people put Mingi in the hospital, I’m hardly sympathetic.”

“Poor Mingi.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

Their conversations never breached the mundane, but Wooyoung always saw that San wanted to say something more. It glistened in his eyes like amber. Crystallized from an old oak. Perhaps he was imagining it, but he did not think so. Wooyoung knew that he could not say what he wanted to, and San could not either. San had more restraint. He had always been the calmer of the two of them. Just another thing that Wooyoung admired about him. His friend, his teammate, his coworker…

It was so dark here, the blaring lights of the city could not reach them here as they were covered by the thickest of trees whose branches weaved amongst each other. They were ancient, or at least that is how they felt. As if they held the secrets of many voices, and they were still lingering here.

Wooyoung looked up to them, watching the fireflies dancing among the branches. They would light up, before disappearing like a dimmer. It was beautiful, and provided the area its only form of brilliance.

“Fireflies,” Wooyoung whispered, speaking of them almost felt forbidden, as if someone would come down upon them and strike them all from the branches, making the world dark again.

San looked up and smiled briefly at the vision.

“Pretty.”

There was a long drawn out moment then. Wooyoung’s breath disappeared in his lungs. The air felt heavy, oppressive and intense. Wooyoung was still walking, but he felt as if he had gone still. It was in the chambers of his mind, suddenly his entire stomach was tightening and he wanted to purge himself of every sin that he had ever committed, all the ones he had admitted to and the ones that he had not dared say. Now he was stuck somewhere between oblivion and what might be infinity. Oblivion, because he was terrified of where he stood now. The crossroads he found himself at were terrifying. Infinity, because if he said the right thing, he would be infinitely happy without remorse. Not even in death.

It seemed to stretch on this way, and he stared at San but without really looking at him now the soul in his brown eyes glazed over with a syrupy film, sticky and dissociative.

“Are you alright?”

The voice came from somewhere, the movement of San’s lips, but it only worked to tighten his stomach more. Each muscle seemed to contract into his lungs, pushing whatever air there was out further out, churning fate like a whirlpool dragging him down, in the very center of his stomach.

It felt like forever, perhaps it was forever, but Wooyoung finally swallowed. Finally breathed air in as if he had been submerged underwater for far too long. This was his moment, a moment to ignore the world all around them, push it all aside and make it only about the two of them. It was easier said and thought than done, years had gone into the garden in his soul, one could not tear it out all in one go. But this was a push forward, he clawed towards the centerpiece of the garden - San.

Wooyoung pushed the marigolds, bushes and thick branches of trees. He did not know what kind, only that they were green and grew without restraint because he cared for them so. He crawled to the center, trampled the soft grass beneath his feet until he stood there in front of San.

The real San had an expression of puzzlement, just as life returned to Wooyoung’s eyes. Brown-eyed merriment, hesitance and love as he looked at San intensely. His lips twitching, forming into soundless words, a whisper as soft as a sigh exhaled from his body.

“H-Huh?” San responded, his brows furrowing, wanting to hear clearly what had been said.

The sound was scattered across the fragmented molecules of the air between them. Wooyoung felt the deep fear of being misunderstood, like one of the many growing buds in his garden. But, he could not allow the moment to swallow him up. So he finally looked at San, his breath held for a steady moment before exhaled again. Louder than before.

“I love…you.”

All the oxygen was sucked out of the atmosphere then. They had both stopped walking, halted in their tracks. Wooyoung’s heart was beating in his chest, ready to run, run away and become a citizen of one of the rebellion forces that he so fiercely fought against.

It was impossible to tell whether San liked the confession, or wanted for it to occur. But the taller one of the two was staring right back at Wooyoung, brows knitting, teeth clenching together. Wooyoung could tell because of how tightly his jaw line had wound up. Was he going to deny him? Send him away? Report him? It was like a heart attack, so quickly his heart was beating that it might not have been beating at all. He could feel his palms growing steadily clammy, sweaty, the moisture building with a surprising amount of force, a physical representation of his stress. The garden that he had grown was being razed to the ground as they stared at each other long and hard. Wooyoung had laid it all out, had become so vulnerable that he could be excised from the military for this, from the government. He could be jailed. It was a state in which he had never been in before. For so long he had hidden all of these feelings, and had become a fierce master of hiding it all. It had become easy too to simply retreat into himself and never come out. But now it was here, the words were hanging in the oxygenless air, like a comic speech bubble ready to burst.

The flush of his palms ran over his back, an intense pricking like warm skin against the coldest winter breeze.

Wooyoung kept staring, even as he saw now San’s gaze darted away from him. Though his demeanor did not change, and he did not run, Wooyoung was still terrified and waiting to be able to breathe again. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do so ever again, because the tension was so palpable one could cut it with the likes of a butter knife. Would he say something? Say anything? It was making him queasy and dragged on silence like nails on chalkboard.

The truth was that Wooyoung was ready to get on his knees and beg San to take him into his arms and tell him that it was okay. He knew it wouldn’t happen, but he would beg nonetheless. He was terrified of what he had said. Perhaps he had said too much, divulged all that had been hidden in his soul for too long. Perhaps it was stale and not interesting. Perhaps.

“I don’t know what to say,” San finally spoke and the oxygen came flooding back like the Red Sea. It destroyed Wooyoung’s sense of stability, almost sweeping him off his feet entirely.

“What do you mean?” Wooyoung responded, but he was trying to act and speak normally. Like they always spoke to each other. In this strange emotionless cadence as if they did not care for each other, as if they did not share a deeply close relationship beyond the confines of the government walls, those sterile walls that stifled the garden's growth. The place where everything was soaked with blood.

“I’m… I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”

“Just say it back.”

“Say what back?”

“You know what.” Wooyoung couldn’t repeat it, now he was terrified that the fireflies in the trees above were just surveillance cameras blinking ominously overhead. They could hear, they could see… The government always heard and saw. What if they had heard him speak, saw his lips move the words cast against jagged rocks, painted in red along the cliff face for all of the world to see? It was too much, and frankly, it was enough for Wooyoung’s stomach to curdle all over again as it had done before.

“I can’t…” San sounded defeated then, as something in him was denying him the pleasure of speaking freely. Wooyoung knew the sensation all too well, he hated it, demonized it, wanted it gone. He wanted to act and speak as he pleased without the fear that this moment had conjured, and had swirled like an unfortunate cocktail in his stomach. For a moment he chewed on his lower lip, the spot where his otherwise pink lips turned darker, a distinguishing mole that he could not help but chew on out of habit.

“Why not?”

They had started to walk again, moving away from what happened, moving away from the spot where it had happened. The trees covered them more, before their entangled web of branches gave way to the light at the end of the long tunnel. Street lights, like beacons, heralding their arrival like trumpeting angels. So bright and brilliant that Wooyoung squinted painfully.

“You know why.” San responded, his hand moving up to cover his own eyes as he squinted too. Wooyoung was looking at him from his peripheral, quietly admiring his side profile. The sharpness of his jaw was prominent here in the light cast overhead, and his cheekbones too were something delightful, like diamonds to behold. Why did he feel like this towards him? Why could he not feel anything as the government had prescribed? It was so hard to not feel a thing, almost impossible. Each time he tried to suppress one feeling or emotion, another would flutter to the top. It was why he spoke out of turn so much, and didn’t seem to mind his own business. He was the one that the team chided and shushed the most. But he tried, he did. He just couldn’t. Something in him was incapable of it all.

Incapable of consuming the government prescribed happy pill. A world where there was nothing but happiness and no cracks in the wall that had been built. Wooyoung found himself at a difficult junction, the desire to honor the wall and turn away from it all together. He knew, deep - whatever deepness meant - in his heart why San could not or would not say it back. A part of him thought that he did not return the feelings, though the side that believed in San the most was lighter. San could not say anything, in fear of being heard. In fear of being seen. The same feelings that Wooyoung had about himself and about what he had done.

“You aren’t going to report me?” The words tumbled almost incoherently from Wooyoung’s lips, a part of him still fearful that San might go behind his back. That San, did not in fact, care for him the way he cared for San.

It was another tense moment, not because it took San a long time to respond, but because Wooyoung almost held his breath. He trusted San more than anyone in the entire world, whatever he would say, would be the honest truth and the way his stomach twirled over and over again now a ballerina with no restraint.

“No…” San exhaled. “Of course not.”

Then Wooyoung exhaled the tension in his abdomen relaxed, his hands moving to his trouser pockets, as if he finally felt at peace even if it was for only a split moment. He closed his eyes, and breathed the crisp night air. It smelled soothing, and familiar. A place where the city and nature melted together into one.

It was a feeling like never before, one of liberation. Though he did not get the response he desperately desired, it almost did not matter. He had gotten the very thing that had a grip on his heart out into the world, San knew, and that was all that mattered. And, he was not going to end up being reported, at least San had said he would not tell anyone and he took that as a genuine promise. San never lied, at least to him, as far as he knew. Their bond was special like that… Though it hurt that he could not hear the words in return, there was a small part of him that felt loved nonetheless, it was as if it were radiating from San’s body, and the words that he spoke to him, not so bashfully.

“It’s nice out.” Wooyoung finally uttered, willfully changing the subject knowing it would do them no good to linger now. There was only forward for them, and he hoped that forward would always be together.

“It is… Though a bit dark, wish we could see everything.”

“Well, what about the stars?”

“You can’t see stars like this… The city light floods them out.”

“Yeah. Well you can see a few.”

Wooyoung looked up then once more, no longer the fireflies dancing in his field of vision but rather the silver studs piercing the inky night sky. There were so few, when he knew that the universe likely had so many to see. He wondered how intense they were outside of the city limits and would San ever agree to go out there with him to see them? He smiled a little bit to himself, almost chuckling as he did.

“What?” San sputtered, pouting slightly.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“You do that?”

“Shut up.”

San laughed now as well before turning his gaze up to the sky.

“You know, maybe we can see all of the stars in the night sky one day. Maybe if we ever get sent out there beyond the city where there are no lights, just the sky.” Wooyoung daydreamed, musing quietly to his park companion.

“Maybe. Wouldn’t we be so lucky.”

“The luckiest.”

“Why is that?”

“You know why.”

They didn’t exchange words after that, they were quiet and not wanting to speak. Wooyoung was content with just San’s presence. Content as the centerpiece of his garden was now solid and without a single crack, like perfectly preserved marble that he could always rely on even in the hardest of times.

Chapter Text

The warning loomed over everyone’s heads, until the warning turned to action. When they were led out, one by one, they were never given indication of where they were going. There were days where they were blindfolded, other days knocked unconscious. The warning Minjoong had given was appreciated, but the words he had spoken could have never prepared any of them for the horrors in store.

003 was particularly aghast at all that was occurring, he had no way of expressing what they were being made to endure. Nothing could make the pain better, nothing could steal it away.

One week, he spent day after day in a gaseous, noxious chamber. Suffocating, barely able to breathe as prongs got closer and closer to his body. He had to avoid them, and each day he got progressively better at it but his body was always on the verge of giving in. His lungs struggled, begging for relief from the heated chamber. Strands of black hair stuck to his forehead as every liter of liquid that he had in his body evaporated from the heat. But when he struggled and begged to be released, it only got hotter. He learned quickly to keep his mouth shut, to walk across fire, to put his hands against hot coal. He had to find the iron key that was too hot to touch, to shove it through a lock and pry the door open. That week he had spent every day after receiving a copious amount of burn ointments all over his body. Pain coursed through his body and tears mixed with sweat as the rough-handed doctor applied it on his nude body. He did not take great care to be kind or gentle, the ointment was shoved onto him into the blistering wounds and 003 braced himself every time, breathing heavily as he felt all that there was to feel. His toes curled so hard he thought he might break them from the sheer ferocity with which he resisted the urge to scream in pain. No one came to the rescue…

That same week, the group lost 008. The first time they felt grief, more painful than the burns they sustained. He simply did not return after the third day. No one told them what happened. He was just… Gone.

003 knew in his head what happened, but he didn’t know how to process it. 005 was particularly hit hard by it, retreating into his quarters each day after the third without speaking to anyone. Not wanting to speak to anyone it seemed even when 007 poked his head in an attempt to cheer him up. A futile attempt, as none of them were particularly cheerful.

Minjoong visited, and 003 felt the pain ease by a margin. The strawberries were not as sweet, but his empathetic smile was, and the brush of his fingers to pull back the tangled strands of hair still stuck to his face. There was some comfort in it, and it allowed 003 to survive the week of fiery Hell. A concept he only vaguely understood, but nonetheless knew of.

The second week, 003 found himself tied down to racks unable to move even when he struggled - though when he had gotten close to breaking the restraints once, he was given an electric shock to his system so unpleasant that he stopped moving immediately. At first, it was unclear why he was tied down in a dark room. There was nothing to see here, nothing to feel, nothing to smell. It was perfectly silent, and it induced a sense of anxiety. Though perhaps it was meant to induce a sense of peace? 003 could not identify what he felt, other than nothing. Just like what it had felt like to be born from the tube that he had fallen from that he had developed in.

Then, it became all too clear what his fate was.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Continuous, at first in a pattern and then no pattern at all. Sometimes two times fast, three times very slow. Drops of water against his forehead. It did not feel too bad at first, but only at first. There he lay strapped down for hours with only his own thoughts, but his mind did not know what he had done to deserve it. Soon he was sobbing, screaming to be let go, to be shocked, for something to happen other than for the water to drip against the center most part of his forehead. But no one came, nothing happened, only the water. The contemptuous water, it kept dripping onto this one part of his forehead and he could not get away. 003 felt madness set in, as he was forced to undergo this very same ritual for the next week. Each day drove him to the brink of his mind breaking. But each day, he became more contemplative of his own mind. He struggled less, he complied more. Each day, he cared less and less for the drops of water and instead contemplated the hours that went by and when he would be released. His expression hardened, he didn’t beg. He waited until he was set free and then it was his turn to retreat to his quarters and speak to no one, though that was the week none of them spoke to each other. They all milled around their living space with no desire to speak, eat, or do anything that resembled living beings. 003 found the mental fortitude to nibble on the plain rice that was brought to them, but only because his stomach was threatening to make him vomit something that was not there after hours of plain and most brutal torture. He thought it would be one less thing to have to think about, one less thing to struggle with - having to vomit.

This was the week that the guards had to oversee them bathing, showering, and 005 attacked one of the guards for being too forceful, citing that they were recovering from a loss and were grieving.

Whether that was true or not, 003 had no idea anymore. 008’s disappearance felt like an eternity ago.

The guards took 005 away that day.

The third week they were given weapons and given close instructions on how to assemble and disassemble those weapons. 003 was instructed on sniper rifles specifically outside of all the regular weapons that were provided to them. He took well to them, as if he was very much made for this very task. He was taught how to shoot targets at a distance with all the weapons, but special attention was given to his ability to handle the sniper in which he easily excelled in.

They worked hard for hours on end, no food, no water. Only these automatic and semi-automatic weapons in pure onyx. They learned about every bullet and every weapon. They were given comprehensive descriptions of the kinds of people that they would be shooting. Uniforms, identifying traits, any targets that were kill on sight, including their faces. They memorized them and were quizzed on them. 003 was especially good at the visual assignments clearly with a hawk eye. A sense of pride coursed through him when he was given higher marks for correctly answering questions.

By the end of the third week, they were knowledgeable and knew how to handle weaponry like professionals. 003 did not know why, he knew in his mind, somewhere, that this was not supposed to be an easy thing to do. What they were doing, these tasks were not simple. He found it strange how easily they all took to the instructions given to them, how the burns on their bodies were healing almost without scarring. Something was strange about them all.

Then, on the last day of the third week, 008 walked into their keep. The group gasped and cried, but 003 sensed something was wrong. This was not the same 008. He was still 008, he looked like him too, but his chest revealed something else: 2000-008. Another model, a second one. Something else was strange about this 008 - he did not speak. Were his vocal chords torn out? It was impossible for them to determine, but he did not open his mouth, did not formulate words, just stared and nodded or shook his head or mimed but never said a word or really made a sound. He was bigger too, a muscular young man of decent weight. He was quickly adopted into the fold, but not as a replacement as he was intended to be - at least 003 suspected that this was the case - but rather as a new friend but not one that could replace the last 008.

The fourth week was marked with more pain. 003 did not know if he could take more of it, but he also understood intrinsically that he had no choice but to comply with what was happening to him. Nobody was coming to his aid, or any of their aid. Parts of him thought that even this was too horrific and brutal but he didn’t know why he thought this, he had no point of reference aside from how horrible he felt and the pain he felt in his body.

Knives. Sharp objects. Electric wires. He was tied down to a chair, his limbs immobile as he was made to endure knives and daggers - in his arms, his legs, his fingers, sawing through him, and stabbing him. Every which way one of these objects could be used, they were. Finding ways to brutally push through him, spilling blood as he wanted to beg for mercy. But, he knew better already. By this week he knew not to beg, he knew it would only get worse. The blood loss made it easier to not feel the pain, all that red spilled onto the tiled floor and washed away with a hose that would inevitably be turned to 003, waking him up from his half-conscious state to endure more, shocking him with electric wires for good measure. He didn’t cry out, he just stared in a glazed over state until he was truly half way out of the world. Then and only then would he be given reprieve.

That week, they were all returned to their beds in bandaged half functional states, attached to IVs to replenish their bodies so that they could endure more the very next day. They did not even notice the return of 005, or the fact that 006 disappeared one day with no word on his status. None of it was noticed or seen. When they were all awake enough, there were seven again and none of them dared question what had happened.

When they returned to genuine consciousness in the fifth week, it had all felt like a fever dream. But none of it was over yet.

003 had thought that perhaps it was over. At least he begged some foreign beings for it to be over. But even Minjoong did not come as frequently now. He worried - when he could - that something had happened.

Then one night, he was yanked from his bed. He might have made a noise or protested but he was blindfolded and gagged and dragged out of their quarters. The space was silent, which gave him the impression that no one else had been taken or they had all already been taken without his noticing.

It was a strange sensation, he could not see or speak. He felt vulnerable and then all the more vulnerable when he was undressed. It was cold and sterile, it smelled of medicine here where he stood…

Then a horrible pain, one he could not adequately pinpoint. It was not like anything he had ever felt, or had ever thought to feel. It was rough and all he could do was brace against that pain, until something wet was dripping between his thighs…

It happened over and over again until he was bumbling and thoughtless. Finally, he would be returned to his quarters.

It happened again though, and again - for five days. And he found that he did not like it and that it hurt and something in his mind was turning to being able to endure even the worst of mental anguish. He was able to push it away, compartmentalize all that he felt with an eerie amount of ease. There was no joy in this process, but perhaps joy was not the goal.

Soon, 003 felt nothing from the pain. Even when it was being extracted out of him and he braced against it, he did not acknowledge it as truly painful. Just felt it on a physical level and accepted it as just that, something on a physical level that he did not have to feel mentally or emotionally.

This ‘training’ continued without stopping for many weeks, at some point he lost count. But some of the training would be recycled to test them again to see if they had the same reactions. 003 excelled with a brutal ease after he learned how to stow away what he did not want to experience.

It was sometime later, he did not know how long after, that they were all brought as a group to a shooting range. There were guns assembled in front of them, basic handguns and then seven guards with seven prisoners that were handcuffed, and gagged were brought out at a reasonable distance.

A distorted voice sounded overhead.

“Execute.”

003 stepped forward first, then 002. They moved towards the guns set in the shooting windows of the shooting range. The guards were wearing heavy gear to protect them from stray bullets. The prisoners cried out, flailed and begged for mercy. 003 felt nothing as he took up the cold metal of the handgun. It was heavy and felt good and weighted in his now experienced palm. Hetook a quick inspection of the handgun, 003 was almost reveling in it his heart was beating steady even at the desperate pleas and cries of the prisoners ahead of them. He tilted his head to the side, the air of his spinal connections popping and cracking giving him a gentle sensation of satisfaction. Then he stood straight up, each limb as if carved for this very text - an artistic, poetic piece of marble created by the long arduous weeks of training. The art of brutality created solely for the government.

003 understood his purpose even if a human part of him screamed to not do it. He was not in a state to resist the command, in fact the forefront of his mind was carved to obey immediately. But, he took his time enjoying the slow pace with which he moved. He held the handgun well, his fingers wrapped around it sternly but with a deviously delicate softness as well. He calmed the part of him that cried to stop. That part was now only reserved for two things - Minjoong, and the team.

No one else had to know how he truly felt.

His elbows had a slight bend to them, not locking them out as he kept both eyes open and aimed towards the head of his target. The order was not to maim, but to execute. To kill. So he would.

003’s index finger hovered over the trigger as he inhaled to steady even the slightest tremor to his body, not because of fear, but a natural human reflex running through his nerves. This was not just a target he was shooting at, it was a person who was crying and begging from behind the gag.

No mercy.

He pressed down against the curve of the trigger, and the handgun fired. It hit the prisoner squarely in the forehead, killing immediately. There was but a corpse left. His round inspired the other handguns to fire off almost in tandem. Now, there were seven corpses and the guards dragged them out.

A voice made itself known and present overhead. The same distorted thing from before, a light appeared from behind. 003 turned the gun with the safety on placed gently on the sill of the window he had been shooting from.

“Congratulations. With this act of chivalry, your training is complete, clones. You will endure no more horrors, but will continue to participate in conditioning training on a regular basis. This was the end to show to us that you are ready. Ready to be the machines that we need you to be. It is a cruel and brutal world out there, aiming to kill you and us, your creators. The seven you have just killed were leaders of such groups and we aim to remove them to keep everyone safe. Safety. Happiness. These are our priorities.”

The man who spoke was dressed in a way that 003 had never seen before. Everyone he had seen before had worn suits or appropriate uniforms to perform more aggressive duties, or lab coats. This man was wearing pure white, and he wore a strange mask. It rounded along his face, but revealed not a single feature of his face. They could not see the man or woman - not their eyes, hair, mouth, nothing. Not a singular feature. It could be anyone. 003 stood there, listening but also feeling a sense of confusion. Who was this person, speaking to them so confidently yet without the confidence to show them their face? It was a strange dichotomy.

The mask was quite plain at the front, white to fit the suit jacket; it was without any features as if to avoid having an identity. The back was cloth and went down to the neck. It was likely easy to put on.

“For our country, I am sure you will be happy to serve under any circumstance. Our great city. Return to your quarters now. You will be given a surprise feast, fear not, it is not a test. Only a celebration of your success.”

003 swallowed, untrusting but not willing to contradict outwardly what was said. The screen and projection of light disappeared from the wall and they were left alone in the fluorescent lit room except for their guarding escorts, always there. They were taken back to their quarters and released.

An hour later a meal was given, truly one that they had not had before.

“Good, I’m starving,” 007 buzzed, sitting down on the couch in front of the steaming meat that seemed glazed in something sweet. There was a bone in the middle.

“How can you eat after that?” 006 murmured. Ever since his ‘return’ he had been a little whinier and more vocal about it too when any of them had the energy to speak or do anything at all.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry!” 007 pouted in response, looking annoyed towards 006 and poking him in the ribcage briefly.

“Ow! I have a burn there, cut it out!”

“You haven’t hea-”

“007, he’s hurt. Don’t.”

“Fiiiine~” 007 sang out looking hungrily now towards the meal, beginning to devour it.

003 sighed and looked at 002 who only shrugged in response not really knowing how to get 007 to not act up. Sometimes just a look was all it took. Sometimes 007 was in a mood and nothing could get him to pipe down. 003 knew that it was just one of the ways he coped with all that was happening to them, still he did not want him to act out unnecessarily against others going through the same process so he said something.

Now it was time to eat and 003 grew silent as he piled his bowl of rice with assortments of fermented vegetables and bits of meat, finding the ribs to be quite delicious. In time, 006 joined in too though he did not look happy about it. Hismood seemed to change when his stomach was filled with warming food.

It was their first day now as a true team, over a real meal. But 003 had a marked feeling in the pit of his stomach that what they had experienced was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

For Hongjoong, things had been going exceptionally well in the last several months, both in the office and in the field. After Mingi healed up well enough and was cleared for missions, they took a simpler one that was infiltrating a fairly small resistance base just outside of the city parameters and had gathered a decent amount of information on the dissenters. The team's spirits were in great order, as high as the skyscrapers that surrounded them. Hongjoong was proud to be the captain, and found himself almost boasting to any who would listen to how well they were doing at the expense of looking foolish. He really was proud.

This was all in spite of the sterile environment that they worked in. The sterile environment was hard to breathe in, but it provided a certain consistent stability, Hongjoong could always rely on the mundane to get him through his day and this balanced well with the occasional field missions that they were sent on. Ample time to have a taste of both, and to recover quietly in the confines of his office pushing around paperwork to his superiors wondering why he was doing any of this and how it impacted the world all around.

Of course he knew that putting down these rebellions was a good thing, it kept the town safe. But sometimes he quietly wondered if there was simply a way for them to reform these people. Surely they were worth saving, perhaps worth bringing into their fold to be trained as valiant warriors. If they believed in the right thing, they could be strong.

But, the government deemed them unsavory. Hongjoong did not protest their deaths, but silently considered other options, though he never dared voice them. Things were going well, why should he rock the well-oiled machine, the ship making its incredible voyage? He would not be the one, he had never been the type to question things. That was more Minjoong’s style anyway, and had been for a long time a point of contention between the two twin brothers.

Minjoong always asked ‘why’ after almost every sentence, it was unsurprising he had gone into some form of biology if you asked Hongjoong. Hongjoong rarely asked ‘why’; he had been the rambunctious, yet incredibly obedient son. Minjoong was obedient, but did the worst in secret. They balanced each other in this manner, and criticized each other heavily. But it was all in this criticism that they loved each other so deeply.

The bond of twins could hardly be described to any person who did not share such a bond. It was not only physical, it was mental and emotional. They carried each other’s burdens, and whilst they fought and argued they would never allow anyone else to turn on the other. Bullying was made only for one another, not for the likes of strangers. On more than one occasion, Hongjoong had beaten fellow students up in school for daring to pick on Minjoong. And Minjoong, well, he was not the physical type, but he had plenty to say for those that needed to hear it. It was a perfect balance, and it never shifted.

With their new jobs, they saw each other less and Hongjoong made a point to try and sit around and eat dinner together when they could. Though Minjoong would arrive late at times carrying empty strawberry cartons, it was always the same in this way. Hongjoong thought it was weird that his brother was consuming his body weight’s worth of strawberries, but he didn’t question it. Perhaps his job was difficult in ways that he could not quite pinpoint. After all neither of them could really truly talk about what each of them did, though Hongjoong’s job was far less secretive. It was obvious that he went on physical missions when he didn’t show up for days at a time or came home at odd hours.

Today was one of those quiet days where they would be having dinner together in their apartment. Hongjoong had gotten home early with some groceries with intent to cook or at least attempt to cook. They had some kimchi in the fridge so if all else failed he would just pile kimchi in with some rice and hoped that would work. It was Minjoong who was a better cook, but sometimes Hongjoong felt a pull towards wanting to be helpful, and today was one of those days.

Otherwise, he was attempting to make some jajangmyeon, and he had bought all of the ingredients that their mom had texted him but now it was a matter of putting them together in a way that made sense. His main goal was to simply not burn anything, which would be a challenge all on its own as he was prone to setting water on fire. He washed his hands and vegetables and started to work on cubing up the bits of pork that he had purchased, checking on his phone frequently at the recipe instructions as if he might miss a step in the midst of cutting the pork. It was a stressful process though in the end he did manage to make a product that resembled jajangmyeon, though he had to admit that the noodles were just a little undercooked. Perhaps, Minjoong would not notice… Scrutinizing the flavor, he managed to choke and cough a bit and scrunch his nose up at its ridge. It was slightly too salty… Well, it was quite a bit too salty.

Nonetheless, he decided to proceed with plating everything and setting it out onto their dining room table for two just as the door opened and the sound of a mousy body shuffling inside was heard.

“I’m home!”

“Hey.”

“Hey… What’s that smell?”

“I cooked!”

“You cooked?”

“Well, what? I’m not allowed to?”

“No, it’s more the fact that when you cook people tend to turn up sick some hours later.”

“Well! Maybe it’ll be better this time…! I made jajangmyeon!”

“Now I’m even more scared, did you at least cook the pork all the way through?”

“I think so.”

“Mm, well let’s hope.”

Hongjoong was standing awkwardly in the kitchen space near the sink still with a brown apron on, his toes were curled under his feet in his black socks and he was looking towards Minjoong quite sheepishly.

“You look like your soul left your body, what happened?”

“Nothing… Now I’m worried you’ll hate it.”

“We’ll just have kimchi rice if it’s super messed up.”

“Right, right…” Hongjoong relaxed a bit to at least put a dirty spoon into the sink and lean forward against the counter.

“How was work? Didn’t bring any strawberries today?”

“Didn’t have time. Work was… I don’t know, it’s been hard recently. Just a lot of things piling up. It’s just hard mentally, ya know?”

“Mmm. I can imagine.” Hongjoong had no idea in truth what Minjoong did, they never talked about it in great detail. He knew he was some scientist and worked on projects for the government, but that was the extent of it. To Hongjoong, the perils of death and brutality were far away from Minjoong - which was how he wanted it to be - so he could not properly determine how hard work truly was or not. In truth, Hongjoong thought that Minjoong’s job was likely a piece of cake in comparison to his own.

“Anyway!” Hongjoong clapped his hands together, almost cheesy in his mannerism. “Dinner’s ready so let’s settle down!”

“Alright.” Minjoong responded looking over his shoulder to note that dinner was in fact already plated and set out. Nonetheless he moved around Hongjoong, who was busy pulling off his apron to hang up - Minjoong was grabbing some warm tea to drink for their meal.

Hongjoong paid him no mind and approached to sit at the dining room table, pulling his little wooden chair in close and grabbing at his chopsticks. He was quite hungry.

“How was your work?” Minjoong finally asked moving to place his cup of tea down just ahead of his plate as he pulled his own chair close up to the table, picking up his chopsticks.

“Ah… Boss told me that the next mission is going to be ‘assisted’ whatever that means,” Hongjoong responded, though he was hardly pleased with expressing this. Not to Minjoong, but generally he was not pleased with his boss having told him that his team somehow needed assistance for the next mission.

Things had been going well, after all, and even his boss agreed that they were indeed. Which meant in Hongjoong’s head they would not require anymore hands in the pot for their missions. They were eight! How many more could they possibly send? It didn’t help that Hongjoong would have to oversee everyone who was sent on such a mission though the details were not heavily hashed out with him and he would likely know more when the date came closer. They did not go on numerous missions after all, so it was safe to assume that their next mission would not be for another month or two… Still, it was a little irritating. It bristled and rubbed Hongjoong in all the wrong ways, he saw it as an affront not only to him as a leader, as a captain, but also to his teams’ skill. He had not yet told the team about the extras, and he would not, but he could at least vent about it.

“I think he’s out of his mind, honestly, I get some missions require… More help, but my team is pretty big already. I don’t know why we would need even more. It will make delegating more difficult.”

That was when he started to slurp on some of the noodles, though it took everything in him to not make a face, he needed to act normal and hope that Minjoong would not notice how salty they were.

Minjoong was always such a good listener, maybe he would be too tuned in. And, he would eventually bring the noodles up to his mouth and blow on them because of the heat and put them in his mouth, sucking them in before he paused at least half way. Then, made a face and looked at Hongjoong. Their eyes locked somewhere in the middle.

“This could give an elephant a heart attack, it’s so salty.”

“Hey!”

“Were you tasting as you went? This is crazy,” Mingjoong complained, biting off what he had put in his mouth and swallowing it with a huge amount of reluctance as he sipped his warm tea, likely trying to wash the flavor down.

“No… Was I supposed to?”

“I suppose we’re having kimchi rice for dinner.”

“Oh come on! We can still eat this, it’s edible!” Hongjoong complained a little bit, almost tempted to pout at his twin for dismissing his food harshly and easily. “I worked hard on it.”

“Yes and I suppose you’ll work hard again in the future, right now it’s just not quite up to standard and I’d rather not end up in a hospital from a sodium overdose.”

“What’s sodium?”

“Salt.”

“Oh.” Hongjoong sighed and lowered his shoulders in defeat. His twin was probably right, though he hardly wanted to concede to his judgment of the meal. Even though it was horribly salty and he had been doing his best not to make a face in hopes that Minjoong would not notice. But, of course Minjoong noticed, he was a perceptive biologist, nothing ever escaped him. And Hongjoong was hardly the sniper of his team.

Minjoong was standing up with his bowl and moving back to the kitchen.

“What a waste…” He hummed sadly, placing the bowl near the sink as he turned to the refrigerator and dug up their small bucket of kimchi, and leftover rice. It didn’t take long to heat up, Minjoong was especially skilled at this whereas Hongjoong would likely just burn the leftover rice.

The two bowls were in front of them in due time and Hongjoong was reluctantly nibbling on what they often ate due to extreme working time constraints.

“Lame.” Hongjoong muttered, blowing on the steamy rice nestled so nicely between his chopsticks.

“Better than a heart attack and good for your stomach.” Minjoong reminded him, taking a bite of his leftovers.

“Yeah yeah… Thanks mom.”

“Actually, I’m dad.”

“What?” Hongjoong looked at Minjoong then and looked a touch stressed. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“Oh, seriously? I don’t have actual children, Hongjoong. I would have told you if I suddenly had children.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders lowered and he relaxed a bit.

“Yeah, you scared me for a second there hyung.”

“Well, why would I have kids?”

“I don’t know! You just said someone calls you dad!”

“It’s mostly… A work joke.”

“Oh. So you act like an old man? Got it.” Hongjoong smirked to himself, taking a few more bites of the rice, feeling quite clever.

“Thanks…” Minjoong grumbled in response, looking towards the nearest window by his side. They were several stories up, so all he could see was sky and rooftops and grayish skyscrapers nearby.

Hongjoong shrugged and stretched as he took a few more bites. He had always been one to get the stomach aches between the two of them. He ate things fast as if he were going to never get a meal again. Minjoong has always been more measured.

“Anyway! Can you believe my boss?”

“I mean, I can…” Minjoong almost seemed detached from the conversation.

“Are you even listening?”

“I am.”

“You went and cooked and didn’t even respond initially.”

“I don’t know how to respond, Hongjoong. Your boss probably has his reasons. It’s very unlike you to get upset over something your superiors tell you.”

“I-I know. I guess I just didn’t like- well he told me we’re doing well so I don’t know why we would need help or assistance.”

“Have you thought about maybe it has nothing to do with you?”

“Huh?”

“Maybe they’re testing something out.”

“Like what?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, idly chewing on his chopsticks for a moment.

“I don’t know. It’s just an idea. We don’t know what they are doing or what plans they have. Surely if you are doing well they would tell you as such and would not lie about your performance. That means there is something more to you getting some kind of assistance.”

Hongjoong paused, and then put some more rice and kimchi into his mouth as he mulled his brother’s words over.

“You’re probably right… Since when have you been so loyal to the state?”

“I work for it, it comes with the territory. Since when have you been so doubtful?”

“Hey hey! I’m not doubtful, I just… Got self conscious.”

“That’s not like you, Hongjoongie.”

“No I guess not. Maybe all that work is grating on my self esteem.”

“Maybe.”

Hongjoong looked down towards his bowl of food and put some more bites into his mouth and chewed in silence. They both seemed to go silent for a moment. That silence permeated the air between the two of them. It felt as if there was nothing more to say as they fully indulged in their humble meals. Hongjoong still felt pretty bad about messing up the jajangmyeon, but maybe he could ask their mom later for clearer directions about the salt or if there was a way to remove salt. Or, maybe he would just let Minjoong cook from now on. He was the more savvy of the two of them in that department. Hongjoong just fixed appliances and he felt pretty useless about it recently since almost nothing had been broken in their apartment.

“Ach! Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, huh?” Hongjoong finally voiced looking up towards his brother.

“Huh?”

“Well if I get assistance or not?”

“No?”

“No. I mean, it will happen regardless of whether I’m doing good or bad… or if I’m mad about it or not.”

“True. I suppose that’s a good way of looking at it.”

Hongjoong seemed content with this answer and smiled lightly before going back to eating his rice. It didn’t take a lot longer to completely finish eating it and then, he leaned back with a contented sigh.

“Thanks for dinner, as always I rely on you to survive.”

“Well let’s hope you’ll learn in case we ever decide to live separately.”

“Heh. Yeah, I guess I’ll work on it.” Hongjoong chuckled to himself, thinking that he would be a hilariously bad husband to any woman who would try to marry him. He could scarcely cook, which meant that he would never be able to make a special dinner date for the two of them. Though, he was also scarcely interested in women. It never plainly occurred to him, but he found the idea of diluting his attention away from his job to a spouse to be silly. He was married to his job and with how dangerous it was, he doubted it would be a good idea to marry at any point in his life. Maybe he would die in the line of duty then it would be on Minjoong to continue the family line. And Minjoong was also a bit consumed by work, he came home at odder hours than even Hongjoong did on a normal day. Between the two of them, marriage was almost entirely off the table.

“Mind if I go watch some tv?”

“No. Go ahead.”

“Thanks. Join me if you want.”

“I might… Might take a nap though, I’m really tired.”

“Alright, tell me and I’ll turn the volume down.”

“Okay.”

Hongjoong nodded and pushed his chair back to stand, shuffling quietly towards the kitchen to put his empty bowl in the sink. He would inevitably have to wash the dishes at some point for making a mess as he couldn't really make Minjoong do it - he was after all his hyung, and he had been the one who made a mess - since he was so tired.

With a soft sigh he wandered off towards their homey living room space and plopped down on the couch, laying into it with a quiet grunt of contentment as he turned on the television and started to watch some cartoons in silence. Though, not unlike Minjoong, he was always tired and felt himself drifting away, slowly falling asleep.

Maybe he could try breakfast for the two of them in the morning…

Chapter Text

It had been a grueling, long day at work. The piles of paperwork never seemed to cease, and when he got done with one bundle there seemed to be more to look at. Seonghwa did not get the brunt of paperwork in comparison to Hongjoong, but as his right-hand man he got enough to make his head spin. So, he could only wonder how Hongjoong felt signing and stamping all day. Were it not for their comprehensive training, he would have expected their hands to blister and bleed from how much work went into the back end alone. It was one thing to shoot criminals, another thing entirely to fill out paperwork about what happened… And that did not even put the debriefs into the picture.

Debriefs were hour-long meetings where the group was questioned under oath, all on an individual basis about what had occurred in the mission and how it had come to be successful. What actions got them to that junction and what information they managed to extract from the enemies of the state.

It took a great deal out of Seonghwa emotionally, though emotions were better off suppressed so he never shared how he felt especially not when he was sitting in his office or in Hongjoong’s office - for the mental company - signing yet another arbitrary thing. Or, at least at times they felt horribly arbitrary.

It was not very often that Hongjoong and Seonghwa got time alone. There were days where they would take a coffee break together by going down to the nearby cafe and grabbing some very standard brews, but all other times were filled with being in some kind of state of surveillance. There were cameras almost everywhere in the government building, save the offices of the higher-ups such as Hongjoong. But even then, when he sat with him, they always ran the risk of someone wandering in, usually someone from the team to report to them on something that they had found out. A secretary, a commanding officer, any number of people could come in and babble at both of them for hours. Needless to say, Seonghwa was content when they did get alone time.

From their very first meeting, he had a warm feeling towards Hongjoong. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, though it felt like a mixture of anxiety and happiness. A strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. But it was one that he sought after, and it was one that he only got when he was in Hongjoong’s presence so he continued on after it like a stray pup.

This evening, their alone time came in the form of travel. Seonghwa had a small car that he had been able to save up for and had thus invited Hongjoong to take a drive with him. Namely that he would take Hongjoong to his apartment from work if he desired.

Hongjoong had agreed to it and Seonghwa felt that feeling return knowing that he would get to spend alone time with Hongjoong. The real Hongjoong, not just the Captain that he felt he knew so well now.

Once the day was over, Seonghwa went to the lobby to check out from the building with the guards there. Then went to stand just outside of the building, spinning his keys around his index finger nervously. There was a slight chill in the air, likely from the darkness that came with night but he shouldered his suit jacket slightly to try and make it fit more snugly around his torso to stave off the cold.

A sigh left him and he glanced up. The sky was pitch black. Stars were not visible in the city. The city blacked them all out for how bright everything in the city was. The neon lights, the bright bursts of blues and purples along the roads lit the way. Skyscrapers reached into the clouds. It was impossible to see, but Seonghwa was not looking towards the stars, he had not been curious about their existence in a very long time - it was futile to be curious about them when they were invisible - instead he was looking up towards the nearest skyscraper that was lit with bright purple and pink-ish highlights along the sides. A projection played on the side of the building, an advertisement on loop about brushing one’s teeth.

It was like a merry-go-round at a carnival, it always came back to the same spot. Yet, somehow it had a hypnotizing quality to it. Seonghwa considered this dimension of the advertisement for a moment, before a warm hand was placed on his shoulder.

“Ready to go?”

It snapped him back to reality, or at least the reality of what was here on the ground. Not so far up in the air that he could not care or dare to touch it. It was not real, just a projection of an advertisement. It was meant to push a rhetoric, it was not Hongjoong whose fingers touched against him so delicately that it made his heart skip a beat.

“Oh- yeah,” Seonghwa nodded, almost humiliated to have been found staring longingly at a dog brushing its teeth and giving a thumbs up over and over again.

“Dreaming about brushing your teeth?”

“N-No, Captain. It’s just-”

“You don’t have to call me Captain outside of work. Hongjoong is fine.”

Seonghwa swallowed and started to walk.

“Alright, Hongjoong then - I was just staring. Guess I’m tired.”

“I can understand that, I find the missions we go on to be easier at times than the paperwork you and I both have to get through in the office.”

“Mm,” Seonghwa had been softening and he knew that he was. In the beginning he had tried to put a front, but he had seen Hongjoong’s own anxieties flourish and he felt affection grow in his chest towards the other man. Because that small vulnerability made him that much more human, it made Seonghwa feel just that much safer to be himself around the team’s captain.

A soft sigh left Seonghwa’s lips then as they walked along into the sprawling parking garage of the government building. It was large, required an ID to get in and aside from that was well protected. It was impossible to walk in, even on foot unless the credentials permitted it be so.

“Thanks for taking me home.”

“No problem. I thought it might be better than taking the bus or something.”

“Yeah… Well, it is better, but I don’t fuss.”

“None of us fuss but it’s nice to have some luxuries.”

“Won’t disagree with you there.” Seonghwa dipped his head in a nod alongside his words as they walked into the garage. It took an elevator ride up to the third floor and a bit of walking before they got to his car.

It was nothing impressive, a decent model, several years old. But pristinely clean with the rubber of the tires clearly having been cared for recently and the paint was unchipped. No dents. Seonghwa wandered over to the passenger side to open it for Hongjoong.

“Oh,” Hongjoong blinked and then laughed. Seonghwa frowned slightly.

“What?”

“You didn’t have to open it for me.”

“Isn’t that the nice thing to do?”

“Well, I suppose. If you’re going on a date.”

It almost made Seonghwa choke, his fingers gripping the door handle as if he were going to break it off for a moment.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Hongjoong shook his hands and his head defensively but Seonghwa was just seeing the advertisement of the dog again in his head in his panic.

Slowly though his fingers peeled from the door handle.

“No, I’m sorry. I should not have thought of you so poorly. It implicates your honor.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, I was mostly joking.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Seonghwa swallowed and looked at Hongjoong. Their eyes met, but he was not sure what to take away from this awkward situation. He did not know car etiquette very well, and had only seen this sort of action in movies. Now he knew that it was best not to act on things he had seen in film.

He cleared his throat and started to move to the driver’s side looking over briefly to see Hongjoong sliding into the vehicle from the originally offered opened door. It shut before Seonghwa moved to open his own side properly to get in. The seat belt was the first thing that went on with a click, his stomach churning as if he were in a car with some sort of celebrity. Why was he so nervous about this? Normally he acted cool, calm and collected, these were the things that came easily to him. He was trained to act as such, to suppress outward feelings that made him feel anything extreme. Yet there he sat with his hands in his lap, perfectly still as he realized that he was feeling an extreme swirling around in his stomach. It was not the first time, and he had no idea if it would be the last. But he wanted it to be the last. The government did not care for these ‘extremes’. Extremes were where happiness was severely compromised, the happiness of the individual experiencing an extreme and the happiness of the collective. And nothing mattered more than to be happy and content. But happiness within these specific parameters, happiness that diluted - to avoid extremes. It all came down to that one detail.

“Gonna turn the car on?”

The voice once again snapped him from the dazed stare into a cement wall. He restrained himself from jumping, placed the keys into the ignition and turned them. The car roared to life, being an older model it was not quite as silent as some of the newer ones but silence was hardly a concern.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Seonghwa found it quite twisting to his stomach that Hongjoong would be so understanding and so quick to forgive. There should not be a reason for him to have to forgive or understand. Yet Seonghwa was giving him a litany of those reasons through his strange behavior this evening. So, Seonghwa resolved to try and act as if he were in fact very tired. He rubbed at his eyes towards the center, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.

“If you’re tired, you want me to drive?”

“No. No, I think I’ll be okay.” Seonghwa nodded, convincing himself that he would be okay more than anything as he put the car into reverse and started to back out of the spot carefully.

Once they were out he would turn the wheels to go into a slight curve before straightening out.

“There we go. Just tell me where to go. Don’t know exactly where your place is.”

“No problem.” Hongjoong nodded and Seonghwa finally let a small smile crack onto his features. It was a rare thing for him to smile, because usually the mask that he wore was more imperative. But this was one of those moments he craved, where they were alone and no one was around them. It meant that he could be more like himself instead of worrying about what the outside world might think of him, or them… Together. His stomach twisted into a harder knot than before, the world surely would not think that they were ACTUALLY together, right?

It could be compromising. But for now, he would vow that they were just friends, nothing more. Friends, co-workers… Seonghwa could not even imagine Hongjoong like that. He would tell this to himself until the day he died. Hongjoong, his captain, was nothing more than a good friend and a good co-worker. An incredible co-worker.

A cute one, an attractive one-

“So, what do you do when you’re home alone?”

“Ah, I have a few plants so I take care of them.”

“You garden?” Hongjoong balked.

“Y-Yeah. Is that strange?”

“No. That’s interesting, actually. Definitely unexpected.”

Seonghwa nodded.

“Yeah, I grow some of my own food just for fun.”

“Maybe you’ll have to teach me then.”

“Alright.” Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel bashful about the idea. Gardening was such a private thing for him and it felt intimate. At least with his plants, so he wondered how it would feel with Hongjoong.

“How about you? What do you do when you’re off work?”

“I usually just watch tv and fall asleep. My brother cooks but other than that…”

“Your twin brother?”

“Yeah, Minjoong.”

Seonghwa nodded, he could only imagine what it would be like to have both of them in front of him at the same time. Twins. That was a strange concept indeed, he wondered if they acted differently and if so - how?

“You two anything alike?”

That elicited a laugh from Hongjoong, a light one.

“God no! He’s a little dweeb of a biologist. We’re not anything alike.”

“Oh. That’s surprising…?”

“Why because we’re twins?”

“Well I guess I have no idea what twins should act like.”

“Twins are usually the same in looks alone, our personalities tend to be totally different.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

Seonghwa mused lightly on the idea as he turned down a street.

“Get on the main road leading out of the center.” Hongjoong instructed and Seonghwa nodded to himself as they continued to drive.

“Do you have siblings?”

“No.”

“What about your parents? They live in the city?”

“Er, well…” Seonghwa grimaced a bit to himself, his teeth grinding against each other before he sighed. “My parents are dead.”

“I-”

“It was a while ago though.”

“I’m sorry… C-Can I ask what happened?”

“Bombing.” Seonghwa’s heart steeled in that moment, he looked down from the road for a moment into his lap. Then towards Hongjoong before he looked back to the racing road ahead.

“There was a bombing some years ago from some anti-government fighters in a market. Th-They were both out that day shopping and…”

“You don’t have to say more.”

“I know, but… Well it’s why I joined the ranks the way I did. It was a deciding moment for me. Anyone who would so easily kill innocents, well they don’t deserve the liberty and freedom to continue living. I would be the end of them, if it was the last thing I did.”

“I understand. That must have been very hard for you.”

“It still is.” Seonghwa never told anyone how hard it was because speaking out on feelings was looked down upon. Especially for a young military man such as himself. But every day, he suffered and missed his parents. It was as if they were only there yesterday and he could call his mom or come over to visit and she would give him her batch of kimchi. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and so did his jaw. Seonghwa swallowed hard in that moment, realizing how painful it was to talk about or even think about. There was not a memory left of them, he didn’t even have her kimchi recipe so that he could reminisce. The government had acquisitioned everything from his parents home thinking that they were targets for some reason or another, during a large investigation.

Seonghwa inhaled hard, breathing the feeling of tears away from his eyes.

“Is that why you garden?”

“No…”

“I mean, because it just gives you something to do?”

“I suppose.”

“You know, you don’t have to be so lonely.” Hongjoong offered and Seonghwa glanced over, his brows knitted together in slight confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when was the last time you spent a holiday with someone?”

“Not since then.”

“Well…” Hongjoong trailed, pausing as he looked out the side window in contemplation and Seonghwa could not help but look over again. A brief glance, but a snapshot of the soft features of his captain and the way they were nicely lit by the blue-tinted lights outside.

“You could always join Minjoong and I at our parents' home for holidays?”

“Huh?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Some people are just lucky to not be lonely, and yet those people don’t help others who have had it worse.”

“We’re all equals. I don’t have it worse than you, captain.”

“Hongjoong.”

“Right, Hongjoong…”

“But I have somewhere I can return to if I wanted. That doesn’t make us equals here,” Hongjoong pointed to his own head, tapping the side of it gently.

“What do you mean?”

“I have not cried over or mourned the death of my parents. That’s a privilege. A privilege that all of us should have, but sometimes it is taken from us unjustly. So those that are more privileged should lend a hand. Plus… I feel a particular kinship with you - turn left up there - we’re more like partners than a captain and a right hand man.”

“I still take orders from you.”

“Well sure, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think of you as an equal.”

“Thank you sir - Hongjoong.” Seonghwa sighed, his shoulders drooping a little bit as he turned left at the indicated road. “Takes getting used to.”

“It’s alright. Turn left again, we’re close!”

“But what do you say? Maybe next holiday, you will come to my parents' home and celebrate with my family?”

“I,” Seonghwa felt as if he could not, but he turned left again obediently, his mind moving a million miles a minute. Surely, Hongjoong could not be serious?

“I would love to, but would that be seen as quite odd?”

“Maybe? But who cares, right?”

“Well… Do you think your parents would care?”

“No. I mean, I’ll ask but my mom loves to cook. That’s how Minjoong learned how to so I’m sure she’d be happy to make more food for all of us.”

“And kimchi?”

Hongjoong chuckled - “And kimchi.”

Seonghwa went silent for a moment just staring at the road ahead. They were passing by smaller buildings until they hit a four way.

“Just go straight and then right. That building up there is mine.”

Seonghwa didn’t respond, just acted on the commands in silence. That silence continued to permeate the air, his chest heavy as if he wanted to blurt out an answer but he was forcing himself to think as they crossed the four-way intersection. The lights here were not as overwhelming. He made a very precise and careful right turn and drove forward until the building came up to his right shoulder and he came to a gentle stop.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Seonghwa looked towards Hongjoong as he seemed to light up at his acceptance.

“Y-Yeah.” That feeling of anxious happiness returned as Hongjoong scrambled out of the car.

“Nice. I’ll ask mom tonight then..!”

Seonghwa nodded, feeling his face glow hot red.

“Thanks for the ride by the way and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Oh, right. Well, I’ll see you on Monday then.”

“S-See you.”

The door was shut and Hongjoong disappeared into the building. It left Seonghwa to sit there for a moment, contemplating what he had just agreed to doing. Wondering if it was a good idea or a bad one. Ultimately deciding that it was the best one - because he would be around Hongjoong.

Chapter Text

The air was dry and stale when they were woken up that morning. Time was slow in this holding area, it seemed to slither by like a snake on a cold evening moving laxly towards its burrow. They knew time by the visits they received by their two primary caretakers. The doctor who they had come to despise in silence, and Minjoong who was always bushy-tailed and bright-eyed to see them. 003 loved the smile that was always pasted on Minjoong's face, it did not seem it mattered what kind of morning or evening it would be because he always came and always seemed to be cheerful with them. It was always nice to see some kind of smile in an otherwise cold and sterile environment.

003 had grown fond, and he had done so quickly. Though with all their training he had learned to shove the feeling deep inside, towards the bottom of his stomach so it never dared to rear its fangs. Though they were all still young, 003 understood their purpose at this point in time - they were made to be machines, killing machines. Some kind of artifacts of war, though they had done nothing of the sort to this junction.

Their vitals were taken that morning, quick pricks of their fingers to check and ensure that they were in good physical health despite the nicks and cuts covered in gauze all over their bodies. These would heal with time, it was the inside that most concerned their caretakers. Minjoong was not present this morning and everyone seemed to stare at the doctor coldly as he wandered in, regarding them more as objects than people. 003 had a special feeling for the man, and yet he had no way of discerning the feeling into a word that he knew. Some words were not yet immediate for his vocabulary. Some lapsed on the tip of his tongue like a babbling babe, only learning how to speak recently.

They stared on as one by one their blood was checked, their heart rates and blood pressure was checked. Everything from tip to toe. 003 felt particularly stoic today, finding resistance in his usually springy muscles to obey the command of the doctor.

"Sit. Stand. Bend over."

They were monstrous even if they appeared basic in nature. It had never come to his mind before, this idea to rebel and resist. 003 might have obeyed easier two weeks ago, but the more his mind broke to become a warrior, the more it also cracked towards the cruelty by which the mysterious overlords were achieving their becoming weapons of mass destruction.

He still obeyed, but just enough to not raise suspicion. His breathing slightly shallow, he received a smack to the back which made him cough up air.

"Breathe normal." The doctor spat in irritation as he pressed a stethoscope to his chest, glowering as he did. 003 scrunched his nose out of sight of the doctor before he took a deep breath in an attempt to compensate for how shallow his breathing was.

"Better." The doctor praised as if 003 were a dog.

Once they were all properly checked over the doctor stepped back and bid them to dress and in doing so he would leave the room with one guard at his side.

That was another difference that 003 had noticed. The doctor treated them as dangerous creatures, Minjoong had always come in unarmed and without guards. Or, at least not a guard like this. It made an impression on all of them. An impression that reminded them of Minjoong's kindness towards them, he did not see them as dangerous. 003 saw it as more than a compliment, but a statement of how they were viewed in a more genuine and close relationship. Perhaps he was naive for it, but with how casual Minjoong always was with them lifted their spirits.

There was one more guard who then quickly went on the offense and pointed a gun towards the lined up crew of seven soldiers.

"Dress properly, you will be moved."

The command was taken and in their placated obedience they would dress in their basic military black. Trousers, boots, black tucked in tank tops and a black jacket made of a rough fabric that would be thrown over their shoulders for if it were cold. They primarily wore white otherwise, their bodies were almost always blending in with the surroundings. Black for darker surroundings - like upstairs - and white for their holding cells and common area, as well as training areas that were decked out in white. They had no identity and no independence. Their minds were meant to be one. But 003 had noticed that even with the training, their minds had not become one. At least in the way the higher-ups had intended. They had become a good team, but they still varied from each other distinctly. They could not show this weakness in the armor though, it risked their extinction and their desire to self-preserve had grown stronger. This was something that 003 knew for certain as the feeling had grown in him as much as it had grown in the others. They had all quietly discussed it among each other on evenings after training over the supper that they were allowed to have to maintain their muscles and nutrient intake.

There was a hesitation in the movements of their muscles this morning, everyone was slower and a bit jumpier for one reason or another. 003 felt tension, he did not like to feel this tense himself but perhaps there had been a shared feeling between all of them when they had slept.

Once their bodies were properly dressed they would be escorted out by the guard who stood some ways away but kept now an automatic weapon pointed at them. A sweeping motion and the pull of a trigger would easily put them all down. They didn't move anywhere but forward until three more guards appeared from the outside of their holding cells. They were bid to sit on some sort of moving contraption, gagged and blindfolded. Only their sense of smell and the direction of a light sterile breeze moving against their cheeks remained unobstructed. They were seemingly moved by this strange vehicle to their final destination.

When the vehicle lurched to a stop 003 felt his body freeze, his muscles were known for locking up. It was a side effect of the drug that they were given to maintain them, and a mechanism that kept them in place when danger knocked upon their doorstep instead of running like a human counterpart would run. Their senses still screamed and cried like a small scared child, at least 003's did. But he had grown to also love success in the field, he did well in their training even with how brutal and animalistic it was. It failed to provide them with much care or 'humanity' or at the very least the concept of humanity. None of the clones had a strong understanding of what humanity was, they knew words, and they knew how they were supposed to feel. But they had never experienced those feelings in great depth. Much of their short existence had been shallow, invested with each other. Warm feelings felt strange, distant, foreign and futile.

Their gags and blindfolds were removed, the clicking of mechanisms was the sign of that before they were all bid to stand in a line.

The room they had been brought into was well padded along the walls, so the sound did not travel far. It was shallow here, like their understanding of the world. It made the ears ring with a debilitating silence as they all stood there and footsteps were dampened by the guards as two walked away from the group to put away their restraints. The other two remained standing with their weapons pointed towards the seven.

They all stood at attention, barely breathing as their muscles locked into a state of hyper focus. Even 007 did not seem to budge, and he was the most flighty of them all. Not cowardly, but mobile. He did not like to stay still for too long; it was as if his muscles were nervous all the time.

003 saw how they all stood from his peripheral but quickly looked ahead when a door opened and slammed shut. None of them jumped, they just kept staring. A man in a mask stood in front of them, but it was not the man that they had seen on television screens before, the one whispering sweet soothing nothings in their ears about showing no mercy to their enemies. This one was different, his posture was slumped, older. The demeanor was fragile. Any one of the clones could snap this masked man in half, but none dared to move.

"Your training days are over," The man would begin, his voice like cracked smoke.

"You will from now on act as a fully functioning unit in the name of the world, the government and those who are supreme. You will protect your creators, as a child honors its parents."

003 listened and watched the man. Not a single part of him moved with any amount of flourish as he spoke. There was no desire to move, or more so there was no need to move. His lack of movement seemed to command authority even through his fragile physical state and crackling voice. 003 felt compelled to listen, his mind bending to the words that were spoken easily as if it were plastic left out and baked in the sun. Metal in a screaming furnace.

"Today you will be put to the test for all the training that you have done with a true mission."

The silence grew heavier, 003 felt something bubble in his chest that he had not yet felt before. It was a new feeling, and it was not one that he knew how to understand or verbalize. There was a compulsion to look over at the others but he did not dare, he just kept staring at the speaking masked man. For a moment though, he wondered how the others felt. Was the same feeling that was so intense appearing in their chests? The apple of his throat bobbed and he felt it do so as he swallowed. In here they had hardly dared to breathe, in front of their superiors, their overlords. It was as if to have some kind of human function would have them be killed and they all knew well enough that these men would not hesitate to kill them. They had been killed before, and remade in their image. It was as terrifying as one would expect.

The old man motioned suddenly, his stiff figure raising one arm only to curve index and middle fingers against the disfigurement of his gloved hands.

Guards moved immediately, they pushed two boxes in, boxes with hinges and other verification methods along the top. The masked man placed his fingers against the boxes, and one of the guards did the same on the other side at the same time. They both whispered something too quietly for 003 to hear before the boxes would open with a pop. The hinges leveraging whatever was inside.

On the platforms revealed to them were clothes, vests, proper trousers, boots that were taller in length than the ones they wrote. There were masks here too, they appeared ornamental, but a closer inspection revealed the thick padding and built in kevlar.

The other box had weapons, many weapons.

"Dress, you will find each piece has tags with your numbers lining it. Find your assigned number, it is made to fit perfectly."

The old man then departed from the room while the clones were left to put on these outfits. Even the weapons, the rifles, the guns, and grenades had numbers on them... There was a sniper that had a telltale 003 engraved into it. All the while the guards never stopped pointing their own weapons at them - even with the odds seemingly leveled.

003 knew that it was unlikely that the guards were the only line of defense. They were the first line of defense, they were brought to specific rooms for a reason and never saw the entirety of the facility they lived in on purpose.

003 did not think for one second that they were given these weapons without a second line of defense. Their keepers were not so daft. So he dressed in silence, the shuffling of their bodies was silenced by the padding of the room. Once the clothing was on their bodies and they were lined up again the masked-man addressed them once more.

"You will be taken to your destination now and given orders through communication devices. Do not fail us."

It was sudden, a sharp pain in 003's neck. Sharp, but quick. Then nothing. Darkness consumed him. He did not even feel himself hit the ground before he did. He woke up to a buzzing next, like an inorganic lighting fixture overhead. The smell of gasoline filled his lungs as he groaned.

They were in a dimly lit van now seemingly alone.

003 had been the first to wake, slowly finding the clasp to his binds as the vehicle rocked back and forth. There was a tan folder on the ground between all of them and 003 reached out to look it over. Inside were a few files, some unknown faces and attributes. They were targets.

"What's the big idea?"

007's voice broke the air and 003 glanced over.

"It was to be expected."

"I hate it when they do that."

"Well it's not as if we have much of a choice," 004 responded bitterly. 002 undid the clasp along his shoulders, allowing the van to rock him a little bit more.

"What's that?" 006 called out pointing towards the folder.

"Our targets, it seems." 003 responded, passing out the different papers with the team as he watched them all squint. None of them were particularly good at reading, but some of it felt innate so they were capable of it. The most important thing was the faces, and basic attributes that they could understand.

"This one's the leader." 005 held up his paper.

"Yes, I think we will have to lure him out into the open." 002 chimed in, leaning over towards 005 to look at the picture of the leader, who had a venomous look in his eyes. He appeared charismatic. "That way 003 can take him out."

"Why 003?" 007 whined, complaining suddenly that he would not be the star of the show.

"Because 003 is our best shot. A sniper is the best choice with a cocky leader." 002 chided.

"And how do you know he is as you said 'cocky'?" 007 asked, attempting to appear as a genius strategist though it was clear that he was more a fast-talker and less of a strategist.

"Look at him? If it's not obvious then nothing in the world is obvious." 005 handed the picture to 007 across from him who glanced at him as if he were sizing him up.

"I can take him!"

"No, 007."

"I mean lure him out, ugh."

They all were silent for a moment, considering the words that were spoken by 007. He had proven himself to be the most scrappy, he often got into trouble during their training for doing things in a fairly unorthodox way. In the moment it seemed that arguing with him was futile and so the back of the van let out a synchronized sigh.

"Fine." 003 finally said, glancing towards 007. "But don't get yourself killed in the process, alright?"

"Sure, sure."

The van lurched suddenly to a stop then and a high-pitched radio wave sound pierced their ears, making 003 realize that they already had ear pieces given to them while they were out.

"Entering the extermination area. Proceed out of the vehicle. Rendezvous back at the vehicle in one hour with a mission report."

It seemed difficult that a mission would be handed and accomplished all in one hour, considering they had woken up only moments ago, and had only a basic strategy. But with multiple targets to terminate they had little time to think or consider their action. They were built to work this way and when the van's back doors were thrown open the group stepped out into a hot blistering desert scene the wind whipping at the sand all around.

003 yanked at his mask covering his nose a little more. Instinctively he reached up to press down against the button in his ear.

"Check, check."

"We can hear you." 007 responded, a smirk on his voice.

"Good. I will set up a shot point away from the hideout. I will provide cover as necessary, however if I am down to my last bullet it will remain for the leader. Do not make me waste shots." 003 shared before the crackle of 002's voice interjected.

"I will lead us into the nest, shoot indiscriminately. Isolate better warriors, where bullets are not enough, our physical strength will be. Do not jeopardize the goal. Let's move out." 002 motioned and the team followed along aside from 003.

003 did as he had implied he would do, moved towards the outskirts of their area of infiltration finding a high point on hot desert sand and creating a flat spot where he could lay down on his stomach and set up his sniper. It would be difficult to lay in the heat in all of this black clothing, but they had no choice. They had prepared for this moment for many weeks now and they would succeed.

Once he was properly set up he touched against his ear.

"003 ready."

It was a whisper as he watched his team move in on the hornets nest from above. It was a difficult spot to be a sniper, it was vulnerable firstly, but it was also hard to watch action without being there. He understood that he would not be able to move if something happened and if he was exposed and any enemies realized his position and flanked him. But he hoped, he trusted that the team would succeed in spite of these worries that plagued the back of his mind.

The infiltration unfolded soon after, 003 could hear bullets flying. The whirling and deep groans of grenades expelling their force outwards. It unfolded, the silence pierced and disturbed but he remained motionless fixated on the scene through his long scope.

002 had taken the lead as he had promised, several grunts shot down at the beginning of the battle and a grenade unplugged as three huddled behind a vehicle they had stolen from the government. It was a bulletproof one, but not grenade proof, 003 could tell by the make of it from training that it would not withstand the force of the grenade exploding as their enemies had initially believed. Bullets had a piercing quality to them, grenades were a little different in that they only pierced as an after effect, their primary power was in how they expelled their power outwards instead of forwards, which meant more disastrous results at a close proximity.

004 was on 002's heels, he had a fairly tall body which allowed him to cover a great deal of distance while acting as a point of contact for enemies who might think to gun him down first. But it would never be 004 that they should worry about, he had a soft touch and a soft soul. He had always been the one who hesitated to put everyone down. It had always been 005 who rushed in from behind him, brazen and emboldened like a guard dog biting at the bit to be let go. 004 distracted and 005 attacked. Several more bodies fell into the sand, soaking it with blood.

It was strange to see from afar, the blood mixing with the sand. The way their faces became so limp and expressionless in those last moments. In a rarer case, 003 saw the terror through his scope. It was a special kind of hell that they were unleashing on these rebels. His mind was hell bent on carrying out their commands perfectly, and he could not help but smile to himself almost sadistically at the way they were exterminated.

"Requesting backup!" 006's voice called out. He had a much more precise rifle, it did not splinter an unending stream of bullets but rather focused its powerful punch towards smaller groups of enemies.

006 had taken the side of the building by himself; it seemed as it had been the side that they ascertained to be the least guarded but as more individuals flooded from the area they knew that their assumption had been off.

"008 on the way." 002 responded, his voice cutting through the chaos of their battle.

008 had not been able to speak ever since he had been replaced, something about his vocal chords had been damaged - they had assumed that it had something to do with the haste with which their superiors had created him. Mistakes were bound to happen. It had created tension, especially with how close 005 and 008 had grown prior to their training days. 005 felt no particular love or kinship for how they had been treated as a result. 003 had to remind him to not raise his voice on the topic.

008 had no issues comprehending things, but he was big and strong. A heavier set body than the rest of them and he took damage and punishment easier too. He would be the perfect back-up for 006 who tended to talk bigger than he actually acted. 006 was hurt easily and whined often in spite of a body that seemed to be more on par with 004's.

008 arrived quickly to 006's side and started to fire off his rifle. The most difficult part of all of this was emboldening their enemy to shoot more, and in a seemingly stupid act of bravery or strategy 008 stepped out from behind the scrap metal that he was using for cover.

He became the target immediately.

"What are you doing? Get down! Get down!" 003 heard over his ear piece as he watched with some horror a huge volley unleash in 008's direction. He took several bullets as 006 tried to retaliate against the group of enemies.

It worked. 008's left arm, shoulder and abdomen were blown from the bullets, but 006 managed in that moment to take out the enemies as well.

"008 is injured!" 006 called out to his microphone to the rest of the team as he moved from cover to cover to get to his teammate.

"Shit."

"Status report on 008!" 002 called.

"Bleeding. Bullet injuries to arm, shoulder and stomach."

"Staunch bleeding, do not proceed inside. I repeat do NOT proceed or engage!"

Terrified but unwilling to go against what 002 told him to do, 006 remained near 008, putting down his weapon to start working on staunching the bleeding.

"004 come in, how do I stop the bleeding?" 006 cried out, nervous, whimpering at what was going on.

"006, breathe and apply pressure. If bullets are obvious do not remove them."

006 started to apply pressure and it was then that 003 switched his attention to the main group. 004 and 005 were acting particularly violently to their enemies. What was strange was that 007 had not yet made himself known in this entire encounter. Looking down his scope 003 could not find 007 at all.

"007, your location?"

"I'm inside!"

"What?"

"I'm inside, be on standby!"

The entire group was shell shocked, when had the slippery 007 gotten inside the building without getting shot?

003 did not like not knowing where 007 would be coming out of but there was something telling him that he would be able to hear or see him once it started to happen if only because 007 hardly ever made himself hidden - which was why it had been doubly shocking to hear that he had gotten inside without anyone noticing.

The majority of the area seemed clear near the outside, and 003 had not yet wasted a bullet - which was a good thing for him, but he could not help but hold his breath as he waited to get some higher-ups out in the open.

The rest of the group had not yet gone inside and 002 instead had a different idea.

"If you are still inside the building! Come out and surrender, you will be spared. If you lead this foul nest of pitiful hornets, come out and die like men!"

The words did not seem to solve anything at first, the entire grouping that had remained outside just stood there and held their breath, expecting to be rained down upon with bullets and explosives.

Everything remained silent.

It was strange to think that silence could cause this much anxiety, but it was bullets that they expected. Not silence.

"007... Status report?" 003 whispered, pressing down against the earpiece his jaw tight with anticipation.

It was hard to hear anything from his vantage point, but he could tell that the building was strangely silent too.

Several beats passed and there was not a single answer.

"007! Status report!" His voice became hurried, painful, rushed. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that he had learned to suppress in training but now in the field seemed to crop up like a menace. 003's breath became shallow, they could not have lost 007, on their first mission, could they have?

The silence dragged on for a strange amount of time, and then suddenly the front doors burst open, with 007 holding onto a man who was wriggling in his arms while the clone held him hard around the throat, choking him into submission.

Relief washed through 003 as he watched down his long scope, seeing what was happening. The man that 007 had grabbed was not the leader, but he was the right-hand man it seemed.

Before 003 could act and shoot the man, 007 turned towards the building and started to screech, shouting into the silent void of their infiltration target.

"Come out now! Now! I have your best friend! If you don't come out, I'll kill him or I'll have a friend kill him!" 007 was loud enough even for 003 to hear up on his hill.

003 looked towards the many doors of the building and adjusted his rifle so that it could be used at a moment's notice.

Indeed, it was all it took, the brash coaxing of 007 with a captive had the leader walking out with a rifle ready to shoot from one of the side doors. He was ready to unload a round on the entire group when he was met with a decisive end.

003's bullet cut through the air, it sang true and silent. It quickly ended the man's life before he could do more damage. Soon after another gunshot sounded and 007's captive was bleeding into the sand, dead.

"Don't ever do that again, 007!" 003 chided now quite loudly.

"Whatever, it worked! Oh, also I left one alive inside-"

"You what?"

"To interrogate, duh."

"Those were not our orders. Is there anyone else inside?"

"No. Just the one."

"Exterminate him. Everyone rendezvous."

"What about 008?" 006's voice called out through their radio.

"Can he get up?"

"Yes but he shouldn't."

"006 and 004, carry him back to our point."

003 quickly dismantled his setup and pulled himself up off of the hot sand brushing granules from the black fabric of the outfit that was clinging so close to his body.

It was a bit of a shame that he had not gotten the chance to kill more today, but there would be another time. He had an intuitive feeling that the government would be using them at an accelerated pace, with their ability to recover as they did. With the rifle slung on his back and the scope put away he started down the dunes towards where they had agreed to meet.

One more gunshot was heard from a distance, a sign that 007 had put down their last target in the area.

006 and 004 arrived first hauling 008 the best they could. 008 was the least lean of the entire group, but because of this he was also one of the strongest physically. 006 and 004 were the tallest and could therefore more easily lift 008 without him being cumbersome.

It was obvious as they brought 008 in that he was in pain and was grimacing with almost every move. His wounds were bleeding but mostly the sand sticking to his wounds was soaked. It seemed that 006 had shoved sand into the wounds to make sure that he did not bleed out too much.

"Mission report!" The voice from the vehicle boomed, it was unclear if the mission report request was coming from someone in the vehicle, or if someone was watching the vehicle and speaking through a distant microphone.

"003 reporting, mission successful. Extermination area secured. No casualties. Primary injury, 008. Sustained wounds in assistance to 006."

As 003 spoke he realized how ashamed 006 looked from the corner of his eye.

It made him feel something particularly intense in the pit of his stomach. It was not sadness, it was a lot more complicated than that and there was not a word that he knew to describe it.

"Board vehicle, prepare for debriefing upon arrival. 008 to receive immediate medical attention."

The back of the van opened automatically and they all piled it, pulling 008 in behind them and doing their best to make sure he had an easier ride home that he would have otherwise if he would have been left to his own devices.

004 did his best with the medical knowledge he did have and 005 stayed knelt by 008 the entire time, holding onto his hand in reassurance, his lips pressed together.

The rest sat in silence in the dim light. Their arrival was marked not with cheers to their success but more gags and blindfolds, more transportation and debriefing of the entire mission on a case by case basis.

It was not until much later that they all were allowed to return to their holding cells and 008 was returned as well with a sling and a significant amount of bandaging around his abdomen. 008 went straight to bed, having been told to not move or risk splintering and breaking his stitches.

That evening over supper, 002 and 007 played some silly hand games that they had invented and everyone watched - except 005 who had disappeared into 008's room and could not help but worry.

Chapter Text

The city was always lit up brightly at night. The neon signs flashed with the promise of warm meals at almost every corner. The roads were vibrantly lined creating easy to navigate pathways throughout the entire metro. Announcements were frequent overhead, especially towards the heart of the city. A dull voice coming over the intercom to remind individuals that wandered through the city of their identifications being clearly visible, their age and position related curfews, and other safety related announcements that were often not heard over the sound of city life.

This was not a normal city, though, as it did possess a certain rigidity. A compliance that people somewhere else might not experience. People here walked stiffly, they moved without a bounce in their cadence even when they felt excitement. Emotions were frowned upon, and excessive emotions were illegal in public spaces.

For San, it was easier to cover-up how he felt. His lips were always pronounced in a pout, giving neither sadness or happiness away. On occasion a smile might tug at the corners of his lips, but he always remembered to temper it like a blacksmith tempering his precious metals. San feared retaliation. He had always flowed well with the world's prescriptions. It was how he had ended up on the team that he was now. He was a fighter, but not a rebel.

He had a fear towards rebellion and that fear bubbled in his core like magma from beneath the surface of the Earth. It threatened to burst out of his ears.

The team had an easy day, some basic training protocols to keep their skills sharp, and otherwise a seemingly endless line of paperwork that they all had to do on an individual basis. San had felt today was a dull day. He would never say it, he hated dull days, hated them to his core. Yet dull days were preferred, in this vibrant city of blinding lights a desire for something 'more' - whatever that was - was hated.

The easiness of the day weighed heavy on his shoulders, as it only allowed him to linger on what he was going to do tonight. Seonghwa had noticed his concave posture and nudged him in the ribs briefly, raising a brow at the way San jumped in response to the ribbing.

"Do you feel alright?"

"Yes, sir," San responded, though he had to admit that he was sweating underneath Seonghwa's watchful gaze for the rest of the day.

It was not as if going out to dinner was illegal, in fact it was encouraged. Friendships and relationships were encouraged and normalized. Emotions were allowed too, in private moments where it could not influence the mind to think that being forward and open was the 'alright' thing to do.

'Laughter was a sign of idiocy' is what was always said in their schools and San's laughter had become dulled until it eked out in stolen private moments.

Dinner. It was not illegal, and yet it felt distinctly so when he got into the elevator at the end of the work day and leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed in deep contemplation of how the evening would go. When the elevator opened with an announcement of the general floor, San stepped out and rushed to his car. He took longer steps than he normally did, he felt the back of his skull being drilled into - it was as if whoever ran the security cameras for the building would be able to see into his very mind, and perhaps into his very soul.

At some point - he did not know how much passed but he knew it was too long for his liking - he arrived at his car. San quickly slid himself into the vehicle and pulled up to the front where he had promised that he would pick up Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, the one he was going to dinner with. Dinner was not illegal, but dinner with Wooyoung felt illegal. It felt as if he was breaking every law that had ever been set in place for him, his entire life.

San's thumb rubbed against the rubbery top of the steering wheel, having it rubbed smooth now after years of use. He was staring straight ahead when Wooyoung appeared at the passenger side window and knocked on the window.

San jumped, every muscle in his body tensing.

"It's locked." Even when Wooyoung was hiding his feelings there was something to how he spoke, the spunky and infinitely amusing way that he chose to articulate himself. There was something in Wooyoung's voice that called to San who had lost himself deep in thought and had been brought back by Wooyoung's trill of a voice. He was like a bird or a playful fox.

San put his car into park then, shifting the stick which automatically opened the doors allowing Wooyoung to slide inside and throw his briefcase into the back seat.

"Ah," Wooyoung let out a sigh, loosening up his tie a bit though it was not really up to code of conduct. Wooyoung rarely ever acted to the code of conduct. It was a shock that he was alive and working for the government. "Finally. What a boring day."

"It was alright."

"Was it?" Wooyoung asked with a raised eyebrow towards San, the very same kind that Seonghwa had been giving San earlier.

"Ugh, you look just like him."

"Like who?"

"Officer Seonghwa."

"Yeah, I saw him looking you down like you were crazy. Can't you pretend to act normal?"

San scoffed, shifting his car to accelerate after Wooyoung stuck in his seatbelt haphazardly.

"Look who’s talking." San could not help but shake his head, and more so he could not help the smile that was now forcing its way onto his face. Wooyoung always managed to put a smile on his face.

Their relationship had grown strange in the several weeks since Wooyoung had confessed to San. San had felt it, the tension could be cut with the dullest knife. Carved out with a spoon and served. It was palpable and had a sour taste. He could no longer stand it.

The relationship had grown tense but that tension had only served to remind San of just how much Wooyoung always made him smile. They were close, closer than they were to the rest of the team. It had resulted in several training situations that were less than desirable. San often having to swallow the urge to assist Wooyoung in a simulation gone wrong, or vice versa. Wooyoung was braver than San in many regards and jumped into the fray without thinking. It made San worry for his well being and while he knew they worked for the government and could not under any circumstance compromise themselves as soldiers, parts of him could not help but feel a tug towards Wooyoung, towards helping Wooyoung when he was in need. In compromising almost any operation.

He accelerated beyond the confines of the well secured building, allowing his engine to roar to life as he maneuvered them into the streets of the glowing neon city. Soon the scent of food would start to filter delicately into the cabin of the car and San could not help himself but let out a soft sigh in his enjoyment.

"So hungry," San moaned, barely able to keep his eyes on the road as they moved from one place to the next.

"You're always hungry." Wooyoung teased, regarding San with the corner of his eye where that precious freckle sat like a star just beneath his left eye closest to San.

"I have a fast metabolism."

"Don't rub it." Wooyoung continued, stretching out his limbs in the seat, arching his back and allowing it to lift off of the seat, pulling hard against the seatbelt as he did. His arms were cast back as he stretched and San had to force himself to continue looking forward and not at Wooyoung.

The soured distance of their relationship made no sense, in truth it had been enacted entirely by San himself. He had felt a certain desire to separate the two of them because he did not wish to be seen as too close by the government. As enjoying and expressing too much. These things were not done especially with the laws that were in place. They were supposed to be expressionless soldiers, puppets that played by the government's beat. But he could no longer handle the distance, this distance that he had created.

It was why he was taking Wooyoung out to dinner, this swirling desire to remedy the distance. To bring them closer once more.

This desire was also something that went against every command that San had been programmed to follow and every belief that he had made himself believe wholeheartedly.

Under the surveillance cameras of what appeared to be a night time park, Wooyoung had bravely confessed himself to San.

"What are you doing?!" Wooyoung shouted suddenly and San in that moment found himself swerving out of the way of hitting another car.

"You maniac!"

San let out an exhale as he corrected his own vehicle and he heard people let out shouts and protests against San's swerving out on the street. San stared into the abyss then, shocked that he had stared at Wooyoung for long enough that he had actually almost caused an accident.

"Have you lost it?" Wooyoung was no longer teasing, his brows were furrowed and he was staring at San with every bit of the same protest as the passerby strangers on the streets.

"I'm sorry." San whispered, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. He could feel his wrists right up to his elbows shaking with the sudden adrenaline that had hit him fully.

"Sorry? You almost hit that car."

"I know I just-"

"Look at the road, dammit. I don't want to lose my job."

"I know, I know..."

San felt ashamed, his jaw tightened and he looked away from Wooyoung now even though he wanted to reach out, to touch him and to apologize more physically and profusely.

"If you know just, drive." Wooyoung grumbled, settling himself down in his seat a little lower, a little poutier than before.

San did not look at him for the rest of the drive to the restaurant, his mind completely lost in the fray of thinking about them instead of looking at him.

Wooyoung was not going anywhere, he did not have to stare at him while driving. Even though every part of him was finding it difficult to not stare. If he could not have him physically, could he not at least have him to look at?

The world's cruelties were infinite it seemed and so was the time between their almost accident and the restaurant parking lot. San drove the car into a lot where upon exiting it the car itself would be parked automatically via an elevator mechanism, leaving it somewhere far in the sky though if San cared enough he might have seen the car upstairs sitting near a glass floor-to-ceiling window that glowed.

"I'm sorry, alright?"

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But it's in the past now. Just pay more attention to the road later, yeah?"

"Yeah."

San was blushing fiercely now as they both walked towards the restaurant, San led the way the entire time as there was an entire row of restaurants and Wooyoung had no idea where they were actually going aside from a 'restaurant' as San had shared earlier in the day.

There was a doorman at the restaurant who saw them in and a host inside that offered to take their coats. They both obliged to discard their office coats and found themselves sitting in a tucked away private booth soon enough.

The facility itself was quiet, there was the scattered chatter of voices but nobody dared to shout or speak too loudly. There were no real bars or nightlife in the city. No partying, no loud music. The music that played here was the most fragile of classical music. Those that were found partying by other means were often imprisoned.

San had picked the restaurant because it had been well recommended to him.

In truth, he knew nothing about it and did not know what to expect in terms of pricing or cuisine. Though most restaurants did not vary greatly in cuisine, there were a few that presented foreign qualities that the entire team of eight enjoyed to visit - when they had the money saved up or their Captain had been feeling particularly generous with his higher end salary.

A waiter slid by greeting the two of them, he had an electronic pad in his hands.

"Drinks?"

It was plain, cut and dry.

"Boricha." San ordered, and Wooyoung seemed to take a few beats longer to order.

"Ah, hm - I suppose boricha for me too."

The waiter nodded and disappeared from sight entirely.

"So, why this place? Kind of boring isn't it?"

"You know almost all of them are basically the same."

"Exactly, why this one?"

"It was recommended to me."

"By who?"

"Someone you don't know."

"Oh, a secret lover?" Wooyoung asked, and though it seemed that he was joking there was that ever present glimmer in his eyes, even in this low light that San could never tell if he was pulling his finger or not. Wooyoung was always playful; it was a part of his very core.

San swallowed hard and turned redder than before. He was really humiliating himself today.

"No. You know you'd know if I had one." He choked out, feeling particularly shy about the sudden topic.

"Would I?"

"You'd be the first."

"I wish I wasn't." Wooyoung let out a chuckle, smirking towards San, making San interpret the situation the best he could.

"Why?"

"I think you know why, San."

San did not want to admit to the reality of it, he did not want to mention it out loud. His gaze wandered beyond Wooyoung, up until it hit the seams of where the wall met the ceiling. He was searching for cameras or audio devices in his paranoia.

"I know but..."

Before he could respond properly a robot arrived offering them their matching drinks. San and Wooyoung retrieved them both and pressed a 'thank you' button on the robot before it started to clumsily swivel away.

"Wouldn't you want to be happy for me?" San finally asked, taking a quick sip of the cool beverage.

"I would. But I think I wouldn't be able to."

"Why?"

Wooyoung leaned forward then, getting closer to San. Closer than San would have liked when they were in public. Wooyoung always pushed buttons, it was his special talent. Yet despite his discomfort, San's heart started to beat out of his chest harder. This proximity to Wooyoung, the smell of him, the purse of his lips, the star beneath his eye. He could capture the world and never be as satisfied as he was now staring into those brown eyes.

"I'd be jealous." Wooyoung whispered before pulling away, leaning back into his seat. His hands clasped gently around the glass cup full of the amber liquid, one loose index finger rubbing against the condensation that was forming on the glass.

San just sat there, staring at that little finger in shock. It was not the same kind of shock that had left him embarrassed in the car when he had almost crashed. But it was similar, something between embarrassment and disbelief that he could create jealousy in Wooyoung.

"Now the real question," Wooyoung started taking a few heavy sips of the barley tea. "Why'd you decide to take me out? I thought you were avoiding me."

San dared to lift one hand now to scratch just above his left eyebrow in how awkward he was feeling. Wooyoung not only knew how to poke buttons, but he was deeply intuitive. He could read a situation quickly, he had been an excellent part of the team for that reason. His analytic skills were great, even though he was talkative, boisterous and too loud to be particularly helpful in most situations when it came to real teamwork.

"It's hard to explain."

"Is it?"

"I think so."

"Well, we have until you decide you get tired of me in here. So I suppose take your time."

That was another thing about Wooyoung: he was deeply impatient. It was exemplified by how he ran into dangerous situations, in how he explained what he wanted to do before anyone else got a word out. At this moment, San knew that Wooyoung was not being genuine, he did not want him to take his time. In Wooyoung's mind they did not have all the time in the world, he was more than likely desperate to know why they had come out here.

A part of San wanted to double down, to play against Wooyoung and his impatience. The other part of him felt as if the younger of the two was being condescending and it made San almost have a knee jerk reaction to overshare immediately.

The devil on his shoulder won as he looked down towards the menu that he had not regarded at all up until this moment. He looked it over, finding that it was a pretty standard fare in terms of food, though based on the prices listed it seemed a bit more elevated than he would have normally gone for.

"What are you going to order?" San asked, and Wooyoung - irate by the prickle in his voice - was forced to look at his menu and finally regard it as well.

"Don't know."

"We better both decide before that waiter comes back."

"Isn't he on our time?"

"Yes, but I know you don't like to wait to order."

"I don't like to wait."

"I know."

San cast a smirk towards his menu which only resulted in him getting kicked in the shin under the table.

"Ayshh!" San complained, reaching down to rub at his shin that was throbbing now. "What'd you do that for?" San grumbled, pouting as he did his best to continue trying to figure out what he was going to eat.

"You *know* why." Wooyoung responded with a grumble of his own.

It seemed perfect timing then that the waiter would arrive with San still rubbing at his shin and looking towards Wooyoung as if he had kicked a kitten.

"What will it be, gentlemen?"

Wooyoung pointed at something on the menu, causing the waiter to crane his neck slightly but he quickly tapped it into the screen that he held and turned his attention to San.

"Dumpling soup, please."

"Right, would you like it spicy?"

"Sure."

"Excellent choice."

It was a few more taps later than the waiter was walking away, leaving the two of them in the dust, having taken their menus and now officially without anything to distract them from the situation at hand.

"So, are you going to share, or am I going to have to pry the reason for this from your cold dead hands?" Wooyoung asked, showing that impatience rearing its ugly head.

San shifted in his seat, he felt like he was going to be eaten for lunch and dinner with the way Wooyoung was staring him down. Still he was finding it difficult to not look directly at him with all of his might. They were in a stare off now and neither one of them was wanting to back down.

"I just don't want us to be distant anymore." San finally shared though he shifted in his seat to alleviate the discomfort he felt in saying those words out loud. It was difficult for him to easily express himself, because it was something that went against the grain. Wooyoung seemed to easily go against and with the grain. It was as if he did whatever served him in the moment. San felt a great deal of admiration for Wooyoung, and yet for that admiration he also felt a great deal of confusion and conflict in himself.

San chalked all of this up to the very crux as to why he had grown distant from Wooyoung and he himself had created tension between them in what had been an extremely close relationship.

"Well, you're the one who put us at odds like that." Wooyoung reminded, painfully, as if San did not already know. San flinched at the words, feeling them sting worse than any topical poison San had to endure.

"I know." San fell silent for a moment then as he took a long drink of his tea, leaving half the glass empty as his lips and mouth felt parched suddenly.

"I have this sense that you had something else you wanted to tell me."

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Wooyoung let out a sigh and reached out without even looking if there were security cameras. He just placed his hand right against San's, cupping it gently. There was an immediate transference of warmth and moisture from the condensation of the cup.

"Just tell me then." Wooyoung whispered, and San let out a sigh. At least he lowered his voice.

"I don't know if I can."

"Why not?"

"It's hard. It's really hard. Harder than I thought it would be."

Wooyoung stared at San and San looked between Wooyoung's long fingers holding onto his hand and the wisps of dark hair that hung in Wooyoung's eyes unruly but handsome from a long day's work.

"Why is it hard?"

"It's not right."

"Not right, or not allowed?"

"Not allowed."

Wooyoung smiled gently towards San, it was a smile that reached his eyes.

"Then be brave."

"I'm not brave like you, Wooyoung."

"I'm not that brave."

"You are. It's admirable."

"Some might call it brave, others stupid."

"To me it's bravery." San shared quietly his shoulders rounding forward as the two of them sat there, hands clasping each other in silence with nothing but the soft music and the chatter of other people overhead.

"You're holding my hand now, even though someone could be watching."

"Nobody is around us."

"But someone else."

"Two friends can hold hands."

"Not like this."

"They can." Wooyoung insisted and it left San feeling almost breathless as he sat there, his thumb feeling like rusted metal as it shook to rise and place itself over Wooyoung's hand to start rubbing the soft skin back and forth. Soon enough that motion became a source of comfort, and San closed his eyes to allow himself to lose himself in the moment. Just to feel Wooyoung and how soft he felt against his finger.

"I, erm.." San started and Wooyoung seemed eager now as if he were reading a delicious book.

"I want to say it back."

"Say what back?"

"You know."

Wooyoung's hand applied pressure to San, in a normal situation it might have made San pull his hand away but the pressure was comforting. It was a hug.

"I love you." San whispered terrified that the words would be recorded by the table or someone nearby. That they would be taken in for feeling emotions and expressing them, as it was forbidden by the government, especially working for the government and working in the same unit.

It was only then that San opened his eyes and looked up at Wooyoung, his mind numb from the statement. He felt distinctly dizzy as he stared at Wooyoung from what he had said. It was a bad thing from a purely objective place. But he could not take it back now.

There was a smile on Wooyoung's face now, and the smile continued to reach up until it dissolved into the galaxy of his eyes. Lovely Wooyoung. San knew that he had meant the words even if he wanted to take them back in his paranoia and fear.

"You won't report me?"

Wooyoung's smile cracked as he dared to lean back a little into the booth and let out a laugh. It was not loud, it was tempered by their environment. But San could tell that he had wanted to explode with delight. It was always Wooyoung who wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was not just his heart there. Wooyoung lived inside out, bare to the world.

"That isn't promising," San huffed out, still breathless.

"No, of course not."

The two of them sat then in perfect silence for a while, their hands would part ways but their gazes were fixed upon each other. Staring into each other with an infinite desperation to devour. San especially felt a pull towards Wooyoung, but they could not. They could not show it here, or anywhere. The only places that were not heavily monitored were inside people's homes and illegal underground activities. But illegal activities were usually exposed quickly by the government leadership - efficient as it was in digging up corruption - and homes were the only place where normal street and public laws did not apply.

It would be at San or Wooyoung's apartments that they could lay hands upon each other. But would they?

San was not certain as they had been trained to never show or share anything. For this reason alone he wondered if they would just stare at each other in private, no different than how they stared here.

There was an infinite amount of desires and ideations of what they could have or could do to each other. But the ideations were just that, fantasies that were left to the wind. The two of them would never experience touch beyond their fingers clinging desperately in stolen and private moments.

Even now with their admittance to each other, they would never be allowed to see each other like young men and women saw each other. Worse, they would never be allowed to see each other expressing desire in the public eye.

San had worked too hard to reach that desirable state in the government, in the elite military. Wooyoung had too. Why would either one of them throw it away? San wouldn't, though he felt that Wooyoung might if given the opportunity or enough reason to do so. He was a rebel at heart.

"We should talk about something." San broke the silence though his voice was strained, his heart still beating out of his chest.

"I know. But what to talk about? I've heard everything I've wanted to hear in the last... However long it's been."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"That's all you wanted to hear from me?"

"What else could I possibly want?"

"I don't know, to know more about childhood?"

"Well, if you're offering. But I doubt it's very interesting." There was that normal Wooyoung, already returning to the forefront to tease San and make him smile with those spirited words.

"Thanks. I bet you're no governor yourself."

"Governor?"

"You know, person of interest."

"Alright grandpa, don't hurt yourself trying to be witty there."

San huffed air, pouting at Wooyoung for the grandpa comment but it only served to make Wooyoung let out another quiet laugh before pushing his shoe against San's shin this time with the bottom of his foot fully flat. It was not a kick as it was a push that moved San a bit from the force.

"You're insufferable." San grumbled, looking down for a moment as he contemplated the look of his trousers now. They would need to be washed because he had been kicked and shoved by Wooyoung's dirty office shoes. San was conservative with his cycling of clothes so it was a bit of a shame that he would have to clean up pants that he knew he could have worn a few more times before it was taken to the dry cleaners.

"But you love me." Wooyoung hissed through his teeth towards San leaning forward slightly again in his infinite teasing of San who was feeling a bit more attacked than normal.

"Oh don't bring it up now." San groaned.

It did not take long after San's groan for their food to arrive. Wooyoung's was a large bowl with scissors that came on the side. It was a bowl of cold noodles that would need trimming as they all sat in a decorated tangle in the very center of the bowl in a very light broth.

Similarly, San's meal was a soup that also sat in a larger bowl. The pale broth was accompanied by many rice cake pieces floating around, seaweed and three large dumplings that were bursting with pork.

"Have a good dinner, gentlemen." The waiter shared and left them alone.

Neither San nor Wooyoung spoke at that moment as they dug into their meals. San was finding it difficult to consume his dumplings, biting into the dough more often than he did the clumps of meat that sat inside. But even then the meat would float in the broth and he could easily eat it from there.

All of this was paired with the side dishes that had arrived as well, and San was particularly avidly eating the mung bean jelly while Wooyoung was paying particular attention to the kimchi. Neither one made eye contact with the other while they continued to eat and devour what was in front of them.

It was not until that both were close to having empty bowls - save the broth - that they took a deep inhale.

"Ahh, so full!" San exhaled finally, leaning back a bit and rubbing at his stomach that felt just a little more buoyant than normal.

"I might vomit." Wooyoung gurgled, leaning back as well.

"Please don't."

"I won't actually! It's just, that's how full I am."

"Ah, right, right."

The two sat in silence for a while longer before the waiter inevitably appeared to take their bowls away and to take payment which San insisted on paying for both of their meals. Wooyoung did not protest, it was less money out of his pocket and as the younger of the two he was more than content with being treated well by San.

It was only a little while longer before they were exiting the building entirely and Wooyoung appeared to be stifling a giggle that bubbled at his lips.

"What?" San whined and Wooyoung let a bit of that giggle spill.

"Whaat?"

"Oh nothing. Just thinking about how embarrassed you were."

"You were too!"

"Not as bad as you."

"Oh, shut up." San pressed a button to summon his car from the depths of the garage.

The two of them would slide back into the vehicle and San would press on to accelerate.

"I'm glad you said it." Wooyoung licked at his lips, cleaning some residue from the noodles he had for dinner.

"I'm glad I said it too."

"Do you think it'll ever be more than just words?"

"Maybe, in another world."

"But we live in this one."

"I don't know Wooyoung-ah."

"Can't we just try? In private?"

"I don't know."

"Please Sannie."

The nickname rewired San's mind for a moment as he continued to drive towards Wooyoung's home. San could not come up with another word in that moment, he just kept on driving until he pulled up the driveway of the apartment. San put the car into park to unlock the doors and Wooyoung leaned over to plant a kiss on San's cheek.

"Well, maybe one day I'll convince you." Wooyoung whispered and made a quick exit from the car, leaving San in star dust living in a galaxy of Wooyoung.

Chapter Text

It seemed that the days would stretch out, the group was always together, milling and idling in their main common room. On occasion they would be dispatched to perform tasks clearly meant to test their obedience and resolve. Every day 005 grew more restless. It was difficult to lay down and obey the men over them when he saw how quickly they would be disposed of if something went wrong.

Those people that jerked them around and gave them orders, they were not the same as the seven that were locked in here. 005 was certain that no one else he had seen spent their time in a single room, a single hallway with six others that were in the same situation.

To be human was not what they were. They were artifice. This fact had grown heavy on 005's heart as he became more aware of his own life and sensitivities to life. He was not human and yet he felt everything that those humans allegedly felt. Even though they had been trained to never feel and never express the bubbling roar of heat in the pit of their stomachs.

005 had spent many of his days following their original mission with 008. He had been unwell, the injuries affected his mobility though they all healed surprisingly quick.

"You know, I wouldn't have let you do that if I had known you would." 005 shared sitting on the edge of 008's bed staring at the round-cheeked young man. 005 had felt a pull towards him from the start, he had a face that was worth loving. It was honeyed, and blistering with smiles when 005 said the right things.

005 knew he wasn't supposed to enjoy 008's expressions, he knew he was not supposed to try and extract them from 008. They were always being watched - so they were told - and it was dangerous to share expressions with each other, though none of them really followed the law of the land. The law was their own in these confines and they seldom received punishment for it. As long as they were not too aggressively amused or found to be enjoying themselves.

The gentle crinkle of 008's eyes when he smiled and laughed at things that 005 said or did. It was worth a million punishments. It was like feeling warm sunlight after being in a cold underground. It was beautiful and refreshing. Though it was not as if 005 had experienced sunshine on his face like that, it was just that he knew how it felt in his mind.

005 ran his hand over 008's licking at his lips.

"One day I'll get you to talk or something. Not that you need to, you're perfect this way too. I just sometimes wish we could - ah I won't get into it again, you've heard it all from me." 005 waved his hand and 008 nodded in response.

008 had not been verbal for quite some time, following their brutalizing training, though it was generally known that the original 008 had passed away and this one was different. It seemed somewhere in their rush to make 008 again their creators had made a mistake around his vocal chords. He could make sounds, but he could not communicate verbally.

It created an interesting relationship dynamic between 005 and 008. 005 was not one to talk a lot, in truth, but 008's extended affirmations and otherwise silence had allowed for 005 to be heard for once in his life. Though he desired to hear 008 speak too because he missed the beauty of his voice.

005 pursed his lips gently as he continued to sit there with 008 laying awkwardly in his bed with all of his bandages that would need changing soon more than likely though the bleeding was more than stable at this point.

"Think we will be bothered today?" 005 asked woefully, his tone turning down in a general feeling of despair.

008 nodded again slowly, starting to sit up.

"No, you have to lay down." 005 chided trying to push 008 down. But 008 was broad shouldered and 005 was not quite as well built as 008. It ensured that the two of them were at a bit of an impasse. 008 was not laying down, he was propping himself up so that he could reach out and touch 005's face gently.

005 felt his stomach squirm at the touch. 008's fingers were warm, the way one would expect a calloused hard-working hand to be warm. It was comforting even though the gesture made 005 uncomfortable. A strange tug of war appeared in his chest as he thought to lean into the touch but similarly desired to pull away.

It seemed 008 sensed the tension and pulled his hand away. Though 005 saw the look of dejection in 008's eyes immediately, that glimmer that 005 never wanted to inflict on 008.

"Oh, no no. It's okay. You can touch me."

The words falling from his lips this way sounded odd and foreign. He inhaled slightly and went to lift 008's hand by the wrist to touch his cheeks.

008 grinned then, a large toothy smile that showed his gums. It made 005's stomach do a flip, he felt nauseous. But not in the way that he had expected. He just kept staring at 008 and kept 008's hand held against his cheek, enjoying the warmth transferring between them.

That moment stretched on an eternity, an eternity that was away from the rest of the world. Away from the sterility of their enclosure. 005 could peacefully lean into 008's hand and feel his fingers rub against his skin. The world was melting away it seemed, bit by bit until there was nothing but the two of them.

"Wish we could run away." 005 whispered into the heel of 008's hand as it pressed just close enough for his lips to touch against the warmth of his palm. He did not dare touch his lips to the hand there though, even though every part of him wanted to.

It seemed feverish, like a sickness had taken over him. He knew what they were doing was wrong, it was forbidden. They were not supposed to touch and feel what 005 felt.

But who would stop them now? Who would stop 005 leaning towards 008? Who would stop 008 touching 005's cheek and smiling as brightly as sunspots refracting against an oasis?

005 felt no one could stop them. They would be tied like this forever, together, forever.

"Hey."

Eternity shattered into a million pieces, and 008's smile fell to a doll-like neutrality when the voice came.

005 pulled 008's hand away as he turned to look over his shoulder. There at the threshold of 008's room stood 002 - his long blond hair was uncouth, falling over his shoulders. It had not yet been brushed and likely would remain this way for the rest of the day.

"The doctor is coming." 002 shared quietly.

005's brows furrowed as he stared at 002 with a hint of apprehension.

"How do you know?"

"Says so on our calendar. It's a medical check-up day."

005 let out a sigh. There was a calendar that hung on a wall in the common room. Very few of them actually kept up with it and relied on Minjoong to relay information to them.

They had required medical days. There was a general check-up if there were injuries, and once a month they received a significant check-up. Every part of their body was inspected, one by one. They also received a shot once a month. The shot did not seem necessary and yet all of them agreed that it made them all feel distinguishably better when they were starting to feel unwell in almost any regard. As if their bodies were slowly deteriorating and the shots were giving them a boost to reverse the effects.

Today was such a day.

"What a pain."

"Mhmm."

"What about 008?" 005 expressed, concern lacing his voice.

"What about him?"

"He can't walk very well yet."

"They will check up on him in here, most likely."

"I don't want them to check without us seeing."

"We don't have a choice, 005, you know that."

"Then I'll take my exam here too."

002 looked exasperated with him at that moment and 005 knew why. But it could not be helped, he did not trust their examiner. Minjoong was a frequent visitor but he was not their doctor, he only helped administer the shots. But their main doctor... There was always something about his eyes.

The others had brushed it off, but 005 had often insisted that the glimmer with which their doctor looked at them was abnormal. It made him uncomfortable, it made him feel fear. Something that he was not wired to feel very well, but that doctor made him feel that way.

005's stomach curdled at the sight of the man. That man with that unfeeling expression, the wandering fingers and the darkened shine to his eyes. There was not a word he could conjure in his mind for what that doctor was, but he knew in his heart.

"Do you know if Minjoong-ssi will come?" 005 exhaled, his hand having moved subconsciously to just above 008's knee gripping it gently.

"Most likely. If we are getting examined he will be helping to administer our shots, no?"

"Right..." 005 looked towards 008 then who just nodded, his expression still neutral and doll-like. That expression that made 005's stomach drop with sadness. He knew that feeling, he knew how to describe it. He had felt it when 008 had been taken and replaced. It had been an encompassing sadness, blanketing him like a starless night. There were a million words for the feeling, a million words that he had never known to experience but knew how they felt nonetheless.

"Come on. It's best we are all in the common area for when they arrive. Don't need to raise suspicions."

But 005 did not care about raising suspicions. His doubts had grown enough that he felt the need to rebel against the doctor's touch and inspection. He was better than an item to be looked at in this way.

"No. I'll stay-" 005 was about to protest but he felt a shock to his temple that cut deep into his left eye. He grabbed at his eye then, applying pressure with his palm hard.

"Tsk..." 002 approached 005 slowly then. "Let me see."

"I'm fine."

"You've been doing this since our mission..."

This was not the first pain 005 had felt in his left eye, ever since he had been training he had been feeling it. But it had never hurt so bad as when they had returned from their mission.

002 forced the hand away to look at it, 008 sat up a little more to lean over more. Grunting slightly in concern.

"I'm fine."

"If it hurts, you're not fine."

005 vaguely remembered what had caused these pains but he could not place them as reality, they all seemed like a dream.

"This is why it is important for the doctor to look at us. We need these check-ins."

"We don't."

"And what if it's something serious, 005?"

"It's not." 005 protested, still holding onto his head in the same way as he had when the pain first started pulsing throughout his face.

"It cannot be that painful and be nothing." 002 voiced lowering his caring hands away from 005 and letting 008 to touch 005's shoulder.

005 looked towards 008 then with his right eye that had remained open throughout this moment.

"Don't look at me like that. You know I don't like how they-"

008 nodded then, but he squeezed 005's shoulder and 005 felt a moment of reassurance course through him. That moment of stability allowed him to look at 002.

"I'll let them look at it..."

"Good, thank you. You need to tell them how you started and when you started to feel it."

005 prickled at the idea frowning deeply at 002. But he knew ultimately there was a hint of truth to what he was saying. Even if he did not want to admit it now.

The three of them remained locked in their positions for a moment longer, 005 feeling surrounded by concern and a part of him felt good for it.

"Alright, come on. Let's go, it'll be better out there like I said."

"N-" 005 protested again when he felt a strong nudge from behind him. He looked to find 008 looking at him sternly. For all of 008's ability to look as soft as a teddy bear he had a stern streak that was a bit scary. Being one of the youngest of the seven and yet still so capable of acting as one of the oldest. A silent voice of reason.

005 let out a sigh which triggered a laugh from 002.

"See? If 008 insists."

The numbing and sharp pain was subsiding now and slowly 005 removed his hand from his eye that had turned red.

"Fine, but only because he said."

"You're so easy. If I ever need anything from you I'll be sure to have 008 give you a look about it." 002 joked but it only made 005 pout, shoving 002 a bit in the shoulder.

008 smiled at the interaction chuckling to himself, his voice hoarse but clearly resembling quiet laughter.

002 stood and 005 slowly followed though with his hands in his pockets he turned to 008.

"Are you sure you will be alright?" He asked one final appearance of genuine concern.

008 nodded, offering 005 a thumbs up.

"Alright."

005 was not convinced but he followed 002 out of the room, feeling guilt bubble in his stomach as if he had kicked a puppy upon his departure. It just felt wrong, like he should have stayed behind with 008 in spite of the insisting of both 008 and 002.

"I'll ki-"

"Don't say things you'll regret." 002 cut 005 off quickly and 005 glowered. 005 had taken to saying things he shouldn't say, constant protests and retaliations against those that kept them in this enclosure. He knew 002 was right, but there was an inherent desire to say what he was not supposed to say stirring inside of him. It was not unlike 007 though 007 often just said things that came to mind and by this merit 007 was far more innocent than what 005 often felt and thought.

It was not a long walk to the common room where the rest of the team was standing around. 003 was near the main couch, leaning his hip against it as he spoke to 004 and 006. 007 was separate from the team. He was leaning against a counter near their kitchenette trying to make paper triangles that he would flick onto the floor. They did not have a lot of disposable paper so 007 was partially trying to make-do with tissues they had. This endeavor was a lot less fruitful than that of the paper that he had thrown onto the floor and made a mess of.

"When are they coming?" 005 voiced to 002 who was going over to pick up all of the paper on the floor that 007 had thrown.

"Don't know."

"I wish they would give us a semblance of time."

"Time doesn't matter much, does it?" 007 whined, rolled himself over onto his back on the counter and stretched his arms out like a naughty cat that was told many millions of times not to get on the counters.

"I think it matters." 005 approached the kitchenette to lean against a counter there too.

"Why? We get told when it’s lights out and when we are to wake up. Not that we have to, but the lights are on. We kind of know when it's light and when it's dark. Out there."

"Do we?" 005 snorted, shaking his head. "Think about it? They could be keeping us backwards, or offset."

"That's so much wooork though." 007 drawled in response as he continued to watch 002 pick all of the mess he had made.

"Where did you get all of this?" 002 asked, huffing through his nose in annoyance.

"I looked through all the drawers."

"You need to pick up your mess next time."

"I didn't ask you to pick it up."

"But if I didn't pick it up you wouldn't."

"Then 003 would."

003's head snapped towards the kitchen posse that had accumulated.

"Don't bring me into this, I'm not trying to clean up after everyone."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, mooom-" 007 mocked which had 003 rolling his eyes returning to his far more less intense conversation with 004 and 006.

005 continued to lean there, watching 002 clean up and 007 slink around the room now mischief in his eyes.

"I really do wish they would give us an idea of when they would come." 005 decided to bring the subject back to where it had been. 007 waving his hand at 005 in dismissal.

"Quit worrying. They'll come when they come. Then they'll leave... I hope Minjoong stays!" 007 almost shouted, making 005 flinch a bit at how loud he was being about all of this and his lack of formality.

"I am sure Minjoong-ssi is busy. I doubt he will stay." 005 responded.

"He has been coming less recently." 003 commented, and it seemed clear that he was bothered by the words that he shared with the group. Or at least it seemed clear to 005.

"We should not get too attached; he is our boss." 005 realized that his words were not particularly assuring at that moment.

"Not our direct boss," 003 grumbled his voice low as he went to sit on the couch.

"Not our direct boss but he is in charge of us, he's said so himself before."

"Yes... That means he should visit more often."

"Perhaps he is consumed with paperwork." 005 tried to brighten the conversation.

"Consumed with paperwork?" 003 asked with a raised eyebrow. "I cannot imagine paper rising in an attempt to eat him."

"I did not mean it literally."

"I know. But it is an interesting image." 003 shrugged before casting his gaze away from 005 towards the floor.

"Maybe he will bring us a treat this time if he does not stay." 007 cooed more like a child than a bred killing machine.

"What kind of treat?" 003 perked up and 005 felt irritation rise in his throat at how quickly he was dismissed for the indulging fantasies of both 003 and 007. 003 had an outward innocence about him though he was so ruthless in their training, sadistic.

"I hope it's strawberries." 003 added on, smiling slightly to himself.

Strawberries were a refreshing treat and Minjoong did bring them on occasion. Though 005 had to lament that they did not always taste as sweet as they could.

"Strawberries so you can eat them all," 005 teased aloud before leaning away from the counter he was leaning against and stretching.

002 finally had finished picking up all the paper and tissue from the ground to put it all up onto the counter haphazardly. Just in time for a loud alarm to go off.

It was grinding to the nerves and extensively shrill. Though none of them flinched at it. It was a sound that they had all grown accustomed to in some manner of speaking, though 006 did always shut his eyes tightly when it sounded despite his attempts to appear tough.

"Everyone up." 003 commanded quickly and everyone was standing in a moment. They lined up based on their numbers with 002 on the furthest end and 007 on the other side. Normally 008 would have been the cap on their line but he was in bed and was not there to comprise their normal lineup.

005 felt his hands ball up into fists as they stood there, his heart beating out of his chest though he could not properly place the feeling he had. The way his stomach twisted the way his heart beat.

The doctor came in soon after they lined up, two guards at his sides and their squirrely beloved keeper, Minjoong was not far behind holding onto a metal sterile cart on wheels that had seven syringes and several other devices laid out on it, still in their packaging with the intention of inspecting the group.

"Oh good." The doctor was first to speak, his voice was sickly sweet, meant to attract them like flies, but 005 saw through it. "You're all standing there, what good boys you have all become."

The way the doctor spoke, it was mocking and 005's balled up hands pressed tightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. He would have given anything to attack him now, but he knew better. The guards had rifles in their hands and those were meant to put them down swiftly.

"002, you first."

002 stepped forward and 005 watched it all from the corner of his eye.

Their bodies were inspected one by one. Their vitals written down with precision. Each new spot looked over on their bare flesh. The doctor's wandering hands did not shy away from any one part of them. He was hellbent on ensuring that his specimens were perfect. Or at least that was how 005 perceived it all. He felt himself tense when it was his turn even more than he had been before.

"Relax 005, it is not the end of the world. Just a routine check." The doctor chuckled and gave 005 a light smack on the face. It was meant to be playful but it lit 005's face on fire. The nerves in his left eye felt like they exploded with fire. He grabbed onto his face then and keeled over in front of the doctor, a cry of pain. His body was shaking.

"Hm?" Was all 005 heard from the doctor before he felt his gloved hands force his face up.

"Move your hands."

005 kept his hand pressed deep against his eye, the pressure the only sensation alleviating some of the lightning dissipating in his head.

"Move your hands, boy." The doctor seethed, grabbing now onto 005's wrist pulling it away by force leaving a red mark against 005's wrist.

The doctor inspected his eye then.

"Strange, how strong. Minjoong-ssi, come look."

Minjoong had been in the middle of administering 003 a shot and had not yet rushed over but now with the doctors insistence he finished the shot and came over.

"Oh-" Minjoong gasped in shock. "Are you alright?"

005 looked desperately to Minjoong, a desperation he seldom felt, but it was a cry for help.

"If you will allow me, doctor." Minjoong started to step in between the two of them, awkwardly doing so as he took 005 towards the couch to sit him down.

"This must be the result of your reconstruction." Minjoong whispered, pulling at his eyelids which only made 005 feel worse in the moment but he did not shy away now.

"Re-Reconstruction?" 005 croaked as Minjoong pulled his hands away, giving 005 the opportunity to put pressure on his eye again.

"Ah, you don't remember." Minjoong sighed.

"What does he not remember?" The doctor chimed in, stepping in from behind, his hands in his lab coat pockets.

"The reconstruction."

"Of course he doesn't."

"No. That's abnormal. They should remember at least the basics from their most recent life through the DNA. This isn't your first iteration, 005." Minjoong explained.

The dream he had been having started to flood back.

"Do you mean?"

"You were shot during training, in that eye. It killed the first version but you were rebuilt. Did you not see your tattoo?" Minjoong offered his explanation before pointing to 005's right arm. For one reason or another 005 had never given it much attention but now as he dared to look at it it was plain as day.

1000-005 was scratched out and instead there was 2000-0005.

The training had taken him out too it seemed the same way it had taken out 008. Though he did not remember being taken out the way he vividly remembered 008's departure from the training. The way his poor body had laid there. It re-conjured the sharp pain in his face.

"What will you do about it?" The doctor hissed, nudging Minjoong with his booted foot. Boots that reached up to his knees and hugged to his slim calf.

"I will administer a painkiller along with the maintenance shot. It will help with the pain and alleviate it for the next week or so." Minjoong gave 005 a gentle pat along his upper thigh before standing up.

"Please hold on, I have to follow the number order." Minjoong whispered as he retreated to give 004 his care.

The doctor sneered at 005 and then turned to continue with his medical inspection.

"One broken little dove to the next. At least all of you are obedient."

005 continued to sit there holding onto his eye, feeling a hot humiliation wash over him as he sat there. It was difficult to explain how he felt, except that he felt awful. The others were still standing strong, and yet here he was.

It was not the form of rebellion that he had imagined in his head. He was too emotional... Too quick to fall into the trap's jaws.

2000-0005. He kept staring at that two printed on his body. It was a remarkable disclaimer that he was not himself and that someone else could undo him. That he could be destroyed a million times, never know it and become himself and someone else all at once.

Minjoong soon arrived at his side. Minjoong pulled 005's sleeve up and rubbed it clean with a swab of alcohol making sure the skin there was red and sensitive and properly clean before he stuck a thin needle into the muscle. Then another. By this point the painful feeling in his eye was disappearing as if relief came from a lack of tension and stress.

"Do you feel anxious?" Minjoong whispered, holding a clipboard with a list of checkmark boxes.

That was the word he had been searching for earlier. The feeling that had consumed him entirely and was still rising up at the back of his mind. They would leave soon to inspect 008 in the other room and he would not be allowed to follow to make sure everything was alright. He had to trust Minjoong, and had to trust him to make sure everything would be alright.

"A little bit."

"Your blood pressure was slightly elevated, it is consistently elevated throughout these check-ins, but not others."

"It's b-"

"I know." Minjoong cut off quietly.

He asked a few more questions and 005 just sat there, shaking or nodding his head. Listening with a hint of exhaustion drawing itself along his face.

"I will get you ice for the pain." Minjoong finished with his checklist and stood, taking the syringes to discard them on the sterile metal cart to the side so as to not contaminate. He reached into a box soon after and brought out a cooling pack to hand 005.

005 laid back into the couch then the cooling pack over his eye which allowed him to not only relax but also to lower the tension in his eye and how painful it had been. Soon he was halfway to being asleep.

Minjoong moved on soon enough and both the doctor and their caretaker disappeared from the room to check on 008. It was only then that all of them relaxed.

"Ugh finally that's done." 007 groaned loudly.

"Shh, they're still here they could hear you." 003 snapped quickly looking at 007 with a glower. It was one thing to say these things quietly within their inner circle. It was another thing to protest loudly in the presence of both guards and those that cared for them regularly. It could be a death sentence.

"I know, I know." 007 whined and went to sit next to 005.

"You alright?"

005 nodded slightly, though he was not entirely convinced that he was alright.

"The doctor took extra long with me today. Kind of stupid," 007 whispered to 005. 005 got the sense that 007 was trying to make him feel better by saying this. Though 005 did not feel better at the statement, and rather he felt a wave of concern.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not sure. Minjoong-ah,"

"Minjoong-ssi."

"Minjoong looked a little concerned, but I'm sure he would have told me if it's something bad. Ya know?" 007 had a strange way of being perpetually chipper even in the worst moments.

005 let out a sigh and shook his head.

"I doubt it, they all keep secrets from us."

"Nah. Minjoong would say."

005 was not convinced even with all of Minjoong's kindness he was still a superior, and he was still beholden to the very mysterious masked individuals that they were obeying. Keeping Minjoong close to 005 was like keeping a snake or a fox in a hen's home. It was bound to backfire on them, one day, right?

007 leaned his chin on 005 then.

"Wanna play the paper game?"

"Maybe after I rest... Plus wasn't 002 upset with you making a mess?"

"I have you. So you'll pick it up then." 007 smiled gently and 005 shook his head.

"You're impossible."

"I'm perfect." 007 smirked which only had 002 coming to 007's side and yanking him off of 005.

"Can't you see he's in pain?"

"He can't be in that much pain, he's talking back..!"

"Leave him to rest, you can bother him later."

007 pouted at 002 and shrugged.

"Fine, then you play with me."

"Fine. I'll play with you."

007 jumped up and toddled over towards the kitchen, leaving 005 on the couch staring up at the bright white ceiling waiting for the pain to inevitably subside.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks seemed to pass by quietly. 008 saw improvement in his wounds as they healed over and he was able to move around again. 005's pains subsided with a more regular administration of a painkiller. All of them were settled back into a more normal schedule and 002 had found himself feeling anxious about it.

It was abnormal for weapons to remain unsharpened, and he had picked out that much about their existence - they were weapons. Between him and 003 they had many discussions about what their purpose beyond these enclosed spaces was, and if they had a purpose at all. It seemed to 002 thus far they were disposable.

It was strange to think that they would only be alive for as long as their keepers deemed it necessary. That they could be disposed of at the slightest inconvenience. Even 005's eye pains were enough to make everyone on edge, worry infinitely about what could happen if his eye pains were more than their keepers could handle.

002 tried not to think of it all, tried not to have his mind hang on these facts of life, death and his humanity - if he had any at all. Instead he tried to worry his mind with what the next mission might be like, and how they would tackle it. He had created small figurines out of the paper that their mysterious keepers had allotted to them and created test scenarios, simulations of missions that they had undergone and then mused over new variations based on what he had already experienced.

002 spent his days in this manner, provided that 007 did not come to hang off of him or try to use the paper figurines as toys for his own amusement. Though 002 scarcely ever got upset with 007 in any genuine way, there was something beautifully endearing about the younger.

Had 002 the right words for how he felt for 007 he might have shared those feelings but the words were meandering like a lazy river and so he resolved to simply sleep in the same bed with 007 to show what he felt. Allowing the warmth of their bodies to bounce between the two of them until they fell into a deep sleep night after night.

The lights flickered as they always did to signal that it was time to wake up, they simulated outside light in an attempt to keep them all content - at least this is what 002 had determined based on how there was no way to turn the lights on or off at any point. The lights simulated night and day and when night came they were supposed to be asleep in bed.

007 whined this morning at the lights, curling further into 002's body in protest at what was happening. 007 never did like the simulation of night and day, he preferred to sleep in and continue to be warm in 002's arms.

"We should get up." 002 whispered into 007's hairline just next to his ear but the whisper only made 007 whine more like a small child and refuse the request as his entire face disappeared underneath 002's body.

"Ah..." 002 sighed, rubbing at 007's body up and down quietly. If he kept rubbing perhaps he would convince 007 to get up at some point. Though it seemed that he would not need to convince 007 of anything as a knock came at their door and 003 stepped in.

"We have a briefing today."

"Briefing?"

"For a mission I suppose."

"I don't want a briefing," 007 cried out petulantly, his nose poking out from underneath 002 as he stared towards the room door where 003 was standing leaned against the threshold.

"I don't think we have a choice," 002 cooed gently in 007's ear again, beginning to sit up himself even when 007 was clinging to his arm and trying to pull him back down to sleep.

"See you in a few, 003."

003 nodded then and disappeared from the room.

It took a lot of coaxing on 002's part but 007 did eventually get up even if he was rubbing at his eyes in annoyance at the perceived lack of sleep he got. With some effort they were washing their faces and brushing their teeth in due time.

It was hard to tell how many hours later, but at some point a man with a mask walked in and explained the extent of their upcoming mission - tomorrow.

It was not a lot of time to prepare but there was not a lot that they could do to prepare, aside from meditate on it mentally. They did not have weapons in their confines, just basic necessities and the occasional visit from Minjoong meant a form of entertainment that was not otherwise given to them.

They would be infiltrating another desert hideout of yet another enemy of the state. It seemed boring, almost repetitive. Why did the state have so many enemies? 002 did not know but he listened to what they would be doing regardless.

Another team was joining them, which was unusual. This meant that the hideout was likely very large and needed extra muscle. 002 pondered over this excessively until they were offered a map of the place they would be infiltrating. It gave them an idea of how to move in on their enemies. It seemed that they would be performing a clamping strategy as one team would enter from the opposite end and they would be taking on the more deeply guarded end.

They were to extract a piece of technology from the area for the government and their team was charged with the extraction specifically. Though the masked man did not offer what kind of technology, only its appearance - a small pod of which the interior had an hourglass shape to it made of a metal alloy.

There was a rough drawing on the side of the map for all of them to see.

"I will see you tomorrow." The masked man spoke before disappearing from their confines entirely though he left them the map to continue examining.

"It may be best if I am the distraction." 002 spoke up immediately when they were alone.

"I will set up a perimeter here from this tower." 003 pointed at a pictured tower that he could easily utilize for his sniping.

"Who will extract this piece?" 002 asked, looking between everyone.

"008 c-"

"-No." 005 piped up frowning even though 008 nudged him slightly. "008 is still healing. We should not send him into the nest with all the activity."

"I can do it." 007 shrugged in response. He had always been a bit reckless and 002 did not like the idea of it but he did not have a good enough excuse for why 007 should not enter the fray.

"Alright, the rest of us need to play it all by ear. Create distractions around the hornets nest, draw them away and towards the center. Our opposing teammates will likely secure the other side. We can expect gun fire."

"Why towards the center?" 006 asked, looking towards 002 with a raised brow.

"If we can draw stragglers towards the center we can set the area up with internal explosives to finish them off."

"Oh..."

004 reached out to rub at 006's back gently, an encouraging gesture. 002 gave the map a flat palmed pat before moving towards the couch to sit down.

"What about the other team, they won't know about the explosions." 004 considered looking over his shoulder as the rest of the team started to move away from the map.

"They will know we are there and are acting of our own accord. Plus they are getting the easier side which means they are weaker or less experienced. It will be fine. We just need to identify them in uniform and make certain we do not commit friendly fire." 002 stretched out on the couch a bit and 007 was quick to join him, clearly still wound up on wanting to nap as he made a perfect spot just between the back of the couch and 002's body.

"Let's not argue too much," 003 suggested, leaning against the table where the map was laid out. "We are a good team, and we will do well regardless of how the other team does. The important part is to do what we have been assigned to do and not compromise them or our portion of the mission. We will communicate through our radios as always. Today we rest and mentally prepare. Tomorrow we will find victory."

The room had fallen silent, 003 did have a way with words. He had always been the natural and favorable leader among them and 002 appreciated how level-headed he was. It was easy to fall in line with 003 and the words he said. It always felt true and comforting - even if it did not always turn out to be exactly as 003 stated. He and Minjoong were stable forces on their team even if Minjoong was not a true part of the team he certainly felt like it.

"I agree." 002 finally verbalized, adjusting himself for the sake of comfort since 007 had all but made a nest in his side. "Let's all rest and not think much more on it."

It seemed a decent suggestion as the team started to disperse, going back to their rooms in pairs - except 003 who remained near the map.

002 did not comment on it and instead turned to adjust himself again to face 007 and curl up with him on the couch. They could sleep happily this way and not be bothered the rest of the day. Though 002 was under the impression that the bed would have been a far more comfortable place to actually rest.

Breakfast arrived at some point, then lunch, and then dinner. 007 only got up to nibble on lunch before falling back asleep and 002 felt like he had been swindled because 007 begged to be fed instead of actually using his hands. 002 jumped on the opportunity, though he felt like a fool and was laughed at for it too.

It felt strange to 002 that 007 had slept so much all day, but he did not question it. They all had different requirements for rest and 007 was one who slept more than the others or even 002. For all of this 007 seemed energetic for the hours he was awake, excessively energetic in some cases though nobody wanted him to be lacking in energy. It was pleasurable to have 007's smile lighting up their bleak existence.

At some point the lights turned down and they were asked to move to their beds and 002 coaxed 007 to bed before getting in bed with him.

The next morning came entirely too fast.

002 was startled by the sudden stomping throughout the corridors, all of their doors opened without notice, and the guards demanded they wake.

007 had refused even with 002's gentle coaxing, which made certain that the guards were grabbing 007 and pulling him roughly from his bed.

"Don't touch him like that!" 002 protested but he was threatened with a rifle and quickly backed away from any consideration of violence against the guard that was being particularly aggressive with 007.

It came as no surprise when they were loaded into the vehicle that they were often loaded into it, blinded and gagged before being transported into an unknown part of the building. All they knew was there was a room and they were now in it.

The masked man returned, he gave them a speech that they all had heard enough to have memorized it.

All of this was for the government, for their own safety and security of the people.

The weapons were labeled, the clothes they were given to wear were also labeled with their numbers.

002 dressed in silence and equipped himself with his weapons in silence too. The last thing he slid on was a mask to conceal his identity.

In the end they were escorted out to a van the back of which was attached to the room itself. The van had a back compartment where they were to sit, it had one single light installed at the very top and no air movement.

"So hot." 007 complained which elicited a quiet response from 002 patting and rubbing at 007's thigh to try and assure him that they all felt the same - whether that was true or not.

"Let's have a good mission everyone, I presume we have all had a good amount of rest?" 003 chimed in his voice muffled through the mask though it was clear that he was looking between all of them from how his head moved. 002 felt a prickle run down the back of his neck and through his spine. It was strange, not something he had felt before, like a sensation of what was going to happen on this mission.

"Yes, 003. Let's hope the rest reflects in our actions." 002 murmured, his lack of confidence reflected in his posture.

The rest of the trip they sat in silence, the van took turns - left and right - but they had no idea where they were going. It was hard to determine when they were locked up in the back of a van. All they knew for sure was that they would arrive at their destination in due time.

"I wish we had more intel on these situations we were going into." 002 finally shared looking up as he looked between everyone. 003 agreed with a nod but did not say a word, the silence seemed to stretch on for a long time, palpable to 002's parched mouth.

"I do wonder why so much information is omitted." 003 spoke, breaking that silence and allowing for 002's shoulders to relax forward a little bit. "It would be more beneficial for us to know as much as possible."

"Maybe it's because," 007 started up though he was not as chipper as he often was clearly in a bad mood from being woken up from his sleep. "If we have more information they think we will run off."

"Don't say that!" 002 chided, sitting up a little bit as he in his paranoia started to look around the back of the van. Speculation was bad and they were often wired to be heard at all times, and he had no doubt that they were wired now, through their radios. Which meant that 007's words were likely dangerous, and he hoped that they would not be reprimanded following the mission. Their keepers were not people who were often merciful and 002 did not want to fail to defend 007 more against the regime or the many guards that would likely come down upon them.

For now 002 hoped that whatever was said the wired microphones would not pick up in the van due to how muffled they spoke from their masks. It was why their own microphone and radios were wired closer to their mouths so that there was no chance of miscommunication.

002 felt tense for the rest of the trip that dragged on mercilessly, the heat rising in the back of the van with each passing moment creating a haze and distorted fog on the inside of his mask from each exhale. With time he had reduced the heaviness of his breath wanting to dissipate some of the fog that he had created, as if a film had been formed over his eyes making it more difficult to see and think.

Then, the van stopped. It lurched with a groan and squeak as the tires seemed to find some purchase in what was undoubtedly soft dune sand. 002's muscles tensed, his fingers wrapping tightly around his rifle when the back doors of the van swung open. There stood guards who were ushering them out one by one.

The group did not receive any further communication other than one guard motioning in the direction where their target would be.

002 adjusted a strap on his shoulder, making sure it was taut against his body as he started to fight against the more direct heat radiating from the sun. He felt his body retaliate, his breath become more rapid and beads of sweat forming on his brow bone dripping into his eyelashes like dew drops against blades of grass.

"Let's go." 003 spoke, his voice sounded like radio fry from the microphone, strained with the heat and all black they wore.

It was definitely a much hotter day out here than it had been some while ago during their last mission.

"Let's keep a low profile until we are all in position, the other team is likely going to do the same." 002 mouthed heavily into his microphone, receiving some nods from the team before they all turned and started to move - quickly - through the sandy dunes. Their boots were made for this kind of movement, but it did not mean that it was much easier even with them on. The sand slipped and grabbed onto their ankles with every misstep. For the most part they all managed to avoid looking foolish, but 002 would have been a liar if he had not tripped a few times only to look around and see if it had been noticed.

It had not. So he continued on.

002 felt drenched by the time they arrived at the hideout; the buildings were half submerged in sand and only a few people were milling around those buildings making it seem immediately like a familiar situation - a hardly guarded item of interest for the government.

002 was not foolish enough to think that this was the case, more than likely their enemies were deep in the lair avoiding being spotted and avoiding being identified as being an overly populace area.

The group worked silently, everyone going to their planned spots particularly 003 who found his overlook tower and silently cleared out the guard there to take up position.

"007 move in, do not draw attention to yourself." 002 whispered into the mic receiving a brief and dismissive thumbs up from the smallest of the group as 002 watched him duck behind some broken crates from a distance.

"Internal targets identified, clearance to engage?" 003 asked.

"Cleared 003, if you see a shot, take it."

It was hard to tell if 003 was in fact shooting or not for 002, he was at a distance and it was well known that 003 was an excellent shot and his sniper was equipped with a high-end silencer that ensured stealth missions to go well.

"Known targets in the main building are cleared." 003 shared quietly at some point.

"Good, secure the area." 002 echoed and the mission would truly begin as 007 started to move out of sight from behind the crates, leaving 002 in a heap of worry as he moved into the interior portion of the hideout. With the intent of being spotted and shot at.

It did not take long.

"Hey!"

A voice called out, a man with an antiquated gun was approaching 002 who turned towards him and gave a wave.

"You're not supposed to be here, clear out!"

The man finished his sentence before he fell bleeding in the sand. A shot fired through his chest would make sure that he would not be getting up. However, the stray shot made certain that the grouping was no longer moving in stealthily and now had free reign to shoot at will.

002 moved quickly, finding an abandoned and rusted vehicle to hide behind as bullets started to fly. On occasion he would find windows to fire his own rifle in a steady stream though getting visual confirmations on enemies in the immediate chaos that followed became difficult.

A bullet lodged itself in 002's shoulder forcing him to let out a heaving grunt as he started to retreat and therefore unintentionally lure the enemies towards the center of the hideout. Though in doing so he was always retreating to the less populated side where their opposing team was supposed to be working - and from the sounds of it were working.

Another bullet fired and it sliced through 002's hip cutting awkwardly into the kevlar fabric of his trouser band. Their uniforms were good at protecting them from bullets but there was always the chance of a bullet flying hazardously through somewhere that was not totally protected.

"Shit."

"002 report! Are you alright?" 003 called.

"Not good, retreating towards the opposing side for recovery."

"I have you covered, mov-" 003's voice cut off just as 002 felt his body collide with something, no, someone else.

002 felt his limbs tangle with the body he had just run into, his mask shifting slightly as he hurriedly tried to adjust it back in place the hot sand burning his palms.

"Shit, shit...shit..."

He stood up eventually, his fingers covered in blistering granules. 002 didn't apologize for the impact as the other man stood back up; he was ready to shoot until he saw that he was fitted with government pieces. But that was not what kept 002 rooted into the sand as he stared at the man.

A mirror.

The man who stood before him was a mirror reflection of him. Save for the color of his eyes and the darkness of his hair, the man that stood in front of him was the same as 002.

"002 move!" 003 called into the microphone, but 002 kept standing and kept staring even as the bullets seemed to fly with greater frequency.

"002!"

"003 do you have a visual on 002?" 004 chimed in the sound of gun firing permeating their radio signal.

"Yes, he appears immobile. I have a visual on someone from the other team.”

"What? Already?"

"I'm not sure but 002 is not mobile."

002 was listening but he was not engaged with the words that were being spoken through his earpiece; he was too busy staring at the man in front of him reaching out towards him in a moment of foolishness to try and touch his face. The dark haired 002 grabbed 002 by the wrist, hard, squeezing with a gloved hand before swatting the hand away.

"What are you doing, soldier?" He growled pushing past 002, leaving 002 to his own devices.

002 turned to try and get another visual of the man who looked exactly like him, yet he seemed to have turned so slowly and sluggishly that he was tackled to the ground before he could confirm what he had seen. The force knocked the wind out of him and knocked sense back into 002 who started to grab onto his assailant and wrestle.

They fought there, sand sticking itself in every possible crevice of their uniforms. The man had retrieved a metal pipe from nearby to try and kill 002 by bludgeoning him, but the metal pipe had a difficult time putting 002 out of his misery as the man fighting did not have the impact strength to kill 002.

002 grabbed the man by the throat and rolled over clumsily to press down in an attempt to suffocate him.

It was not necessary as this sudden moment where he was finally still made a clean shot available from a distance and instead of suffocation 002 felt a heavy spray of blood hit his mask as he rolled off to the side quickly and let out a groan.

"Up, get up." 003 came through the ear piece and 002 very slowly managed to get up.

"Hey, are you alright?" 004 arrived at 002's side, lifting him.

"They're clones."

"What?"

"There are... They are...." 002 stuttered out as 004 started to pull 002 towards the outskirts of the battlefield.

"Whatever you're talking about, now is not a good time to think about it. Don't need you getting killed. Take some of the sand and put it into your wounds." 004 spoke, lowering 002 behind a large vehicle in some shade.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." 002 exhaled, he had never felt this useless before. Usually he was capable.

"But the other team they're all... Well I'm not sure."

004 touched 002's masked cheek, cupped it gently in the palm of his gloved hand.

"Rest, and when you're ready get back into it."

002 nodded and watched as 004 returned to the fight. He leaned against the warm tire of the car, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt his vision swim from the heat and stress.

The firing and gunshots continued nearby but 002 just kept on sitting there unable to get his limbs to coordinate enough beyond his mind's retaliation of what he had just seen. It had been like looking into a mirror, a mirror of time. Like he had just seen his old self reappear in front of him. It had been the blond hair and the blue eyes that had been unnatural to him at first, but with time he had forgotten about the variations entirely. Had adopted them as his own and only his own. But now, just now, seeing that man whose lips were pressed into a serious pout, the color of his hair, his eyes.

"Naturals." 002 whispered, the revelation hitting him like a ton of bricks.

002's trembling hand pressed into the earpiece now with purpose, wanting to speak, to report.

"002 reporting, over."

"What is your report, 002?"

"The other team."

"Speak quickly and freely, 002."

"They're our naturals. They're the real thing. The thing they took the DNA from."

"002 that is nonsense, they would not have us fight side by side."

"It's true!" 002 felt desperate as he started to slide up the side of the car to stand his legs trembling beneath him.

"It's true! I just saw him!"

"Who?"

"My natural! He should be towards the center of the area."

"Are you certain?"

"I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life."

"Well," 007's voice broke through the sound barrier. "While all of you are having the time of your life I have retrieved the target item."

"Good. 006, status on explosives?" 003 changed the subject as 002 found himself stepping out into the battleground once more, his hands shaking as he held onto the rifle for protection, shooting as he saw necessary but in his paranoia kept looking around for his natural nearby.

"Explosives equipped. Ready to go on your mark, 003."

"Copy."

002 turned towards the center half-sunken building and found an entire horde of men coming towards it all equipped similarly to how his natural had been. In that moment it had become extremely clear that he had been right.

"SHIT!" 006's deeper voice cut the air causing a loud distortion to 002's earpiece.

"006 are you alright?" 004 called out his voice sounding terrified.

"Shit! Shit!"

"006 reply!"

002 ducked behind another structure to avoid whatever it was that 006 was screaming at.

"It's me! It's me!"

"What?" 005 asked into the earpiece the sound of bewilderment was silent and yet piercingly obvious for the team.

"He saw his natural. We should retreat, we're done aren't we? Just need to set off the explosives?" 002 tried to reason, feeling sweat drip now into his eye for what must have been the tenth time in the infinite stretch of time that the mission was taking up.

"007 are you certain that you have secured the item?"

"Certain, it looks just like the picture."

002 started to retreat towards where they had been dropped off by the van. The adrenaline was coursing through his body making it impossible for him to feel the pain in his shoulder even though he was bleeding quite a bit from the bullet lodging itself in his shoulder earlier.

"We need to signal to them." 003 reasoned. "That we are ready to blow the place."

"Are you kidding? I'm not going anywhere near them! It's insane." 006 retorted, having already moved well out of the way of any gunfire and certainly out of the way of the naturals from what 002 could see as he too moved out of the way.

"We cannot commit friendly fire!" 003 shouted the frustration in his voice apparent as the mission's success hung in the balance of them blowing the center building sky high.

"I-I'll do it." 002 stuttered, but he was not so sure. In fact he was the very antithesis of 'sure' in the moment. The idea of having to come face to face with his natural was gut wrenching.

"Thank you."

There was no more deliberation as 002 found the strength to face reality. He ducked and weaved towards the main building. At the front stood a man who looked identical to 003, he seemed to be holding the point.

"We have to move, sir." 002 croaked, his tongue and mouth as dry as sand in his throat.

"Soldier?"

"We have to move. My team has planted explosives inside this building and it will go up with the enemies inside."

003's natural placed a hand against his ear.

"Team, retreat to vehicle."

"Thank you soldier, dismissed."

002 nodded achingly before he himself retreated from the building, running for his life as he death gripped the rifle in his rather sweaty but gloved hands.

"Everyone get behind something, now!" 003 called into his earpiece and 002 swung around a firm structure bracing his back against it just as the sound and sonic ripple of an explosion ripped through the area mercilessly. 002 grunted as he felt the air knocked out of his lungs and despite being behind a firm structure the shockwave was enough to throw him forward into the sand.

Once the initial wave was gone 002 started to move again towards their drop-off point.

They all collected there and 002 was first to witness 007 having the artifact he held in his hands ripped away from him.

The back of the van was pulled open and 002 piled in with the others, 003 came in last breathing heavily.

004 had blood on the side of his head along his ears.

Once the van was closed and they were driving 002's tense muscles relaxed and he looked towards 004.

"Are you alright?"

"Too close to the explosion," He croaked. "My ears are ringing..."

"Maybe someone can help when we get back."

"Maybe."

002 gave 004 a gentle pat along his thigh in a similarly gentle caress as 004 had touched his masked cheek earlier.

The rest of the ride back was silent. 002 was too hot to speak and it seemed that the rest of the team was similarly overheated and tired.

Their return home was as expected, a rough and unceremonious debrief before they were given the chance to change clothes and were taken back to their quarters.

But 002 could not think of anything but the dark-haired dark-eyed 002 staring back at him and what his existence meant and how he as a puzzle piece fit into the broader fabric of this world's tapestry.

Chapter Text

The mission briefs were vague for Minjoong, as a biologist and caregiver his knowledge of what the clones went through outside of the building was limited. He knew, however, that they would inevitably come across his brother's team. They had been made for it, made to see how well they could function. It had not yet been confirmed but Minjoong had heard whispers that they might one day replace the team. One by one, death by death, injury by injury. The idea was morbid in a sense, but the government certainly saw the clones as the more powerful counterparts. The counterparts whose bodies could take a beating and stand back up again. Bodies that could be rebuilt time and time again. Something that was not true of the natural's bodies. They were not artifice.

Minjoong knew from a few files he had read that the mission today would take them on a mission together. He spent the entire time worried that they might not make it out, despite many other missions having already proven him otherwise. In the midst of all of this he kept scribbling on loose sheets of paper, his stomach curdled and tight.

"They'll be okay." He whispered, as he wrote down their numbers over and over again. The numbers that stood in as their names. It was another tragedy that they were forced to be just numbers. Their artificial nature intensified and exposed to the world. But to Minjoong they were so much more than artificial beings. Perhaps they were stronger, they had a way to heal faster, and could be rebuilt one cell at a time. But that did not make them any less breathing beings, human beings. He could tell when he looked at them, the worry in their eyes, the way they spoke. The childlike wonder for new stimuli and the concern they had for their futures. If they were monsters, machines that were made for nothing more than killing, why did they possess such incredible minds, and forethought that could only be attributed to someone like Minjoong - a human.

Minjoong had helped to make them, and had been the driving force behind their creation. Now he felt like he had played with fire, he had done something no one else had done before and the burden to care for these young men was on his shoulders. He was their parent, and he felt anxiety mixed with profound determination to protect them. It was why these sorts of moments, where they departed on a mission and he was forced to sit in his office simply waiting on them to return so that he did not get a report of injury or death, were so worrying to him.

There was always work to be done, but he found himself scribbling and being idle with worry on mission days. On occasion from some internalized compulsion he would stand up from his chair and wander over to the main security panel where screens displayed the quarters in which the clones were held. He would click through the cameras, watching the very empty rooms, thinking he might be able to will their re-appearance with his mind alone. He knew it made no sense, but he could not help it.

Eventually, he would return to his seat and continue scribbling.

Today was a particularly bad day because of the nature of the mission. He hoped that they would not come across their naturals. They knew that they were replicas, of course, but there was something different about actually coming face-to-face with your natural. It could cause cognitive dissonance. He hoped that they would not, and he hoped that those above him had set up a proper protocol to avoid such mingling.

Somewhere in the middle of his eternal wait for the clones to return he had started to consider how to help them with their individuality if they did come across their naturals. Was it not inevitable?

Minjoong's scribbling turned to more intentional writing. There was a large list that soon came to be - a list of names.

It was a little bit like naming a baby, something new and special about naming a person. But he tried to keep it close to the names of the naturals they were modeled after.

Soon it came to be and he could not help himself but smile at his piece of paper. Numbers scratched out and matched to brand new names. This would be a nice present, an unusual one, but he felt that they would enjoy having a sense of individuality. A sense of person.

It was a dangerous game to play, Minjoong realized. If he gave them these identities, these ways to become themselves, then they would potentially separate from the government's original intentions. But he could always reason with them... Though a more genuine part of Minjoong did not want to reason. Though he was not inherently rebellious, his sense of wanting to protect and bolster the strength of his seven charges made him feel an ember of rebellion.

He hoped that the government was not able to read minds the way it was able to keep track of words and intentions. That would perhaps be far more frightening than any biological weapon of destruction that Minjoong could help them create as he had with these clones.

By the time the alarm sounded that signaled their return home Minjoong had fallen asleep and the paper he had written the names on stuck to his face from a bit of drool. He woke up with a start, as if an engine had been revved up inside of him with a gasp. Wiping away the sands of sleep from his eyes he started to stand, throwing his white coat over his shoulders. He needed to see them, needed to talk to them, to see if they were okay.

Minjoong descended upon their quarters as if he were a parent who had not seen their child return from school in many months. He found them all sitting around in the common area.

002 and 006 looked particularly weary, the rest were crowded around them. 007 was rubbing on 002's arm awkwardly and 004 just kept squeezing on 006's shoulders as if he were trying and failing to give them a massage.

"How is everyone?" Minjoong chimed in, smiling a bit and moving closer to the clones.

"Tired." 005 responded quickly.

It was true, they did look tired. But Minjoong did not find this to be shocking, they had just gone on a very physically demanding mission.

"The mission?"

"It went well." 003 glanced at Minjoong and then back to 002.

"Are... You sure?" Minjoong followed up, rubbing at his wrist a little bit as he did.

"002 and 006 saw their naturals." 003 explained, frowning.

"Oh. That... Wasn't supposed to happen."

"But it did."

"I told them-"

"Them?"

"My superiors, I told them that you should not see them so early on that it can cause issues."

003 nodded and 007 let out a whine as he curled further into 002.

"Don't die 002!"

"He won't die. There's just some things all of you aren't ready for," Minjoong pointed up to his head. "Here."

Minjoong let out a sigh then and slowly went to sit across from all of them curled up on the biggest couch that they were provided.

"I have a gift."

"A gift?" 007 perked up, leaning a little bit away from 002. He was easily baited with these sorts of things, he was the most childlike and it was at times uplifting especially in these moments.

"I came up with something today while all of you were gone. I thought..."

"Well come on! Come on! Tell us! Tell us!" 007 rocked back and forth, his eyes wide, posture as if he were ready to leap on top of Minjoong for keeping them in the dark any longer.

"007 calm, he is clearly trying to tell us something." 003 chided, a deeper voice of reason resonating through the space which made 007 pull back some of his excitement that seemed to be spilling out from every pore in his mind like sunshine.

"I thought it is about time that all of you receive identities."

"We have identities though," 007 pouted suddenly, pointing at himself. "Like I'm 007. That's an identity."

"It is, you're right." Minjoong agreed with a nod. "But it's not the same thing as a name. You do not call me by a number, do you?"

"No..."

The entire room fell to a hush for a moment. 008 had shifted a little bit, holding onto a pillow like a teddy bear. 006's vision had swam back into focus and he was looking straight at Minjoong now.

"So, I have names for all of you. If you are willing to hear them out. It's okay if not."

003 tilted his head and then looked to the rest of the group, nobody said a word but there was a hushed excitement there. Not all were able to show that excitement outwardly, but the curiosity and desire was there. So 003 looked back to Minjoong and nodded, giving Minjoong the confirmation he needed to continue.

"002 is Han. 003 is Beomhwa. 004 is Youngho. 005 is Sangwoo. 006 is Minsu. 007 is Woosung. 008 is Jonghui." It was a bit robotic, the names not yet drilled onto his tongue, but definitely into his mind.

"Beomhwa..." 003 tested, his mouth going through the shape. "Sounds familiar."

"I based them off of your naturals names." Minjoong had paused, feeling a strange sensation of discomfort rise in his chest. He had never been suave like his brother. These sensations of trepidation and discomfort were frequent for him and he had a much harder time playing them off unlike Hongjoong throughout the course of his life.

"I like mine." 007 chirped, looking like a particularly pleased fox towards Minjoong.

Minjoong smiled and nodded. Finally 002 looked towards Minjoong as if he had returned from the battlegrounds that had been plaguing him.

"It doesn't feel good to see them." 002 shared.

"The naturals?"

"Mhmm."

"It might get easier with time, but I hope that your seeing them is limited. Like I said, I don't think you're ready. If we start using the names though it may help with your lack of sense of self."

"That's very complicated, Minjoong." 003 murmured, standing up and approaching the biologist's seat and sitting down near him now.

"I know. But these things have not been done before. This sort of science. I created the serum that maintains you, that makes it possible for you all to stand, to exist, to breathe, to speak. To be human. The questions that will arise will not make your existence easier. It's something every human grapples with. But every human does not have the start that you all have. Does not have the genetic memories that are laid into your very being. I'm here to make it easier."

They all listened, or at least to Minjoong it seemed as if they were listening. Whether that was true or not was impossible to determine. The biologist scratched at his forehead gently, brushing back the black strands of his bangs that framed around his face.

"I'm not supposed to say this," Minjoong started. "But I love each and every one of you. I would die for you. I... I hate to see bad things happen to you. It is impossible to watch in some cases. But I am also tied to the realities of my job. I can only help to some extent. The government limits what I can or cannot do even if I insist on certain care protocols." It was far too open, he knew it. He just hoped that no one was listening over the security cameras. It was unlikely, nobody had been in the office when he had come down to their sterile quarters.

Minjoong was certain that he would be safe in this case.

"It's a hard balance to strike." 003 agreed and the rest seemed to agree as well a few little nods from the group as they sat there and fiddled with the hems of their shirt. Except for 008 who continued to press up against his pillow, he even tucked his knees up to his chest as he hugged. Minjoong smiled towards him, he had always looked like a teddy bear.

"Let's practice calling each other these names." Beomhwa suggested then looking between each and every one of the six in his team. "It will be a good idea if what Minjoong-ssi is saying is true. It will help us on our missions."

"Well what about the missions? What if the government finds out about all of this?" Han looked concerned but the vacant and weary stare was disappearing. As if the discussion and the name was bringing him back to his sense of self after the strange mission.

"For the missions, the naturals do not use their names. Just use your numbers then. But here between each other and with me, use your names. We can keep it a secret and if someone questions me I-I'll tell them it's necessary for your mental health."

"Since when did the government ever care about our mental states?" Minsu huffed pouting a little with his cheeks full of air.

"You're right but if they want to maintain strong weapons they will eventually listen to me." Minjoong hoped that one day his superiors would understand what the angle was. It was about more than just maintenance. For these individuals to be top notch, the best they could be, every part of them had to be at the top. That included their minds. A mind took a much longer time to mold into what one wanted with a natural human, but with these individuals it was tougher because of how they were created.

"Let us hope that is the case." Beomhwa whispered, putting his hand to touch Minjoong's thigh stiffly. Minjoong tightened up then his thigh muscle became tense as he cleared his throat causing Beomhwa to retract his hand entirely.

"What was my name again?" Sangwoo asked, bashful with his question as he looked towards Minjoong and Beomhwa.

"It's Sangwoo."

"Sangwoo… I like it.”

"Good, I'm glad!" Minjoong clapped his hands then and started to stand moving towards the kitchenette.

"Anything in here?"

"Unfortunately all empty after Woosung decided to drink all of those drinks you brought us."

"All of them?" Minjoong gawked a little, looking over his shoulder towards Woosung who was still looking pleased with himself like a fox but at the same time he looked just a little bashful and embarrassed.

"They were really good! I'm sorry hyuuunnng!"

"Don't call him that, Woosung," Beomhwa was quick to retaliate, having already picked up on all of the names in a short amount of time. Minjoong had realized early on that Beomhwa was likely the smartest of the group, or at the very least the most perceptive.

There was something about Beomhwa that Minjoong felt particularly fond of, but the details were woven together and he could not ever pinpoint exactly what it was. It was just Beomhwa. The same way one might marvel at all the stars in the night sky - were they visible this deep in the city - Minjoong marveled at Beomhwa. There was no one specific thing, no one freckle, or the way his hand felt against his thigh.

Minjoong let out a sigh then, pilfering some water that was well stocked in these quarters as the clones needed to be well-hydrated as they were kept in extremely good shape and water was unsurprisingly a part of this system.

"You really shouldn't drink everything so quickly without sharing, you know it's hard for me to bring all of you treats on a regular basis." Minjoong did his best, but he often had to do so either with a very vague explanation of why the 'treat' in question was even necessary, or he had to lie and sneak the treats in despite the cameras everywhere. This was dangerous. It was possible for Minjoong to get in trouble, even though he was the primary caretaker and visitor of the clones on a regular basis. He had the clearance, but not always direct permission from his superiors to visit.

He did it anyway.

It was impossible for Minjoong to stay away, they were like darling sunspots in his life. Hongjoong had started to call him a bit of a workaholic because of how late he came home some days. Some days he could only come home after he had visited with the seven locked away here. Some days those visitations were far longer than he expected, hours of sitting and talking.

"Woosung knows better," Han piped up quietly, slowly beginning to stand from his seat and beginning to walk over towards where Minjoong was standing, sipping the water delicately as he watched the room.

"Are you alright, Han?" Minjoong asked with an emphasis as Han leaned against the center counter space nearby.

"Wrestling with the idea that there is more than just me, or any of us."

Minjoong nodded, he could see the haunting in Han's eyes. Minjoong knew it must have been tough. It was one thing to be a biological twin, the way he and Hongjoong were. It was an entirely different experience. It was growing up together, and looking alike but ultimately being two different people with different perceptions of the world.

All of them were made from very carefully isolated and then enhanced DNA strands from their naturals. They carried all of the memories of their naturals, but with scientific modification they were stronger, faster, and better in almost every way. Except for the scientific flaws. Jonghui could not speak because his re-creation was hurried and not enough time and care was put into creating his entire body.

There was something wrong with Sangwoo's eye, and the only thing that Minjoong could do was provide a painkiller on a regular basis so that he does not suffer from pain and headaches. But likely it was the genetic memory of his predecessor model, getting shot in the eye causing him irreparable pain in the current model.

They were not separate people, they were exactly the same. Except for those scientific flukes that had ultimately, and very accidentally made them unique.

Minjoong realized how his creations were both wonderful and yet would always face the inherent existential dread of their own existence. Though to some degree Minjoong believed this to be a human experience, even if theirs was to be a greater burden to bear than a human created by 'normal' means.

"It's hard," Minjoong finally responded after he had mulled over the idea enough. "It's hard to imagine that there are people out there, people that directly influenced your existence. But-"

"My mind is screaming. I feel as if I was thrown into a fire."

"Think of yourself as only yourself. The memories you have created since you have woken up, have come to be alive in this world. They are all yours. They cannot be shared with your naturals. So although you share pre-life memories, everything that you have now is your own."

Minjoong hoped that his words would allow for some emotional and mental reprieve, but he had no way of knowing. Han's face remained a bit weary and worried, though he at least nodded to Minjoong in some form of quiet acknowledgement.

"All of you here," Minjoong started up again. He felt like a wound-up toy, he was ready to say anything at all to put their minds at ease. "You have a counterpart, but it does not make you have less purpose. Less love. Less anything. And if you ever feel that way, I will make sure to show you how wrong that is."

"Aw Minjoong-ssi!" Woosung started to tear up a little bit, but as he did he started to cough profusely. It silenced the room for a moment with the strange and volatile coughing fit.

"Sorry." Woosung murmured bashfully, looking around the room, his face turning red.

"Are you alright?" Minjoong asked, and Woosung nodded slightly.

"Yeah, just tired."

Minjoong finished his water and went to toss the bottle into a plastics bin that the room had beneath one of the countertops.

"You all must be very tired, I shouldn't be holding you up much longer. It's alright to rest, Woosung."

Woosung pouted a little bit, clearly fearful of missing out on some kind of fun that could potentially occur in his absence.

"I promise we don't do anything too fun without you," Minjoong commented in an attempt to put Woosung's mind at ease.

"No, it can't be anything fun *at all*," Woosung emphasized as he stood up, giving a few more rattling coughs that gave Minjoong a slight cause for concern. Though he did not dare air his grievance now, or here. It was a bad idea to get them all to worry so instead he just smiled and nodded and let Woosung head to his bed without a word.

"I'll go with him, make sure he actually sleeps." Han commented and Minjoong nodded gently before Han turned away and walked out of the common area herding and ushering Woosung along.

The departure of the first two marked the others to start milling around. Jonghui and Sangwoo started to interact with each other in brief notes, as well as gestures that Jonghui had created to help communicate. Though especially with Sangwoo. From the looks of it, that Minjoong had noticed, they had a secret language between the two of them.

Minsu and Youngho decided to take up the majority of the couch with Minsu practically crawling in Youngho's lap in a desperate attempt to receive some solace after their very long and difficult day.

That left Beomhwa who approached Minjoong standing close. Close enough for their arms to touch against each other. The touch sent electricity through Minjoong's body, though he was embarrassed to admit it. No, he knew he could never admit it openly.

"They'll be okay." Beomhwa reassured, and Minjoong could not help but give Beomhwa a weary smile.

"You think so?"

"I know so. They're both strong. I know we may not always seem mentally resilient."

"You are so young, at least, well in terms of how long you have been alive."

"But we have years prebuilt into us, Minjoong-ssi. I promise both of them will be okay. With time."

"You would know better than me." Minjoong shared, as much as he claimed to know everything about the clones, he himself was not a clone and could not reflect on what it was like to exist as one. Most of the time he relied on Beomhwa to tell him how it felt or what it was like. So even now he was having to take him at face value, that both Han and Minsu would be alright with time after seeing their naturals, that it would not take the toll that Minjoong had originally believed it would. In spite of the uplifting words that he had shared with them all.

There was an unhappiness brewing, Minjoong could tell. It was a distant storm with gray clouds that bruised the sky. But it was not anything Minjoong could directly combat, he had to keep them happy. He had to keep himself happy... His fingers brushed against Beomhwa's idly.

Lightning.

"Right, so just trust me." Beomhwa whispered his face close to Minjoong's ear which caused Minjoong's stomach to tighten, his face to turn red. It was such a strange reaction. He felt the prickle of redness like patches of mild irritation from a stinging nettle on his cheeks.

"I trust you."

They trusted each other. More than anybody in the world could ever trust another. Of this Minjoong was certain.

"Good." Beomhwa smiled and leaned away then. "You should head home, it's getting late."

Minjoong glanced at his wristwatch and realized how the time had flown. It seemed that he had only been there for a minute or two and yet the sun was more than likely set by now.

Hongjoong would be annoyed with his absence, yet again. The two of them liked to try and eat dinner together and on a few occasions with their parents. Though today was not a 'parent' day it was still important to get home and eat together. It provided a sense of normalcy...

Then again there was a good chance Hongjoong was passed out after the mission today.

A gamble either way Minjoong pushed away from the counter he was leaning against and started to make his way to the door.

"You sure everything will be okay?" It was a final bit of reassurance, Minjoong felt like a desperate and small child in the moment. He wanted to run into Beomhwa's arms...

Beomhwa. It was so nice to think of him now with a name, they were all more than just a number. Why had Minjoong not thought of this until now? There was almost a sense of shame associated with how long it had been between their coming to life and now.

"Yes, Minjoong-ssi."

The deep voice resonated with Minjoong who nodded gently towards Beomhwa and started his way out of the quarters.

It was not an extremely long walk back to his office where he intended to pick up all of his things, particularly stuffing some paperwork he needed to finish in his briefcase and shutting down his computer so that if he made it to work a little late in the morning no one could see what he had been going over. Minjoong did not believe that any of his coworkers would try to look at files on his computer but he preferred to take precautions instead of risking sensitive information.

There were strangers, enemies and traitors everywhere.

It was like out of a horror film as Minjoong turned there was a man in a white coat standing behind him. Minjoong gasped a hand to his throat as he felt his heart leap towards his mouth and back down again.

Li Kihyun was standing there, glasses reflecting fluorescent light, staring at Minjoong piercingly.

"Minjoong-ssi," The doctor would begin his expression robotic, his tone low, cold and discomforting.

"Doctor- What is it?"

"Why are you still here, Minjoong-ssi?"

"Just a long day, I had quite a bit to do."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why did I just see you on the cameras returning from the clone's quarters?"

"I visited them, they had a hard day today. I was making sure everything was alright." Minjoong tried to play it off, he knew he was not fully lying - on a technicality.

"Don't lie to me, Minjoong-ssi."

"I'm not."

It was sudden, the space between them closed as if the doctor had somehow obtained super speed. Minjoong fell against his desk and the doctor pressed Minjoong against it, boxing him in.

"You are." The doctor's hand grabbed onto the front of Minjoong's buttoned-up shirt, finding the fabric of the cheap tie he wore, he yanked on it, choked Minjoong with it ever so slightly.

"Do I need to remind you again?"

"Remind me of what?"

"They are *not* human. Stop treating them as such."

Minjoong coughed slightly in the doctors face, the doctors face contorted in disgust but this action made certain that Minjoong's throat was given some slack so that he could breathe again.

"I'm-I'm..."

"You're not? I have seen it time and time again, even during our joint visits. I have seen you bring them things they should not have. You are lucky I have not reported you."

"You're lucky I h-"

"Haven't what? Shaken in the wind like a leaf? Please, don't make me laugh. You are pathetic, you will never do anything to harm me. But I will harm you, Minjoong-ssi. Trust me. Things may be 'fine' for those abominations, but they will not be fine for you if you continue on this way. If you continue visiting them and showering them with gifts. Remember what they are, remember that they were made to be weapons."

"But they are still human, they have mental processes that need to be cared for the same way they are physically."

"Bullshit. It does not matter what their mental state is. They can rot! They can rot as long as they kill, infiltrate and do what we need them to do. And if they get sick or step out of line? The government will make new ones."

"The government needs me for that."

"But for how much longer? The government can make you obsolete, the way they will make that team of naturals obsolete."

The doctor chuckled darkly, pushing himself off of Minjoong. Minjoong fell further back, his elbows knocking against his work desk before he fell on the floor. He sat there, staring up at the man fearfully.

"Don't forget who you serve. These names you've given them, they are just another distraction. For you, for them."

Minjoong continued to sit there, he did not speak. He knew that whatever he said would be put down. His tongue was paralyzed in his mouth as he felt that vile hatred poured out onto him from the doctors lips.

It was all there...

"Don't forget, Minjoong-ssi." The words came cool and unabashed before the man turned and disappeared from the office.

Minjoong turned to his briefcase and in a semi-shaken state started to pick up where he had left off.

As he packed he felt a feeling of rebellion, of resilience arise in him like a venomous snake ready to strike. His fingers curled into some loose paper that he shoved into his briefcase before snapping it shut.

If the doctor was going to play this game, he was going to double down and he would make sure that those that he loved most would be protected from him, at all cost.

Chapter Text

The night had been long for Yunho who had slept poorly following a leak that had occurred in his apartment. Something that could not easily be fixed until morning came. He called the landlord in the morning to complain about the situation before quickly dressing and disappearing to go to work.

Yunho often took the public transit system to get to work. He lived in a sector that was further away from the center, where his work was. It was not considered the wealthiest residential district but it worked fine for him as he lived alone and preferred to spend money on food more than rent or utilities. It had been a small point of contention between him and Mingi who thought that Yunho could do better in a better place but Yunho could not help but laugh it off a little bit, leaving Mingi to pout in the corner. It was never malicious, but the two of them had a very special relationship. The kind that most would not understand.

Public transit was crowded today, the smell of grease, sweat and immobile air was thick, forcing Yunho to place his nose into his suit jacket sleeve more than normal. Today would have been good to take the car it seemed, but he saved on gas by taking the train and he preferred to save money over having his own comfort on most days.

As it were every day he walked into the central building and checked in.

It was slated to be a boring day, that much he knew as he swiped into his team's office room and took up his seat at his designated cubicle. Jongho was already there typing away at something and looking particularly serious.

"Working so early, the day hardly started." Yunho quipped as he booted up his computer and it flickered with a hesitant light.

"Work early so I can leave early."

"Is that it? Tsk, Jongho-ssi is lazy."

"I would say efficient over lazy."

"Certainly."

Yunho sat in silence for a moment longer watching his computer screen go through the gestures of waking up so that he could use it. Once the plain blue screen was there he would move the mouse carefully to a program, double click to open it.

"Why do you use that thing?" Jongho hummed, thinking out loud from what Yunho could gather.

"What thing?"

"The mouse."

"I don't know, just like the click sounds."

"We can just touch the screen," Jongho scratched the back of his neck, his tone matter-of-fact. Always practical.

"I know, I do touch the screen sometimes. Usually though, not necessary." Yunho did not know how to explain to Jongho that not everything needed to be as precise as he made it out to be. The youngest on the team often acted the oldest, and while he had the mind to step back when his opinion was not necessary he was perhaps the most removed from his emotions. Perfect for the government, not very perfect to hold a conversation with. Still this distance was something admirable.

Yunho yawned, realizing that he was going to need coffee in the very near future as he clicked away on his computer and opened a few files to start writing emails and taking notes. This was their day-to-day, not exactly the adventures that Yunho had originally signed up for, but the missions made up for it. The missions made the job worth it.

Yunho loved infiltration, shooting and tactical work. It was something he felt he excelled at. Clearly the government felt similarly about him or else he more than likely would have been let go at this point.

Over the next fifteen minutes the rest of the team filed in, all in their suit uniforms, in an assortment of tired to well-rested. Wooyoung was the one who was yawning the most frequently as he went to plop down at his cubicle. Mingi, who sat on the opposite side of Yunho, was the most bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning.

"Did you have coffee this morning, you're quite chipper." Yunho commented, smiling gently.

"No. Well, I had a sip."

"Just a sip?"

"Mhmm." Mingi turned red up to his ears and Yunho turned back to his computer to tap the screen and move a few files into the trash.

They all sat comfortably in their seats doing some work chattering idly for thirty minutes before Seonghwa appeared in the office room.

"We are being dispatched, urgently."

"Huh?" Yunho swiveled around to face Seonghwa who had become very recognizable to them as the Captain's right hand, when the Captain was not there he was the one in charge.

"Up, everyone."

They all started to stand, taking off their suit jackets to leave them draped over the black office chairs that were bound in a fake leather.

"What happened?" Wooyoung asked, his voice groggy as if he had been taking a nap. Yunho had noticed he had been rather quiet over the last thirty minutes since he had gotten to work.

"Sector One is being attacked."

"Excuse me?" Yunho gawked. The majority of their missions were outside of the city confines, putting down hideouts of bandits, or would-be rebellions and rebels. It was never IN the city itself. "Is anyone on site?"

"Captain has gone ahead, we must follow."

"We are going by ourselves?" San piped up as they all started to file out of the office room space they occupied and down many different hallways. What once was a particularly difficult space to navigate had become second nature.

"To my understanding we will have back up."

"Like last time?"

"It is possible."

Yunho looked at San and San shrugged back at Yunho in regards to Seonghwa's answer. All of them recognized the need for backup on certain missions, however none of them felt comfortable not knowing what team they were working with or a lack of radio connection between everyone involved in a mission.

It was what was expected of them though, so no one made a fuss or protested.

They found themselves in a room soon enough and started changing. Yunho's heart was beating out of his chest. He loved missions, he did but this was particularly close to home. It was concerning that whoever this was, was able to infiltrate the city and cause such a significant stir. It made him nervous, were they going to be in over their heads? Or would they be able to handle it appropriately? He hoped for the latter and as he was prone to optimism he determined that it would be best to lay his doubts to rest for now. They would soon find out how dire or not the situation was, after all.

The team piled into the back of a van, attaching seat belts as an overhead speaker spoke to them in a distorted voice. The voice was always distorted as their superiors did not want direct correlation between their employees and leadership.

Yunho's posture was hunched, he and Mingi always took up more room in the van and did their best to try and make themselves smaller so that the parameters were less cramped as they were driven across bumpy roads left and right. It was nausea inducing for someone who was weaker in the stomach. All of them had been trained better than to get sick though, so on they continued indefinitely it seemed.

They came to a screeching halt and the slight bit of air that was slipping into the van made it clear that whatever damage was being dealt to the sector, was egregious. The smell of smoke filled Yunho's lungs, it was brimstone and fire. There was screaming and a rapid fire of gunshots.

The back of the van burst open and they were commanded to move out quickly. A well-oiled machine they traveled out.

"Set up a perimeter, three blocks from the center in every direction." Seonghwa's voice cracked into their earpieces.

"Kilo Yankee, set up a strategic base at the center of the sector."

"Yes, sir."

They dispersed, Yunho went North. He was moving left and right past burning buildings and smoking vehicles. Whoever this was, was not joking for one second about the government or the civilians that lived under the government's rule. It was as if the war had never ended now, he wondered how many of those who were still alive from the days of the war would feel seeing one of the most important sectors go up in flames like this.

It was tragic, terrible Yunho felt. Yunho loved his city, and loved his government. Love. It was hard to strike a balance between the indifference and unfeeling that the government wanted with the passion and loyalty that they wanted too. He was bright and naturally cheerful and so it was often difficult to suppress those loyalties and passions. It helped him in these moments.

A shower of bullets came from nowhere and he flung himself behind a flipped vehicle, looking over the bottom of it to see someone approaching with a significant rifle. It was not something one could simply get, it appeared government issued.

An ex-government employee?

It would explain how they managed to infiltrate without ever being noticed. Yunho's jaw tightened as he yanked at his hip holster to pull out a hand gun so that he could fire a few shots off in the man's direction. The bullets glanced off of his torso though he did fumble backwards from the impact. Yunho immediately knew that the man was wearing a protective cover over his torso, his limbs still unknown whether they would be weak or not. His head was covered well and he made the assumption that the helmet would be of similar strength as the torso.

It would be a difficult adversary to put down.

"Juliet Yankee here, over. I have an enemy on the first block in sight, protective armor, cannot penetrate. Analyze, please."

There was radio silence and that silence was enough for his enemy to turn a corner and grab onto Yunho by the neck and fling him into another car. Yunho gasped, the air leaving his lungs, stunning and paralyzing him for a moment.

"Doe-does anyone copy?" He rasped, his body full of adrenaline forcing him to stand up as he started to point his hand gun towards the approaching man. He was powerful, was he somehow augmented? Had the government augmented people before? If they had, why were they not aware of this? They were soldiers that needed to know as much as possible for their safety, no?

"Copy Juliet Yankee, on the way." Yeosang's voice broke through the gunpowder air as Yunho fired shots at the man's torso again to stun him and have him stumble backwards; it gave Yunho just enough time to jump over the hood of a car to create distance. Just enough time for Yeosang's drone to fly overhead and begin to analyze what was going on on the ground.

"Analyzing."

Yunho darted away even as the man kept approaching, trying to keep moving towards the three block checkpoint.

"Fingers and palms, knees and ankles are detected as weak points. Use your rifle."

"...That's it? There has to be something else I can fire at." Yunho groaned as he put away his handgun and swung his rifle around and into his palms, ducking behind another vehicle as more bullets rained on him, this time from the persistent man and someone overhead.

"Shit. Drone contact is lost!"

"Kilo Yankee activate new drone."

"Working on it."

Yunho pointed his rifle quickly towards the rooftops where he detected the enemy and fired a few rounds off, contact was made and the man fell to the ground leaving Yunho to pay attention to the approaching man on the ground who as Yunho fired bullets kicked Yunho's hands in causing him to drop the rifle against his body. The masked man in question did not try to shoot at him again and instead pulled out a knife with which he advanced on Yunho with, almost leaping towards him to try and wrestle him to the ground and stab him.

Yunho grunted, he knew his struggle was being broadcasted over the radio as he rolled over on top of the man holding onto his wrist as he pinned it down with an elbow, pinning him with his hips around the chest so that he couldn't be bucked off. But the man had impeccable flexibility and tossed Yunho off of him with both legs like springs against his back.

The soldier took a tumble, his face against the asphalt cutting into his cheeks a bit, his hands heating up inside of his gloves as he stopped himself from sliding too far. His rifle flew off of him and was several feet away now where he would not be able to reach it easily.

"I'm down..." He coughed painfully, it was difficult to inhale as if his lungs were impacted. Something might have been broken but he wasn't sure. Unable to move very quickly he started to sit up, his shoulders hunched forward nursing his injury as he did. Before he could turn to retaliate well enough his collar was being grabbed and he was being dragged across the ground unable to quite capture his feet underneath him well enough to fight back. The pain that was radiating through his chest was making it impossible for him to get up or do anything to fight.

"Shit, I'm caught. Northern perimeter is-"

Yunho lost his words as he was once again tossed against a car, this time his entire body crumpled forward and he had to fight back tears as he felt himself turn to a piece of paper. Was he going to die? Things were happening so quickly, there was no drone set up that could take this man out from a distance and everyone else had dispersed in separate directions. It had been expected that he would take this area on by himself but it was a losing battle. Yunho had not expected for it to be a losing battle.

The masked man approached the knife still in his hand. For some reason Yunho thought he could see a smirk through a singular slit in his mask. Somehow he didn't imagine a knife being the object that would bring him to his end, but here he was. Too weak to retaliate he just closed his eyes and grabbed onto the rubble on the ground hoping that it would at least be a swift death.

Would his friends mourn him? There was not a great deal of pomp and circumstance when it came to government funerals, he would be seen as a hero but only a limited group of people would be allowed to see his graveside. Even his family would not be allowed to visit after he was tucked away. His heart was beating, beating...

Yunho felt himself bargain, and grieve for those that would still be alive. Then he felt anger and sadness wash through him, he didn't deserve to die, did he? Not long after he felt tears uncontrollably starting from his eyes. This was truly the end and he had no way out of it.

Death never came, and the sudden thud had Yunho opening his tearful eyes to find the man who had dared to brandish a knife against him laying in a heap on the ground in front of Yunho's outstretched legs. The mask had somehow flown off from his head. The smirk stretched on his features like an echo of his intentions.

Beyond Yunho swimming in his vision was someone holding his rifle but he dropped it soon after.

---

Jonghui stood in the wake of death panting heavily, he approached the dead body and gave it a much closer look, inspecting it briefly before looking up.

A natural.

Jonghui’s mind was quick to start wrestling with the idea that this was 004, Youngho. Though this natural undoubtedly had a different name. Jonghui raised his hands to show that he was benevolent but it seemed that the individual on the ground was not responsive.

His jaw tightened as he gingerly lifted up the much taller man first onto his feet though they were limp and dragging, and then he yanked him with one strong pull onto his shoulders. It would be imperative to bring him back to the rest of the naturals.

Unable to communicate verbally Jonghui simply did what he could, it made communication with him difficult at long distance. But he was at least able to take commands if something was going particularly wrong. At the moment his job was to help secure areas with the naturals, but unfortunately this area would not be secured for a while longer and it would be up to him alone to secure the space with the way it seemed to be playing out.

It made the mission more dangerous than normal, because he would not be able to obey any orders if he were to successfully secure the area. This was made worse by the fact that he could not act as back up for anyone else. He just hoped that the mission would be successful regardless.

For now though he was running as quickly as he could towards the center of the sector, his legs were strong and sturdy and while this natural was heavy, he was not as heavy as some of the things that Jonghui had been trained to carry in such moments. There was a dome near the center of the sector, clearly set up by the naturals.

Jonghui did not want to come across himself or anyone else, his mind already reeling at the idea that there was something else like 004. Instead he placed this Youngho natural on the ground near the dome and knocked against it loudly with no voice to communicate his arrival he moved to the northern path hoping that Youngho's natural would be saved and not left out to die at the base.

The northern path was primarily clear from where the natural had come and Jonghui had successfully cleared out a great deal of the adversaries from the rooftops on the way towards the center.

Three blocks that had been the command and so now he stood at the end of the third block.

One by one he would drag vehicles towards the area, cursing in his mind. He wished he could toss them, and lift them. But the best he could was drag. They were incredibly heavy and his limitations were made clear at this moment. Still, he knew that the naturals were not capable of what he was achieving now. There was a reason they were dispatched after all. Jonghui knew better, even if he could not communicate his knowledge very well.

The youngest of his team made a barricade of sorts in the cleared out section and placed himself behind the tires of the cars. In case any bullets would fly it would be easy to avoid being hit. Tires were thick and difficult to pierce even with large bullets that had less accuracy.

Ten minutes seemed to drag by against his will and he let out a sigh through his nose when suddenly a bullet struck the hood of a car nearby. It was from far away and so it did not pierce the car but it did bounce off creating a comical noise as it did. Though Jonghui realized there was nothing comical about the situation as he leaned his shoulder against the vehicle to raise himself up and see if there was anyone approaching.

Much to his chagrin there was an entire line of unsavory individuals in different states of dress and armor. There was one who was entirely shirtless who had the word 'liberation' written across his chest in big letters. It was strange. Liberation from what?

Jonghui could not imagine a need for liberation, he kept his mouth shut, and his work focused. The days slipped by painfully sometimes, but they had food and shelter. There was little that he wanted, though he noticed how the rest of the team seemed to murmur with discontent.

He was not certain of why, his mind was wired a certain way but he felt a deep loyalty and love for his team. So he on occasion nodded and agreed with them, even if he did not fully understand the point of their conversations. It was easier to not cause a fuss, to simply agree with the status quo.

Liberation.

Jonghui aimed at liberation first, he looked down the scope. This was not the first time he had killed, but it was the first time he had hesitated in a kill. It was not difficult, but for some reason as the line approached and created a wall of men and women ready to fight Jonghui felt some difficulty to pull the trigger.

Before they were dolls, they were the opposition of the government. The government was to be obeyed. But now he was having second thoughts. These people, this shirtless man with those words was not just a doll in opposition of the government. He had a belief in something stronger it seemed than what Jonghui believed in. Or maybe it was the other way around?

Jonghui would never have written this on his body, he knew that outright. But he wondered what it would feel like to walk out into combat, so confident and unprotected by any physical thing. Did this man know he was about to die?

008 finally pulled the trigger and it fired a shot straight through the man's heart. He collapsed forward dead on impact. 008 frowned as he put himself behind the car again as a volley of bullets fired at his exact spot, putting hole after hole into the car forcing him to move out of the way so that he was not killed by bullets or in case the car exploded from the amount of volatile impact it was receiving - killed by an exploding car.

The car did not explode but the volley eventually subsided. The scent of gunpowder filled the air and Jonghui just sat there for a moment waiting for the smoke to roll away with the slight breeze before he leaned out again to fire off another shot, he had determined that it would be best to take them on, one by one. Though to what extent could he kill them all off? At some point they were going to scatter, move or attack him physically all at once.

008 did not feel worried about the physical aspects, but if they closed the distance and fired their weapons at him, he knew there would be little he could do. He had left the rifle of the natural some ways away along the first block of the perimeter. It would be impossible to retrieve without allowing the enemy to advance. It would be cowardly to retreat now too.

It occurred to him that he could do a little more to create damage in a wider area, he put his palm to his belt thumbing a grenade. It would do decent work on a large group as it was lined up now. But Jonghui was hesitating, chewing on his lower lip slightly behind his mask as he considered the sudden moral implications of all of this.

Except they were attacking the city, what moral implications could there be?

Confused and torn between obedience and a gentle desire to join the rebels Jonghui grabbed at the grenade from his belt and activated it by pulling on the stopper for the fuse. It flew and dropped at the center of the group which would insure a much wider impact and total discombobulation in the enemy line. By the time it dropped on the ground there was only one second left before detonation.

The rebels could only recognize what had landed at their feet with a light clink before the explosion went off. All who stood in the grenades vicinity were obliterated, the blast had a small radius, but it was extremely powerful. Any who stood within five feet would be dead. Ten feet would make certain that they would sustain severe burns and injuries. Fifteen feet would take the enemy off their feet. Twenty feet would likely be safe but the line was not long enough to be twenty feet.

Shouts, cries and groans followed as Jonghui peeked over his protective vehicle to find that most everyone was on the ground bleeding or dead.

A feeling of a job well done washed over him as he started to stand. There would be no way for them to retaliate now, and he felt confident that he had secured this area.

"South perimeter secured." A voice sounded over Jonghui's earpiece, the voice belonged to Youngho.

"East and West, are you secure?" Beomhwa spoke, always looking to keep up to date on what was going on.

"Secured."

"Secured."

"008, tap your mic twice if the North has been secured."

Jonghui smiled. It was a good idea that he had not come up with. Only simple messages could be relayed like this but nonetheless it was possible which did brighten him up a little. He could communicate with the group, and so he gave his microphone two taps to show that he had secured.

"Good."

"Do not move from your areas, and we will determine the next course of action."

"Who?" 007 chimed, Woosung always had something to say.

"Myself and I will attempt to communicate with the naturals."

"Well, I'm sure they speak the native language."

"Not the point 007, let it be." 003 snapped with a low grumble and the radio went silent.

008 leaned his head against the car, his eyes closing for a moment as he considered what had just happened. They had secured the area, but now they would have to try and escort civilians out of the area. Emergency services were already arriving from the sounds of the sirens over the din of battle, the sirens were a good thing in Jonghui's mind. It meant that those injured would get the help they needed urgently.

Perhaps they would help the natural who had gotten hurt too.

Not them, he realized. The clone counterparts such as himself would not have received emergency services; they would be left to die on the battlefield more than likely or be extracted and be taken back to the van to be treated at the government facility.

What if it were too grave an injury? What if it were too late? His mind raced as his eyes remained closed and he breathed the sulfur and copper of battle that filled the air.

The enemy had gotten in, he had a feeling that there would be more attacks like this. Greater dangers for him and the team that he belonged to.

In truth, 008 was not certain that he could stand the idea of anyone on the team passing away as a result of a mission. He knew that it was their sole purpose to do this and be machines. Killing machines that felt no hesitation or remorse. But it had come to him just now in this battle that he was not a killing machine, that he did have remorse. That he possessed the ability to hesitate and to feel more than just enjoyment from blood splatter on his clothes and mask.

Jonghui frowned then, realizing something painful in his chest. Sangwoo and he had been close from the beginning, talking with each other as if they were lost souls meant to be intertwined. They protected each other fiercely, Sangwoo was particularly protective of him even if he was a juggernaut of a clone. He was not fragile, but Sangwoo treated him as if he were.

There had always been emotion, it was stuck on him like blood drops on clothes. Stubborn, always.

008 opened his eyes then and watched the gray sky, it was a strange realization to come to. The realization that he had always been able to feel beyond just being a killing machine.

They had naturals, after all, that meant they were more than just divine creations. More than just machines. If the government had wanted machines they would have made machines. Cold, unfeeling, made of steel. But they made them of flesh and bone. Made them stronger. They wanted something smart, something strong, but something malleable and pliable.

The human mind was pliable. It was abusable. It could be manipulated. All of the things that they were taught were coming now to Jonghui in a full circle moment.

He sat up a little bit then feeling the gun still in his hand, his finger still near the trigger. 008 placed his forehead into his knees. They were not just clones, they were so much more, yet they would never receive the help that they deserved. The physical and mental appreciation that humans received. They were everything that a human was, but they were treated like those cold unfeeling machines that the government felt they had made.

It was painful to think now, to realize that he was taking human lives just like his own. Taking because the government had determined that those lives were not to be respected or treated equally as the lives that were within these confines.

There was a word for it but Jonghui could not bring it to the forefront of his mind.

"Everyone meet at the checkpoint we are being extracted as security measures are being taken and emergency services are arriving."

Jonghui started to stand meandering down the secured perimeter towards their meeting checkpoint step by step, his entire body tingling with the realization of his own life, breath and humanity. Was this the moment that Minjoong feared for them to see their naturals, was this what Han and Minsu felt when they had come across their own?

He inhaled the air again and coughed slightly, it was thick, like bathing in blood and smoke. That was all that battle was though, it was all any human's life was - blood and smoke.

Suddenly, the word came to him all at once and his eyes lit up from behind the mask as he swung himself into the back of the dark van settling down near Sangwoo as the engine roared to life and they took off back towards their living quarters.

Hypocrisy.

Chapter Text

The mission had gone well, and they had all gotten away without any great injury. Beomhwa barely nursing the strike of a bullet that had grazed an exposed part of his wrist. It had been gently bound when they had gotten back to their housing space. The group was properly debriefed and set on their way. The rest of the day was spent in the dark about what was going on in the outside world. The building did not tremor, or if it did the team was so deep inside of it that they could not feel it. Beomhwa had at this point suspected that they were kept underground, somewhere cataclysmically deep that even the most strategic bombing could not take them out, allowing them to become the first line of defense if it was necessary.

The air was heavier than it normally was, the team was downtrodden, feeling a collectively great burden on their shoulders. Not because of the mission directly, but rather how shaken the world had been. They had all felt the crack in the illusion. They had believed in their minds, that the government was perfect. Where they lived was an impenetrable fortress. But this fact was trembling now at its very core, the truth unwound from its pedestal, crumbling at the foundation. The clones had been created on this foundation, their very existence could not be without the belief that the government was absolute.

Their existence, however, was no longer absolute.

Days slipped by unnoticed, their enclosure was a silent mass, a religious gathering of silent young men who could not imagine another world or life outside of this one.

"What happens if someone breaks in?" Woosung would ask his voice childlike and innocent, he was like a cherub in these moments. Beomhwa did not have a good answer for his questioning mind, how it wandered aimlessly from one topic to the next. How they uncovered the meaning of their existence, collectively, week after week.

So, instead of answering he just put his hand on Woosung's head and ruffled his glossy feathery hair and let him whine in protest.

It was hard to not be kind to Woosung nowadays, he had become more and more meek as the weeks continued on. The weeks marched forward without restraint, making it difficult for Beomhwa to keep up with even the days and their erratic schedules. It was strange for Woosung to feel so small, he had once been a great energy in their little compound and now he slept so much just so that he could have the energy to perform their missions.

It made Beomhwa wonder if someone was slipping him something in his food or drink. He had been certain it was not Minjoong, but someone else - like their primary doctor. The man had a cruelty to him, there was a void of feeling in his eyes. A void so intense that even Beomhwa felt isolated and distraught looking back at him. It was as if he hated them, and their entire existence, as if he wanted to eradicate them. It was why he had become his very first suspect.

More weeks slipped by, things had become calm. Beomhwa would learn to spend his days pondering the silence, the lack of dispatch, and their meager lives staring into the bright white ceiling as if he had no purpose but to stare and think. The other purpose was training. They were always kept in good shape, weapons were meant to be polished after all. No single dagger was left unsharpened. So, train they did. In this lull of any kind of missions it seemed they would keep shooting targets, stationary and moving. Beomhwa kept his trigger finger well-oiled and his precision impactful as he laid out on rooftops sniping fake targets at a distance.

There was no issue with their day-to-day life. On a small occasion, Minjoong would arrive and bring them presents. But his appearances had been scant as if he were avoiding them entirely. It had hurt Beomhwa, his heart wounded by Minjoong's absence as if it were his fault entirely. Even if he knew it was not, he could not help but feel like it was his fault. He still felt hurt by it all. Feel. He hated feeling, the government had made them weapons, meant to take on missions perfectly without an indication of emotion. Yet their flaw was that they felt, and all felt so intensely that they were all starting to grow weary of their positions. They continued to train, but none of them were convinced truthfully that their purpose in life would forever be to train and take on missions, to serve the government as they had once vowed to do.

They had vowed out of ignorance, but their world was growing and their minds expanding. It was impossible for them to remain what they had once been. Blissful minds, brainwashed and molded. They were left to their own devices for too long, they were allowed to speak and look at each other. They touched each other and felt burning passions then too. Beomhwa watched it all unfold, he could see it. The way Han and Woosung loved each other, the way Minsu and Youngho held each other, and the way Sangwoo and Jonghui protected each other. There was a ferocity in their relationships and it was impossible to deny. Beomhwa did not have a ferocious relationship, or he had once thought he did, but with Minjoong's infrequent visits he wondered if he had imagined it all.

It had been months now in total silence, their calendar was marked with a check-up day. It was standard, they had to receive injections for their maintenance. It was the only thing that made Beomhwa remember that he was not fully human, not fully capable of functioning without the guiding hand of a benevolent leader or guardian.

It was unfortunate that these routine check-ups also included the arrival of his least favorite person, the doctor. No rebel could ever measure up in Beomhwa's mind. He would have killed this man a thousand times before he ever shot at a rebel. The man is void of feeling and full of evil.

The clones had lined up as they always did, based on their number order. Han and himself at the top of the line, with Woosung and Jonghui at the end.

Jonghui had an unkempt look about him today and Woosung was diminishing. Beomhwa felt that he would feel better after they all received their injections. After all, the injections allowed them all to feel a bit of a heightened sense of existence, of euphoria. It was strange, none of them knew what those needles contained, they just knew that it made them feel better and it maintained their bodies in top physical form. They all had to trust Minjoong and what Minjoong had explained about the shots themselves. Without those shots there was a higher chance of them falling into dysfunction, which felt unusual since they were so human in their make-up, but because their cells were replicas they needed this regular intervention to keep the cells from 'collapsing' or at least that is what Minjoong had said.

There was a stale silence in the room as the metal medical cart was wheeled in, the guards coming in with both the doctor and Minjoong. Han was inspected first, his muscles palpated and his eyes checked for any issues.

"I will administer the painkiller for 005," Minjoong spoke quietly to the doctor who grunted in response but did not otherwise acknowledge Minjoong. There was an air between the two of them, but Beomhwa had a difficult time pinpointing it. It had been this way for a few check-ups now, something cold. A giant chasm growing, a rift between two co-workers. This was not present in the past but now it has become frigid and particularly intense.

Han's arm was extended, the doctor watched the way his muscles moved before he stepped off to the side and shoved the needle into his arm injecting the swirling liquid inside.

In the meantime in his peripheral Minjoong was addressing Sangwoo, he had a much smaller needle and syringe in his gloved hands as he rubbed down the opposite arm from where the normal injection would be given. There was a bit of small talk, whispers between Minjoong and Sangwoo as he pricked him and pushed the pain killing concoction inside. Minjoong then rubbed down the injection site once more and covered it with a bandage before discarding the needle and syringe.

At this point the doctor had made his way over to Beomhwa.

"Oh, I can do 003." Minjoong tried sheepishly, causing a dissenting glance from the doctor cast over his shoulder towards the biologist.

"I am already here, take 004's vitals."

"But-"

"But what? Do you have something special for 003 that I am unaware of in the protocol?"

"No."

"Then perform 004's inspection."

"It's a check-up."

"Inspection."

Beomhwa tried not to grab the doctor by his collar, it took everything out of him to not grab and throttle. It would have been well deserved, he was a damned man. An evil man, the kind that Beomhwa would have liked to kill. His mind felt clouded for a moment, swirling with thoughts of violence.

"Are you constipated, 003?" It was not in the normal protocol of questions, but it was enough to snap him out of his stare. It was enough to make 003 realize that he was staring with an increasing intensity.

"No, sir."

"Perhaps ease your expression, this is nothing but standard." The doctor reminded him coldly before he would begin to perform his 'inspection' as he had called it. Beomhwa did not resist even though he despised how he was touched throughout this process. How his muscles were flexed and manipulated, the way his teeth were looked at, the health of his eyes, everything was inspected. It felt like a violation of his privacy, of who he was. It reminded him of that feeling, that lack of humanity that he possessed in the eyes of the government, in the eyes of this man.

To distract himself Beomhwa was looking towards Minjoong from his peripheral, he watched as 004 was given much of the same treatment. Except Minjoong's hands were soft, they flitted across Youngho carefully, with compassion and love. It was how he treated all of them. Beomhwa had a great bubbling feeling in his chest for Minjoong, even when he was gone for so long. The feeling was extreme and expansive.

"Open your mouth, 003."

003 looked back towards the doctor then, realizing that he was still being looked over and he opened his mouth.

"Stick out your tongue."

He stuck out his tongue.

"Ah."

The doctor sneered briefly but it was only enough for Beomhwa to notice as he looked at his teeth and throat. Then he tapped the underside of 003's chin to make him stop and Beomhwa closed his mouth slowly while the doctor notated something on his clipboard which had several pieces of paper attached to it that he was flipping through. Beomhwa had seen those screens before, and he wondered why this job preferred physical paper over something like a touchable screen that kept all of the information. But he was not one to comment on it, it was not his job, not his place. He knew better than to make a great deal of commentary.

In due time his arm was being rubbed down and a needle was being pressed into his bicep. It always felt like a slightly painful 'pop', and he wondered if Minjoong would ever figure out a way to administer it through a less painful means. Minjoong was quite talented, after all. Or so Beomhwa believed, perhaps it was a foolish belief, perhaps Minjoong was just an assistant of this doctor and that is why they had such tense interactions.

Beomhwa felt a bandage stick to his arm and the doctor moved on.

They continued to stand in this line without any kind of movement, waiting to be dismissed.

"Hey!" Woosung protested at some point. "Don't touch me like that, I don't want you." It made Beomhwa look immediately, though he could not tell what it was that the doctor was doing from this angle.

"Stay still, 007." The doctor hissed his hand roaming over Woosung in what seemed to be a particularly normal way. 003's hand muscle twitches in reflex. It was unceremonious, and he did not know what to do as he stood there.

"STOP!"

"Stay still!" The doctor reeled and slapped 007 across the face. Immediately both Han and Beomhwa moved forward, breaking formation. 007 could take a hit like this but that did not mean that either 002 or 003 would accept this kind of treatment of one of their own. Unfortunately before they could so much as do anything to the doctor, the guards stepped in their hands against the shoulders of both Beomhwa and Han forcing them back into line.

"He said to quit touching him!" Han growled, bristled at the idea.

"I will touch him, it is for his greater good." The doctor bit back from a distance and Minjoong stepped in between the doctor and Woosung.

"I'll do his check-up now, please move on to 008."

"I am alr-"

"*I* will finish 007's check-up. It is clear that he is uncomfortable, I will not have you putting stress on their minds and bodies." There was a protective nature to Minjoong's words and despite the doctor looming overhead he did not protest more even though Beomhwa felt as if that man was already plotting revenge.

The feeling in the room did not improve, not until the doctor and Minjoong left with the guards and they were allowed to exist as they always did on a day to day basis.

"He was touching me, the freak!" Woosung protested loudly, Han was rushing over to him at the very break of their line-up.

"What do you mean?" Beomhwa asked, looking concerned as he approached Woosung too, who was now being cradled by Han.

"Like down there... You know? He doesn't do that, he hasn't done that." Woosung shared.

"No. No, that's strange."

"It's not strange, it's gross. You hear that!" Woosung shouted, there were no visible cameras in these areas but they were very aware that the surveillance existed. Minjoong had not only told them, but also explained what they were for. They knew to keep quiet about certain topics, or at least speak in very quiet tones and only in certain parts of the compound away from potential microphone interference.

"Shh, let's not get them mad, don't shout Woosung. It'll be alright." Han soothed.

"But he was touching me."

"I won't let him do that again, next time, I promise. Next time I'll stand next to you." Han promised brushing his fingers through Woosung's longer dark hair.

Beomhwa felt his saliva become bitter in his mouth, it was like swallowing ash, inhaling smoke. It was not a good feeling. It was wrong how they were treated, how would they ever get the opportunity to become normal like the humans on the outside if this was how they were treated?

"At least Minjoong-ssi stepped in," Woosung pouted and Han nodded in agreement.

"He has said he will always make sure we are alright, he cares for us." Youngho commented.

"I wish he would come around more often." Woosung continued though now he was moving towards the couch to sit himself down awkwardly, Han was refusing to leave his side the entire time, though Woosung did not mind and leaned into their proximity.

"I think something happened," Beomhwa started looking around as if he were telling a well-kept secret. He leaned against the back of the couch, his elbows locking into place as he did.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think with Minjoong-ah, something happened. Did you not feel it?"

"Feel what?" Sangwoo asked, sitting down on one of the couches arms, folding a leg underneath himself as he idly rubbed at his eye that often felt inflamed though with the administration of the painkiller the feeling would soon subside, 003 knew.

"The last few check-ups we've had. Since the mission-"

"Yeah!" Woosung called out suddenly, perking up and away from Han's arms. "The mission, I mean we haven't been on anything since then. That's so weird, no? We were getting dispatched regularly, but now it's been... It's been months and we've just been in here!" Woosung protested, throwing his arms in the air, and immediately regretting it. Their injection sites were often sore after administration and they had to move a bit more gingerly for a few hours.

"It is strange," Beomhwa agreed, clearing his throat. "But that isn't my point. I've noticed the last few times they have both been in here, the doctor is worse than normal in his treatment of us."

Minsu scoffed at the statement.

"As if that's possible."

"Right?" Youngho chuckled, shaking his head. In some regard they were right, there didn't seem to be a way that it could possibly be worse. But it had gotten worse in subtle ways, even today Woosung had protested his check-up. The subtlety of the cold growing rift between the doctor and Minjoong was becoming less subtle.

"He and Minjoong-ah are not seeing eye to eye. I am saying something happened between them a little while ago. I can't tell what, exactly. I wonder if the doctor knows."

"Knows what?" Minsu asked, raising an eyebrow towards Beomhwa almost in suspicion at the suggestion.

"Knows that Minjoong gave us names to use."

"Well why would that matter, he still calls us by the numbers."

"Because he doesn't treat us like a patient or a colleague. He treats us like objects, like numbers. Maybe he didn't like that Minjoong gave us that element of humanity."

The group was silent for a long while after, everyone it seemed had started to reflect, thinking deeply about the implication of what their names were and what they meant. There was a lot to consider for all of them, and especially now with their lack of use there were extended periods of time in which they could think and think...

Beomhwa did not linger, he leaned away from the couch and started to move away from the common room back to his own room. He needed some alone time after all that had transpired. Though what had transpired and the realization that he had made him all the more unwilling to use the numbers that they had been given at birth. Their names were part of their lives now, a part of their humanity. Even if they were not fully human Minjoong had given them an important piece to their reality and it was going to be impossible to tear that away from them.

Beomhwa sat down on his bed, his fingers lacing together as he contemplated. Everything had been so strange and quiet lately, just as Woosung had notated it. They were in a strange place collectively. Months of mission inactivity, months of check-ups, Minjoong showing up less and less. Though he did still bring drinks and strawberries on occasion, he had only been refilling their supply on a weekly basis as opposed to coming multiple times throughout the week.

The silence was sweltering, they all had each other but to be so disconnected from the outside world was hard. Beomhwa's mind was beginning to break down over it. Why were there no missions for them to take on? There was no time for them to spend outside of their confines, even if they did not interact with people on the outside very often aside from shooting them down, it still felt different and invigorating to do something and to breathe fresh air.

A mechanism clicked suddenly and Beomhwa's head shot up, instinctively he was ready to fight for a moment but his body quickly relaxed when he saw that it was Minjoong standing at the threshold of his room there.

"Hello," The biologist greeted and Beomhwa didn't know how to respond immediately, excitement was buzzing in his body.

"H-Hi."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Minjoong stepped forward, smiling wearily to Beomhwa before he pointed to the bed.

"Can I sit?"

"Of course."

Beomhwa suddenly felt like an overly excited child. He shifted a little to make more room on the small cot-like bed for Minjoong to sit. The frame creaked beneath their combined weight ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"About the check-up today."

"None of it was your fault."

"I tried to come alone. But they won't let me. The doctor has been vigilant in keeping an eye on me."

Beomhwa swallowed and nodded.

"Did something happen? I keep thinking it's been strange the way you two are acting with each other recently."

"It's that noticeable?"

"No. I think I'm the only one who noticed, actually."

"Hm... He doesn't like how I treat the group. He thinks we are too close."

"But you treat us with decency."

"He does not think I should. He thinks I should treat you as one would treat a lab rat."

"What do you mean?"

"He wishes for me to keep my distance. I am showing too much vulnerability, too much emotion and weakness with you. I do not treat you as experiments."

"We don't want to be treated like that."

Minjoong placed a hand on Beomhwa's thigh then and nodded.

"I know. That's why I don't. But he doesn't understand, he does not care."

"Are you alright talking about this? With the..." Beomhwa motioned regarding the cameras and microphones.

Minjoong chuckled.

"I looped everything at the main base. They won't see anything other than you sitting here in thought if they decide to rewind and look."

"Isn't that tampering?"

"It is, but I wanted some privacy."

Beomhwa blushed; he could not help but feel the heat rising into his cheeks as they sat there. It felt nice to have Minjoong touch him, nice to have his hand pressing against his thigh. It stirred something powerful inside of him, something that he did not know existed. It was an unclear feeling, but it was one that made him want to leap onto Minjoong to devour him, he did not know another way to describe the feeling.

"So, is that why you haven't been visiting as often then, too?"

"Mhmm." Minjoong looked down trodden by his admittance as if he had lost some sort of battle that he had been taking on.

"I'm so sorry, I promised to protect you. To always be there for all of you. And now I'm not even coming as much as I should, as much as I promised."

"Can't you just loop the camera and microphones always?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"They would notice if I always kept them looped. I figured out how to do it recently, but I can only maintain it for short periods of time so that it doesn't become strange in the files if they ever inspect what is going on in here."

"I see."

"No more than an hour at a time, and even then I should not try to do it more than once a month at most."

"So this is our once a month talk then?"

"Right." Minjoong chuckled and squeezed Beomhwa's thigh. Beomhwa noticed how small and petite Minjoong's hand was on his thigh. The fingers were small, the wrist was so thin, the skin was soft and well cared for, his fingernails were clean and tidy. Beomhwa slowly reached towards the hand touching his thigh as if he were touching fire. He looked at Minjoong then his heart beating out of his chest with the apprehension that Minjoong might pull away.

But Minjoong did not pull away and slowly Beomhwa found courage to lace his fingers into Minjoong's fingers. He watched as his hand consumed Minjoong's entirely. The stirring feeling became like lava inside his stomach. It was not a feeling he recalled from before very well, it was new and exciting.

"What is this?" Beomhwa whispered.

"I'm not sure," Minjoong responded quietly, his voice caught in his throat.

"So even a human doesn't know what it is we are feeling, or what I am feeling?"

"I am still new to some things..."

"New. Yes, this feels new." Beomhwa contemplated as he rubbed his fingers along the inside of Minjoong's fingers where the skin was even softer than the top of his hand. It was like velvet, pristine.

The two of them stayed still as if both were afraid to ruin the movement with a fraction of a shift from their bodies. Beomhwa's heart felt as if it had gone down to his stomach and now back up to his throat. It was like a dream to sit here and hold onto Minjoong's hand. It was a feeling he had scarcely believed would ever be afforded to him. This feeling was what he had imagined heaven would be like when he finally passed away - if he were ever given the opportunity. If things like him even got to go to heaven. This was the epitome of death's nebulous conceptions shining a light on his existence. It was like knowing that he could die now and be as happy as he ever was.

They sat there for what felt like an eternity, although Beomhwa knew it was only a few minutes. Their silence stretched on, welcoming, as Minjoong's hand remained on his thigh, the heat of his palm transferring into his thigh, his fingers growing warm and slightly damp in Beomhwa's grasp.

Beomhwa turned slowly towards Minjoong then, a loving gaze contained in his eyes as he leaned in cautiously.

Minjoong flinched away for a moment; he seemed uncertain by what Beomhwa was doing. But then peace washed through the dark chestnut of his gaze, and he allowed Beomhwa to lean in.

Beomhwa took his chance then and pressed his lips against Minjoong's lips. It was unknown territory, instinctive as if his mind was clouded, there was not a single form of judgment there. Their noses cascaded warm air across each other's faces, each other's cheeks, as they inhaled and exhaled. Their fingers grasping onto one another now with ferocity.

Beomhwa had imagined this before in his mind, but the real thing was a great deal better than his imagination. His imagination had been stale, thinking only of what he thought was possible. But the feelings that continued to swirl inside now were different, more intense, they were breathtaking.

Minjoong tasted sweet, his lips were like sweet citrus on a hot summer day. The slightest accidental flick of his tongue was wet, warm and wanted. It was everything that Beomhwa wanted and he wanted so much more now. But he wouldn't allow himself to move for more, instead he lingered there against Minjoong's lips for as long as he could and finally he would peel away with reluctance. Beomhwa’s lips were still pursed and his eyes slightly hooded in pleasure.

Minjoong looked much the same, but he seemed to recover a little faster.

"Wow..." He cleared his throat, red in the face as he looked away.

"Wow?" Beomhwa finally managed in a whisper, almost embarrassed at how forward he had been.

"That was nice. I hadn't..."

"Kissed?"

"No. I just hadn't thought you felt like this about me."

"Are you sure?"

"No. All of those looks and stray touches."

"I have always sought you out, Minjoong-ah. Even if it was not obvious, I only kept my distance because I thought you saw yourself as a caretaker nothing more. I didn't want to breach that belief."

"I'm glad you did."

Beomhwa exhaled and smiled with relief and slowly nodded. It was a good feeling, he wanted to kiss him more. But for how long could Minjoong sit here and kiss?

The camera could not loop forever, especially not with the doctor still in the building.

"When will I get to see you again?"

"I haven't left."

"But I know you will have to soon."

"I know... I'll come in a few days. Just need to give it some time."

"When will I get to kiss you again?"

"I hope soon, but I can't say for sure."

"I wish you could say for sure. I wish I could kiss you again now."

Minjoong leaned in and kissed Beomhwa again on the lips, fulfilling his wish plainly. But it was not as long and lingering as the last one.

"Thank you." Beomhwa whispered before Minjoong took his chin and kissed him again, starting to stand up.

"And another for the road."

Beomhwa exhaled harshly when Minjoong planted his lips again but this time with a little bit of tongue that pressed in between his lips and roamed the interior of his mouth. Beomhwa's own tongue reacted, playing with Minjoong as they kissed each other passionately, their saliva becoming one.

"You taste so good, Minjoong-ah."

"I do?"

"I can't imagine anything sweeter."

Their mouths collided over and over again until Minjoong was forced to tear them apart.

"It's unlike anything I've ever felt, I don't know if I can be without you now, Minjoong."

"We are committing a great treason, a great sin, Beomhwa."

"How?"

"I cannot kiss a man, let alone a man that belongs to the government."

"I do not belong-"

"I wish that were true. But just as I and my services belong to the government and the superiors above. You too belong."

Beomhwa knew what Minjoong was saying was the truth, but he didn't want it to be the truth.

There they were, wishing to devour each other but knowing that they could not. It was the greatest pain, and cruelty in the world. Beomhwa's life had been taken from him upon his very birth. And now with Minjoong's kiss that was bringing him to life, it was making him realize just how much of a prisoner he was, and just how much the government did not see him or any of them as human beings.

The words hung on the tip of his tongue as Minjoong started to leave, the door closed and another click sounded down the hall.

“I love you.” Beomhwa said to the empty room.

Chapter Text

The city air had grown damp, like water lingering in your lungs. It was the sign of spring as the heat started to rise and the clouds hung heavy overhead, ballooning outward on their eternal quest to expand and conquer all of the skies that lay above them. They covered the sun, providing a reprieve from its beaming rays. The cool humid air clung to the skin like a kiss that stuck close by not unlike a memory. The grime of the city was forced down from all the rain, and an occasional soft breeze helped everyone breathe, helped city dwellers forget about the suffocating reality of living in a city that was mostly barren and empty of natural resources. Everything was a simulation, even on the clearest nights the sign of stars alight was absent. No one mourned or cheered for the clouds covering the sky, turning a gray world grayer.

A storm rolled through a conduit of the heavy clouds lingering, and it never ceased. For a week it battered the skyscrapers and the gardens that sat atop rooftops. Gardens that people desperately clung to for sources of nutrition that were not prescribed to them by the government. They were small victories, small freedoms that the government did not infringe upon.

Restoration over an entire sector that was destroyed was underway, many young men and women deployed to help with the construction that would take many months to complete. Everyone who had survived the attack had been relocated to another part of the city, causing overpopulation in some sectors and general unhappiness with those that had lost their homes.

The week long storm caused the restoration efforts to halt, as the moist air and torrential rain made it impossible to build anything.

Seonghwa and the entire team were put to supervising and patrolling the other sectors, whispers of rebellion or any discussion that was reported would be checked on. Seonghwa found himself knocking on the doors of many homes and apartments, interrogating civilians that had come off as innocent at first. In his mind's eye, no one was truly innocent. Any who jeopardized the city's safety were seen as traitors and their death would not be missed or mourned.

It struck fear into the heart's of the people and whispers soon ceased, replaced with a new found apprehension for the government that had not been felt in over a decade.

Seonghwa could feel the civil unrest, the way it trembled in his hands. It piled on top of itself, like the piling of bodies for those traitors that had allowed for the destruction of Sector One to occur. Seonghwa saw everything as a necessary evil, or a necessary good - depending on his task. It was his obedience to the government and most of all his leader - Hongjoong - that allowed him to come into such great graces of his superiors.

There was one day when the sun pierced the clouds, providing a shadow of light throughout his moody commutes back and forth from the main government building, to other sectors, to home.

The next day the sun was gone.

In truth, Seonghwa worked hard because his desire to prove to Hongjoong that he was worthy of being invited to his family home, again. That it was not just Hongjoong's invitation that would bring him there, but rather all of his impressive efforts. It was a feeling that Seonghwa had never felt before, it was hard to put into words. And because it was a feeling and something he could not quite articulate, he decided to swallow it for all of his obedience to the government would not allow him to speak and be so frank with his superior officer.

It ate him up, it lingered in his lungs like the humid air of spring in the city. It was something that Seonghwa had learned to quietly loathe within himself. Happiness was derived from not feeling anything at all, contentment was the government's mantra; it was desirable to feel nothing at all, so that one could be content. Yet Seonghwa always found himself incapable of fulfilling the government's desire for him and all of its citizens. He grew strong but isolated in his duties, believing that he might just be imperfect. Believing that he was the only one who felt this way.

It did not matter if there was truth in this or not, Seonghwa had learned to believe it all.

The day had arrived unceremoniously, it was a day like any other in the last several weeks. Cloudy and clinging. Seonghwa had dressed, combed his hair, brushed his teeth and washed his face with the water generously provided to him by the government. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt a pang move through his body. A pang of longing to do something else, something different. Not to just go to work even though he desperately yearned for Hongjoong's approval.

A sigh left him as he resolved to go to work, and to do as he was told yet another day. So he did, he piled into his car with a defeated heaviness that riddled his entire body and drove down familiar roads and avenues, barely paying any attention to the world around him. It was gray and the same, and unlively.

Every day was a funeral.

It made death easier, losing someone you loved did not have to feel painful, because there was no pain to feel. Even if Seonghwa was certain that not feeling pain in such a scenario was impossible - after all, he had felt a great pain when he had lost his parents.

He parked his car, listless and allowed an elevator to climb the stairs for him as he ascended to his office, sitting down at his desk to stare into space.

Thirty minutes went by before he dared to look at the computer screen in front of him, or the piles of paperwork that he had to fill out. Provided for him by the government. They were bits and pieces that he would need to read over to approve before it reached the desk of Kim Hongjoong who could give the proposals their final approval.

The day appeared without end, Seonghwa in a constant battle uphill to get some paperwork done. To file away briefings and important information from not only his own exploits around the city but also the exploits of those directly in his charge. His team was charged with caring for the basics of their debriefs and meetings, but the rest was Seonghwa's job so that he could report to Hongjoong. It ensured that he was often working in the office for long hours, and if he was not in the office he was taking the government vehicle to make appearances at reported traitors homes. If they were not doing this much, then the entire team was being deployed well beyond the limits of town to put down rebellion before it made its way into the city like a virus. They had failed to protect Sector One, and now protections had doubled down.

It was past noon when Seonghwa had looked at a wall-mounted clock, its red numbers shifting with every new minute. It signaled the passage of time, but Seonghwa could scarcely feel it. There were no windows in his office, in truth only Hongjoong’s office had windows. The rest of the team was enclosed, kept away from the world. It kept them focused on their jobs, instead of staring outside, looking for an escape.

Seonghwa understood the purpose that these windowless rooms served, but he did not find them appealing. His mind rebelled against the lack of natural light every single day he was here. In truth, citing people with traitorous intentions and treason was often more pleasant because of light and fresh air. Though it was hard to determine just how fresh it was, being that the city was anything but natural.

The right-hand printed a piece of paper and looked it over. There were so many words and so many numbers that he had put into the file. Now he had to turn it in to his captain.

Seonghwa stretched, his shoulders straining as he did from how stiff they had become sitting in the chair. The office chair was like a prison more than anything else, in spite of his desire to perform well, to show his prowess as a soldier. A small sigh left him as he picked up his ID lanyard from his desk, limply slipping it off of the surface before scanning it to go beyond these contained fluorescently white walls.

It was not a long walk, but it was a walk noticeable enough that his legs were beginning to warm up, to feel something again. There was not much to look at as the corridors sported the same kind of dark gray carpet and the same somewhat plaster, somewhat metal walls. It made the entire area extremely difficult to navigate, which Seonghwa speculated was to insure that no one could simply break in and navigate through the building without any resistance. The winding walls were like a labyrinth, they would make sure to ensnare everyone who had no business being here.

He arrived at his Captain's door in due time, his knuckles gently rapping against the surface. The knock came with a hollow sound that Seonghwa almost flinched at, it felt too loud for how quietly he had wanted to announce himself. He had felt more like a mouse than anything else at this moment in time. A mouse that felt ridiculous in being as such, he should have been a dragon or a snake, ready to coil around its prey.

"Come in," It was the muffled voice of his leader from beyond the door and Seonghwa obeyed, and he allowed his hand to press down against the door handle. It clicked and opened inwards. Seonghwa stood at the threshold for a moment before remembering that he had been given permission to enter, ending his paralysis.

"Captain, I have the paperwork."

"Good, you can set it on my desk there." Hongjoong did not yet look up, he was staring at something on his desk, a pen in hand that twirled anxiously between his fingers.

Seonghwa nodded though it seemed that he was nodding to nothing at all as he approached the desk and placed the paperwork down. There he lingered, reluctant to leave, to go back to work. He wanted to be near Hongjoong, to sit there across from his captain.

There were worse things too that his mind conjured, but he suppressed those things for now.

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

Hongjoong finally looked up the anxious twirling of his pen ceasing as the two made eye contact.

"Yet here you stand."

"Here I stand." Seonghwa nodded in agreement.

"Sit."

Seonghwa sat.

"We are all very different from when we started here, no?" Hongjoong asked though it seemed from the way he was looking at Seonghwa he already knew the answer.

"Yes, sir."

It was true, Hongjoong was not the jittery leader that he had been when all of this started. He was assured now, with a stern and almost distant look in his eyes.

"How is your garden doing these days?"

Seonghwa felt heat rush to his cheeks, his captain had remembered that he grew plants and a little bit of food for himself. It was flattering.

"It is going well, thank you, sir."

Hongjoong nodded then, shifting in his chair and shuffling some papers around, clicking something on his computer screen. It was only then that Seonghwa realized that Hongjoong was wearing glasses today.

"Glasses, sir?"

"Ah, yes... Just to help me read. They aren't particularly useful in any other situation." Hongjoong let out a dry chuckle, it was the kind that one might hear in an office. It did not denote genuine amusement, just the kind of chuckle that the government would approve of, if they were to approve of it at all.

"How is Yunho?"

"Recovering still, he will be alright, I think. He will need to train up again to regain his skills and strength. Will be sometime before he is out again with us." Hongjoong commented scratching at the top curve of his ear where Seonghwa's gaze lingered for far too long.

"And Yeosang?"

"Mentally..." Hongjoong paused as if he were considering the next best thing to say. "Well it has been hard on everyone in the city, ever since the attack. It is why we must double down on our patrols."

"Right..."

"Yeosang has been having doubts about his work with us. I hope he does not consider leaving, I have already discussed this with some, but it would not be received well."

Seonghwa had feared as much for his teammate. He had been mumbling at their meetings in opposition of the government and the decisions that were being made. Yeosang had felt that the executions were an unreasonable tactic when it had been the government who had failed to properly secure the city, relying on only a few teams to keep down the rebel forces.

The war had not been all that long ago, there were still those that were alive that remembered. Those people had children, and those that had lost had defected and found a new way to thrive. The government had spared no expense in making sure that those people could not continue, and yet they continued anyway. Like cockroaches in a complex underground highway, a network of those fighting for power they had lost over fifty years ago.

Seonghwa feared that Yeosang would turn now that they had faced the reality of infiltration. There would be no way if there was an entire army waiting for them, that they would be able to take them all on. Not just this group of eight... Seonghwa would die trying but he knew that he did not want to die in vain, a martyr to the government he served.

"I hope he remains with us as well." Seonghwa agreed, not revealing anymore.

"I need everyone on my team to be in tip top shape," Hongjoong spun the pen in his hand over once, moving the stagnant air. "I believe I have the best and most loyal team, and certainly the best right-hand man."

Seonghwa who had remained silent in the moment could not help but shift a little bit when Hongjoong complimented him so much. It was a highly emotional moment, though neither one of them would ever agree to it being emotional. It was just a compliment - a colleague to a colleague. Nothing exceptional or fancy and certainly not emotional.

But Seonghwa felt the snake rise in his throat, it felt like he was going to choke on it from his desire to speak. The pressure built on his tongue until it forced him to speak freely, bravely.

"Would... Would you care for a walk, sir?"

"A walk?"

"Just you and I?"

"It is work hours, Seonghwa."

"Well, perhaps at the old training grounds. They are being unused nowadays. We-We can say we were inspecting them if someone inquires?"

Seonghwa waited, his breath hitched in his throat as he searched for a sign of approval or lack thereof in the Captain's stern brown eyes.

"Alright, why not? I could use some time to stretch my legs."

Relief. Sweet relief washed over Seonghwa as he waited for Hongjoong to rise before he followed after, pushing the chair slightly to its original spot before he started to follow Hongjoong out of his character-less office.

They marched together in silence through many high security clearance doors that were only opened by Hongjoong's clearance. Eventually they would find themselves at one of the top most floors in a westerly wing building. The training area was mostly abandoned, barren of any targets or items. They had used this area to train once upon a time, but efforts had been made and training spots had been upgraded. Now, this was just an area to escape prying eyes.

The fresh air circulated through here past the chain link fencing that cast its strange shadows over the ground, though with no harsh sunlight Seonghwa found that the shadows were gone entirely as the two of them approached the fence to stand just at the edge of what might have been considered a rooftop.

It was not truly a rooftop, Seonghwa knew. Everything was a simulation in the building to some degree, and while it looked nice from this vantage point, from the outside it appeared as another set of office buildings with no openings to the city.

Seonghwa took a deep breath of the clinging air.

"Humid," Hongjoong commented and Seonghwa nodded.

"Very."

"When will you have time to eat dinner with my family again? The door’s are always open.”

"I know, sir."

"You can call me Hongjoong out here, we're alone."

It had always struck Seonghwa as odd that Hongjoong so often insisted that he call him by his name in these private moments. It limited the distance between the two of them, promising the danger of becoming too close.

Seonghwa so desperately wanted to brush his fingers along Hongjoong's exposed neck where the collar and tie did not quite reach. Press his lips against what he believed to be the softest skin in the entire world, he found his heart rate working overtime and he quickly placed his fingers against the chain link, wrapping them into the material as he steadied himself.

"Sorry, Hongjoong. It's a force of habit."

"I know, but when we are alone. I prefer my name."

"Right, I prefer my name too. I should remember that."

They stood there in silence, Seonghwa still reeling from the thoughts that had spiraled him out of control. These were the kinds of runaway thoughts that were considered a great danger by the government. It was embarrassing for him to even have these thoughts, even if no one knew about them. He hoped that the government would never have the technology to read their minds, or else he was certain that he would falter in his duty altogether.

A treasonous traitor to a long standing cause.

"Do you ever get tired of this?"

"Of what?"

"Sitting in your office, doing paperwork day in and day out?"

Hongjoong shook his head.

"Really?"

"Do you?"

"I suppose sometimes I want to be outside."

"Ah, the lack of windows can be stifling for the mind, I understand. But it is to keep us from being distracted, you know that."

"I know. It's just difficult."

"Life is not meant to be easy, I suppose. I know you know this."

"Right." Seonghwa's knuckles turned white at the way he was holding onto the fence. Hongjoong reached up and placed his own hand over Seonghwa's gripping one, the captain looking at the right-hand, sublime.

"You're a vital part of my team, Seonghwa, I hope you never leave me or consider it. I need you."

Seonghwa could not tell if it was genuine or if it was a government prescribed pep talk. But there was something sincere in Hongjoong's eyes. It was the only place that Seonghwa could really tell whether his captain was being sincere or not. Those eyes had a way of telling stories unlike anyone else Seonghwa had ever known.

"Thank you. I will do my best to be worthy of you and your family."

"My family?"

Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, his hand sliding away from Seonghwa's both hands now in his trouser pockets.

"Don't tell me you've been avoiding asking yourself to dinner again because you think you're not worthy of it?"

Seonghwa was silent watching Hongjoong but he knew with how thickly he swallowed that he had given himself away to the Captain, who was smirking slightly now.

"I had invited you at your leisure. It was not to make you prove yourself to me. You are already more than worthy."

For Seonghwa it was hard to hear that he was more than worthy, it was not a narrative that he had taught himself. It felt good to hear, but it was impossible to acknowledge. It was impossible to ingest and to allow it to become part of his mind and heart. There was still that shadow that lingered, the shadow that made him need to prove himself.

Perhaps he would die trying, as long as he could make sure that Hongjoong knew how hard he tried. As long as Hongjoong knew that everything Seonghwa had ever done was for Hongjoong and Hongjoong alone.

That felt wrong too, the runaway thought returning with a vengeance as Seonghwa realized he was allowing himself to fall into his emotions more than he should have. It would be a center point of guilt and reprehensible feelings for himself in the coming nights when he was alone, laying in his creaking bed.

All of his intentions should have been for the government, but the reality was that nothing was for the government anymore. It was all, almost entirely for his Captain. The man that stood there in front of him now, and generously offered his family, and dinner, and held his hand in hopes of lifting Seonghwa's spirits in the only way any one of them knew how.

"How can a right hand not be worthy?"

"By not performing his duty well enough."

"And what duty have you not performed that did not go above my standards?"

"I'm not certain, perhaps it was just this infiltration. It has shaken my foundations."

"There is not a duty that I have felt disappointed with you. I wish you would not worry."

"Perhaps it is in my nature to worry," Seonghwa responded, rolling his shoulders slightly.

"It is in my nature as well. But we should try not to. The government, our superiors would not approve of such worries and you know this."

"I find it difficult to fight against what I should not feel. It comes into my mind, I feel great guilt over it."

"Me too, but every day I wake up and I know I will try to do better."

They were confiding in each other but Seonghwa felt if Hongjoong was improving in becoming what the government wanted him to be, Seonghwa himself was slowly deteriorating from their very first meeting. Hongjoong's presence was washing and chipping away at the bedrock of what he had once thought he was.

Though Seonghwa would never admit such a thing out loud. Hongjoong did not need to know this, did not need to know how strongly he felt for his team's leader. It was an all consuming wave that forced him to reorient himself on a daily basis. Seonghwa had to remind himself that everything he did was for the government and not just for Hongjoong, no matter how much he clung to Hongjoong's side and how close he felt to the man.

"So, we should carry on, Seonghwa. Let us not worry about things we cannot control and only strive to do better."

Seonghwa nodded, but still he felt a twinge of guilt over the conversation. He took a deep breath, feeling moisture in his nostrils settle into his skin as he leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I will continue to do my best every day."

He had wanted to say - 'just for you' but he knew it would have been inappropriate, that it would have thrown Hongjoong off and he dared not speak it now as the moment passed. Finally his own fingers dared to unlink themselves from the fencing, sliding comfortably into his trouser pockets to mirror Hongjoong in posture.

"I'm glad you took me away from all that work." Hongjoong commented suddenly, leaning against the fence a little bit.

"You are?"

"Well it's a bit more relaxing and I was mostly done for the day, the rest of the day would have been spent staring into space or trying to get ahead."

"You are talented at getting ahead."

"We all are, we have to be. Have to think on our toes."

"I don't think I'm as good as you in that regard."

"Well, don't worry. I'll worry for everyone on the team just enough."

Seonghwa could not help but chuckle then as Hongjoong made his quip. It was not necessarily true that the rest of the team did not worry. Seonghwa worried constantly and frequently, as he was worrying now, considering how he was to go about his relationship with Hongjoong. Or lack thereof. But it was true to some degree that a leader worried the most. There was more placed on a leader's shoulders. More weight, more duties, and more liability. It would not be Seonghwa, after all, who would be blamed for the death of a comrade over a bad tactic. It would be Hongjoong's fault at the end of the day. Fortunately, no one had died to this point. Which meant that Hongjoong was a praised leader having kept his troops alive and ready to work. Even with a few injuries here and there.

Yunho being the most recent physical calamity of the team of eight. But with the medical technology that the government provided he would be on his feet in no time at all. The injuries were substantial but not enough to keep him away from training for much longer. Though Mingi had been particularly frustrated with Yunho's injuries, because from the debriefing meeting it had been obvious that Yunho had almost perished and had only been saved by another deployed government agent in a mask.

What had been more frustrating was that none of the team had known who the individual in the mask was, which had only elevated Yeosang's own tensions in the meeting with their masked superior officers.

Everything was shrouded in mystery and those mysteries were difficult to continue arguing for. After all, it was only natural to want to know who they were fighting for and why. Natural, but frowned upon. Their superiors were shining beacons, they were to be exalted and looked up to. They were to be obeyed, but certainly never questioned. It was a small crime to be petulant against them, to want what Yeosang wanted of them. Even if Yeosang had only tip-toed the line of criminality. It had made the entire team tense and Seonghwa hoped that Hongjoong had already spoken to Yeosang about keeping his mouth shut on such topics. None of them were at liberty to discuss these topics with Yeosang otherwise, even though all of them worried for Yeosang and what would happen if he was caught in the crossfires of the uprising. Would the government know that he was siding with them? Or would they think he was a double agent, a traitor? Seonghwa knew the answer and this was what worried him for the longevity of the team. Would they become seven? He hoped not. The team was eight, and it had been an ideal number for all of this time.

"You are too kind to worry for all of us, when we worry so much for you and your health."

"Is that not the point? All for one and one for all?" Hongjoong asked, the chain link just barely denting beneath his weight. Seonghwa noticed all the little details, the way the fabric on his body creased against the fence, the way the shadows fell against him. How very petite the captain was despite the muscles that he hid beneath all those clothes, Seonghwa had seen them when they had changed for missions. Hongjoong had an impressive body, but still it was small and it had only made him want to touch his captain more, to feel his soft taut skin beneath his fingertips.

"It is." Seonghwa responded, nodding in agreement, still standing there almost awkward in his posture with his hands in his pockets.

He felt like an idiot.

"It is healthy for the team to be united in one cause and if it is not the cause of the government then it is at least to be invested with each other. If I wish to save you and your life as much as you wish to save mine, then we are serving the government well."

Seonghwa had never thought of it that way, at least he did not remember thinking this way. Hongjoong was more than likely right, even if the logic was not how the government wanted them to approach it. The paranoia of being watched sunk deep into Seonghwa's stomach then and he looked around for a moment the fresh air was stuck in his throat.

"Don't worry, there are no cameras here. Strangely."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Well, there is no point for cameras in a place that has been left alone."

"Every street corner and restaurant, every public place, lined with cameras and yet here in the confines of the government a place entirely barren of surveillance. That's strange."

"I agree. But it's nice."

It occurred to Seonghwa then that he could kiss Hongjoong and no one would ever see them, no one would ever know. That he could embrace him and touch him and they could feel each other skin to skin and no one would ever know. The idea bubbled and boiled in his stomach, it became nausea and pain all at once. Acrid and dry like ash falling from the sky, covering the world in its blanket of destruction and nothingness.

It was pitiful the way he felt, the way he felt now. So very wrong to not be watched, to not be surveyed by the world.

This was what the government wanted, for them to feel watched and to obey in every passing moment. Even when there was no one lingering over their shoulder, reminding them of how they should be or who they should be.

"Nice..." Seonghwa finally echoed Hongjoong picking at a bit of rolled lint in his pocket for a moment longer. "It's always nice to be with you."

The words spilled from Seonghwa without restraint for once, but they immediately felt convoluted and stupid when Hongjoong's cheeks turned pink.

"Heh," Hongjoong cleared his throat. "Likewise."

Chapter Text

Silence spread like sticky sweetness dripping from a ripe fruit, an apricot firmly grasped in long fingers, cradled against the palm. Hours ticked away easily and swiftly, every day since the uprising had been neutralized was more and more silent, distant. It seemed as if only Beomhwa was aware of why Minjoong had started to visit them so infrequently. He left them often with parting gifts and wise words whispered through pursed and dried lips, eyes highlighted with exhaustion as he ducked out of the way accompanied always by guards.

Months went on this way until the bunker they were kept in started to exude moisture, walls covered in droplets, a beckoning of spring that was unwelcome. Guards and technicians arrived then to seal the moisture out of their holding. This too, Woosung knew, was a parting gift from their Minjoong who did not want moisture to create ailments in his greatest creations.

Still, something had happened between the uprising and this day, something that had Minjoong staying further away. Though on occasion they would all wake up in the morning and shuffle into the common room only to find a bowl of fruit carefully, lovingly arranged. None of them spoke of who it was, they knew all the same as they picked at their favorites and got drunk off of the sweetness that burst in their mouths.

They all knew that the arrangements were from Minjoong, even if his presence could not be seen, the warmth of his actions was constantly felt.

The walls had a sterile odor to them, Woosung noted, ever since they had been double sealed to keep moisture out it was as if they had never lived there. The sweat, sweetness and blood of their bodies wiped away from existence, from reality, leaving Woosung’s nose in particular with a feeling of overstimulation. The rooms were acrid now, bitter with paint and a specific type of cleaner that made even the corridors of the building they lived in smell all the same.

The world was as sterile as ever when Woosung found himself clutching onto some apricots, laying down across the couch. Han was nearby, idly running his fingers over Woosung’s exposed shins, the feeling was warm and familiar and when Han touched him Woosung found himself always wanting a little more, that ‘little more’ always boiled over into heated passion that unspooled in his lower stomach. Feelings that he was not capable of articulating, but capable of wanting.

The room was silent, Woosung uncharacteristically contributing to the silence. He had become increasingly tired in recent months, his head frequently swimming, and the coughing fits. His ribcage had become constantly sore as if someone had taken to punching him frequently. Today the feeling was amplified, Woosung’s senses were painfully high-strung, and though he was quietly staring at the ceiling his lips wrapped around the precious skin of an apricot, his stomach and chest were wound in anxious knots. The young man knew that something was wrong today, unlike other days, he knew this because he also knew inherently that he was stronger and better than any ‘regular human’ and so if his senses were on high alert, it was worth being paranoid over.

A low mechanical sound vibrated the abode, it drilled into the senses with an unforgiving tone that caused all seven of the men to stir. The mechanical sound released the primary door down the corridor and two masked fully uniformed individuals walked into the space. Their presence was a discomfort, like maggots that ate at open flesh. Woosung recalled seeing those once on a mission some time ago, he remembered the way his stomach turned and he forced himself to turn away. These men were exactly like that. Woosung dared to look away with a shallow exhale of his bruised chest.

“The doctor is calling upon 007 for a physical examination.” One of them spoke through a rebreather which heavily modified the guard's voice into a low and not entirely human tonality. A voice distorted from the notes of reality. Woosung knew now more than ever that something was wrong because it was extremely unusual for guards - or anyone for that matter - to walk in without the entire group knowing that someone was assigned to walk-in. This was not up to protocol.

Even more curious was the demand for an examination. Physical examinations occurred in this very room, an occasional injection of a maintenance serum that came without surprise, on a perfect schedule.

Woosung’s anxious feeling tightened and floated right up to his ears, buzzing all around his head as not a single thought dared to become concrete and rather continued to be a swarm of worry. It was yet another feeling that he knew, that he understood, but not one that he could easily articulate to anyone with the limited amount of experiences he personally had. Still, Woosung was too unwilling to combat the situation, so he pulled his legs away from Han whose eyes reflected a storm of similar anxiety that Woosung was feeling. So Woosung gave Han a weary smile, an attempt at reassurance as he walked towards the fully masked guards in silence.

They all knew the protocols, and no one dared to say a word though the room was full of raw static, as if all it would take was a small spark to cause an explosion. Everyone waited on pins and needles as restraints were placed on 007 to void his senses entirely.

This somewhere else was not far away, but Woosung had no way of knowing where as he was not even allowed to walk through the area so that the government could omit the clones being able to properly map the building. What they did not know is that the simple shifts of the breeze were enough for them to map their surroundings even when everything else was blotted out like ink spots on parchment.

Some elevators and hallways later the guards would bring Woosung into a brightly lit room, so brightly lit that its lighting fixtures created spots on his blacked-out vision.

Woosung’s vision bled back into focus as the guards removed each vile contraption off of him, leaving him standing in the bright room, barefoot and in his soft standard scrubs that he wore every day. There, in front of him was a man he knew well enough - the doctor, but not the biologist - and he had a gurney next to him.

The doctor dismissed the guards with the flick of a hand as if he were swatting away flies that had irritated him long enough. The flies moved out of the room, a single file line without a disturbance, leaving the doctor and 007 alone.

Woosung knew that there were cameras and he was quick to look around to try and find them, but he was unsuccessful in the immediate attempt as the doctor’s grating voice called him back.

“Hello, 007.” It was a greeting as cold as ice. “Undress and lay down for me.” The doctor was calm, exacting and precise. He pressed a hand against the gurney to show 007 where to lay, otherwise turning to one of the nearby counters pulling on black examination gloves.

Woosung’s nose scrunched in disdain. He was incapable of hiding how he felt toward the man, even though it was prescribed to all of them that they should hide their feelings. In this case, it was an impossibility.

“Why?” A punched down, mostly deflated retort came from Woosung’s lips, painful as the air left his ribs. He tried to be polite, even and blank though it took every ounce of willpower to do so. The apple of his throat bobbed briefly as he swallowed thickly. It occurred to him now that Minjoong was not around, so it then became a question in his mind - why was he here?

The doctor’s gaze flicked towards 007, dismissive and bored, yet something deeply hateful was boiling behind the fake neutral darkness. It was as if he would kill 007 then if he could, smite him with the flick of the wrist as he had removed the guards from the space. Though Woosung had little to no concept of finances he had a feeling that even if the doctor wanted he could not retaliate against him physically, would not such a thing cost a lot of money?

“There are some abnormalities showing on your blood screening. I will be looking to see if there are any physical abnormalities to match.”

“Abnormalities?” 007 repeated then, he did not know the word itself though it was not difficult to piece together that something was wrong with him, the puzzle pieces were not coming together the way they should. Perhaps the reason for his increasingly painful coughing fits. Tired, but not willing to lay down without a full explanation, 007 remained rooted in place.

“Where is M-”

“The biologist is out for the day,” The doctor responded through gritted teeth. “It is unfortunate that your vocal box works, it would have been ideal for you to be like 008.”

Woosung frowned at this.

“Don’t say such things.”

“Lay down, 007.” The doctor finally snapped, the darkness in his gaze rising like a wave threatening to engulf. “Or would you rather be sedated for your comfort?” The words were not kind, they were terse, said through tight, pale lips and a down turned nose.

“I’d rather stand, you always do the exams standing and clothed. I do not wish to undress.” Woosung continued to resist, the pit of his stomach was turbulent with the feeling that something about this was simply wrong, that something was out of protocol and out of the ordinary. They were never nude, they always stood. Why now should he have to undress and lay down, and without Minjoong’s agreement to such a thing?

“If you will not comply, then I will sedate you, 007.” The doctor responded then, turning slightly to follow through on his promise, he pulled at a drawer carefully retrieving a small clear bottle labeled in tiny letters that Woosung could scarcely see, with the bottle a came syringe though it had no needle attached to it.

“This exam requires that I palpate your abdomen, which I cannot do while you are standing. If it is that you require medication to comply, then this will take a much longer time to figure out if there are concerns to be addressed in the future.” The man placed the bottle and syringe on a small rolling tray now, retrieving and unpacking a fresh needle for the syringe.

There was a strenuous silence in the air, a push and pull of forces invisible to the human eye, yet they were there and for this the air could be sliced thinly with the dullest of knives, or worse yet a pitiful spoon made of plastic gnarled and used by a hungry mouth. Woosung stood in this moment until his shoulders slowly dropped and he decided to comply. But only half-way, as he chose distinctly to not undress, instead he went to the gurney and with unsteady feet propped himself up onto it. It squeaked beneath his slight weight, groaning in anticipation of his movement, curling awkwardly as the metal promised chilling contact against unwitting flesh. It was clear that the wheels were locked in place, and yet still they shifted as if with age.

It did not take long before 007 was laying down, the darkness of his iris peering idly at the fluorescent, sterile ceiling. Everything was fluorescent and sterile in this building that he lived in with only the exception of militarized areas where the team had been to ‘suit up’ for their assigned missions. Such areas were distant blurs in Woosung’s memory, he could hardly recall them for it had been months since he had last been in one - as if they had been entirely decommissioned. Those rooms, he recalled, had a dark quality as if to obscure the dirt and blood that the soldiers carried in from a long day at work.

“There.” Woosung commented, unwise in his comment but still resilient. He was determined to not undress, if all that was required of him was to have his stomach pressed on.

Upon his comment it was clear to Woosung that the doctor did not appreciate the comment, nor the fact that he had only halfway complied.

The man moved through the air as if on autopilot, disregarding 007 for a moment as the syringe was lifted and the needle attached, drawing carefully at the medication. Woosung believed that it would be in case he misbehaved, but the movement was quick, with little sound, the top hem of his cotton trousers were pulled down and the small needle stabbed into his thigh, injecting a small amount of the drawn anesthetic into the presented leg. Woosung jerked in response a hand to the doctor’s wrist in a moment of retaliation, but it would only take a sharpened glance from the physician before Woosung’s long fingers relinquished his wrist and slowly he laid back down.

Woosung laid there now once more, the image of the medication replicating over and over again in his mind. The slightest of bulge from the liquid, his flesh pliant, human, and weak before it all quickly dissolved, leaving him in a world of frosted window panes and sounds that felt so distant that even his own voice, as he whined in protest of what had occurred, did not seem nearby. It was far away, many hills and valleys away.

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007 felt the gentle caress of gloved hands, the pulling of his shirt up, fingers gliding over his stomach, pressing, touching, pressing, touching… The hands were lingering, a lover touching another lover as if he were too fearful to shatter the femininity in front of him. The shirt was moved further up then, the fabric chastising his skin, the movement was harsher than before. The hands were on his chest now, pressing into his pectoral muscles, around his nipples that had hardened against the cold air. The gloved hands sought a response, and Woosung whined again unwanting and unwilling to continue cooperating with the inspection.

“If only you knew how to be good, this would not be so difficult.” The doctor murmured, his tongue tracing along his lips distinctly enough for Woosung to understand the words that scattered between the two of them, he spoke so quietly, intimately, as if all of it was meant to be between them and no one else.

The blackened fingers returned to 007’s stomach, liver, around his diaphragm, pressing - feeling for size and shape.

“Your beloved 002 lays here happily and does what he’s told, but you can’t keep your mouth shut.” The doctor continued to whisper, dragging his fingers along the edge of Woosung’s liver. Woosung felt as if he were going to fall off a cliff, his limbs propped up by force by chains or vines, it was entirely unclear but he knew he felt like he was dangling on the precipice of a nightmare.

“No…” 007 groaned, the clear parts of his mind knew that Han had never laid here, Han had never left his sight before. Woosung could not articulate, his tongue twisting, his mouth dry, the spit sticking to his lips and teeth, stringy and thick.

The trouser scrubs were pulled next, shifting them from underneath Woosung until his groin was entirely exposed, but the doctor kept on pushing against his intestines.

“No?” A smirk floated into focus. “We’ll see. I was considering being kind about the last part, but now I am not so sure you are worth it.”

Woosung plummeted, he felt the world siphon itself into darkness, pulled by a powerful vortex. The desert, the building, the moon, the sun, the stars, the sky, everything moved past as he fell through the world off of the cliff that had decidedly promised him nightmares. The world flickered in and out of focus, the constant pressure was there, and he groaned in pain as both hands found their way to his hips, thumbs pushing into his abdominal cavity to rub upwards. A flicker of pain, of desire, a feeling of power flashed through the world as Woosung started to return to reality slowly, the doctor’s features plain for him to see.

“Last part of your exam.” The words were followed by a click and the wretch of a mechanical sound that left Woosung’s legs being manipulated into contraptions, his heels settled awkwardly but firmly, leaving Woosung exposed and vulnerable. 007 pressed his heels hard into the stirrups, followed by a long and defiant exhale that left his flaring nostrils, desperate to fight. The sound of tools clattering irritated his ear drums as he soon felt warm hands along his groin, manipulating, touching, pulling, feeling along the shaft, the scrotum, but once more the touch was lingering. The touch of a lover, desiring another.

“I have not found anything yet.” The doctor’s tone was louder then, as if covering for his tender actions, the lingering of his fingers, the butterfly soft touch that felt as frantic as a moth’s wings beating against a window basking in light.

“Woosungie,” The voice slipped through the cracks of Woosung’s mind, Han like an apparition appeared with a soft voice and saddened features. Han would be upset if Woosung continued to allow this to happen.

So 007 slipped one foot off of a stirrup, he kicked at the doctor, limply and awkwardly at first.

“Ah, don’t hurt yourself.” The man chided as a parent would chide a child for their disappointing actions. 007 felt a gloved hand wrap around his ankle and slip it back into the stirrup where Woosung found himself pressing his heel hard against the structure. It took a few delayed moments for him to realize that his kick had not worked, the world was too blurry for him to make sense of anything at all.

There was more movement, blurry, unclear movement as if all sound was moving through thick fabric, the kind that the clones were allowed to sleep with in the winter months, almost plush in nature. A heavy viscous material started to pour from an unmarked bottle, it was clear and from what Woosung’s dulled senses could tell there was no odor. Then a familiar, but suddenly undesirable sensation arrived. An intrusion, the curling of two fingers against Woosung’s prostate, an idle thumb stimulating his cock. The doctor’s image was cast down, slightly over Woosung, pressing a little harder.

“You really are using each other.”

The world snapped into focus. All at once. Clarity like air that enters the lungs on a cold day, crisp as if it were burning the nasal passages.

Woosung and Han were undoubtedly together, their union had come from a lack of awareness spurned by pleasure. Once the pleasure came, one touch after the next, Woosung fell beneath Han easily, unwinding like yarn beneath the cat’s paw, whimpering and having more orgasms than he ever knew he was capable of having. Once it came, neither one of them had ever wanted to stop.

This was a different sensation, it was slick and heavy, forceful and violating. Woosung’s mind was gripped with hatred, and finally his leg coiled like a spring and released towards the doctor’s head. But the doctor was quick, grabbing the leg and shoving it back into its place, pinching the tender flesh as punishment, the fingers on the inside never leaving Woosung.

“If you do not let me finish my examination, I will fully sedate you.” A warning that came with a quieter and more stern - “I am almost done.”

But it was not enough, the entirety of Woosung’s mind was made up, the sedative was running its course through his body, relenting to give the clone his entire consciousness back. A whimper vibrating through his throat that turned into a growl. His body, and his mind were fighting the examination in tandem, he knew with every fiber that it was not meant to be this way - Minjoong never did this to them.

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With a still groggy mind but a powerful and unruly body both of his legs coiled in protest now before he released them both against the doctor, the gurney churned and groaned as the action caused it to fall off onto its side. Woosung rolled awkwardly as the doctor cried out strangely when the kick connected and caused his legs to tangle beneath him. He attempted to grab onto the tray of tools, but they too fell over with a clatter.

Woosung, panting, started to stand with uncertain deer-like legs.

Nude but uncaring he attacked the doctor, leaping upon the weak human man with his mouth open, a feral animal biting into the man’s neck, to draw blood, Woosung felt the desire to murder wash over him. The doctor could only scream, a blood-curdling scream that erupted from his throat and lungs, in his panic he grabbed onto 007’s longer hair with his messy viscous liquid covered hand, leaving lubricant in thick locks.

“Get the FUCK off of me you damn wild animal!” Was the piercing call that sounded through the area, but no one came to help. 007 took this as a sign to continue, his teeth continued to dig further into the tender flesh, but with his teeth the hand grabbing his hair became more ferocious too. It grabbed, held and pulled, daring for 007 to continue, one more moment and he would take a chunk of flesh but he would lose hair too. Adrenaline fueled but not idiotic, Woosung relinquished the flesh only to grab onto the doctor’s wrist holding onto his hair, his combat trained fingers digging into vulnerable points, ready to break the man’s wrist.

The doctor howled in response, and Woosung grinned from ear to ear, he knew that he could not be taken out even for his retaliation - it would cost the government time, and more money than they were likely willing to spend to rebuild him, or anyone for that matter. It was easy to smile now as he enacted pain on the man that had caused him so much turmoil over all of these years.

Scream, cry… It feels good…

The doctor was desperate in his movements now, Woosung could tell as his fingers dug further into the wrist where something cracks beneath his pressure gently, causing yet another howl of pain. Something was breaking in Woosung’s mind, this was as exhilarating as the kill on a mission, but this was pure, a feral desire to protect himself and what was his own.

The doctor’s free hand reached for the anesthetic scattered on the ground from when he had fallen.

“I’m going to kill you,” Woosung exhaled with a tremble, bloodlust laced in his voice, his fingers pressed precisely into the doctor’s wrist, ready to apply more damage, to crack tendon and bone when a needle broke his flesh again and the plunger pushed. It bulged his skin, an amount more than normal, the effects were almost immediate.

“Kill…”

“Guards!”

They spoke in tandem, Woosung growling lowly even as the world started to melt and his grip on the doctor’s wrist loosened, even as he could hear footsteps from combat boots and the mechanical whir of a sterile, fluorescent, retching door.

Two armed men stood over the doctor bleeding down the white of his lab jacket and 007 who was almost passed out on his knees, blood running down his chin, pooling there. It was copious and despicable, and it tasted of iron, bitter, salty, of battery acid, of the scum of the earth.

“He has fallen under heavy sedation, take him to isolation immediately with all precautions. And find me Kim Minjoong. Now.” A wicked snarl was the last thing Woosung heard erupt from the doctor’s draconic maw. The sedative gripped his entire body as he collapsed into the arms of the guards who picked him up. Shuffling, the snap of gloves, and then darkness.

Woosung awakened to darkness, his consciousness the only burst of light. It is unclear where he is, only that he is fully restrained. The slightest movement sends a shock down his spine that quickly makes him want to stop. There is a voice in his head that is belligerent and loud, it dictates that he should fight, push forward without regard for his own wellbeing. Woosung moved again, the contraption he is firmly strapped to is made of metal and the more he moves, the more aggression there is in his intention then there is more pain. Soon it paralyzes his movement entirely, his fingers curling inwards in pain, his teeth biting wildly at a bit that has been shoved into his mouth. The bit is made of a strange material, it tastes bitter against his wild tongue that wants to lash out against the darkness. It is like a battery, when his tongue makes contact it completes the circuit and causes a buzzing in his head, a vibration that can only be attributed to the sensation of a taser. Woosung inhales sharply, his nostrils flaring wildly.

“007,” A voice crackled through overhead, it is divine intervention in a moment of complete darkness, but it is not a voice that Woosung is familiar with. “The more you move the more you will experience pain. It is not something we wish upon you, but your actions have serious consequences.”

Woosung let out a groan, something between a whine and an unrestrained scream that bubbles at the back of his throat, frothing like a rabid dog wishing to hurt, to kill.

“It is unwise for you to continue, 007. But if you choose to do so we will turn up the shock on the device until you are no longer with us. It is your choice. 007.” The voice waned in and out like a tide, the electronic voice is unable to maintain its volume as if there is a poor connection, or the distance between Woosung and whoever it was speaking was too great. Still they knew he was here, knew that he was a prisoner. It was a control room, somewhere, with cameras from every angle. It was not something that Woosung could confirm, but it was something that he could feel. It was a superior sense of existence, as if the electricity from the cameras, and the static that still lingered on his fingertips was something he could feel innately - not because of physical sensation, but a mental one that sung like a high note in his ears - tinnitus.

Woosung felt his muscles fire off once, beckoning the static and electricity to envelop him to swallow him entirely in a velvet wave of energy. Once the feeling dissipated, his muscles twitched again and again the wave arrived. Over and over again, as if the sensitivity was set up higher on purpose with each punishment. The apple of his throat bobbed in pain, but no tears came, the emotions did not appear now. They were pocketed, stored for the next time he saw the doctor, the next time the man dared to touch him or anyone on his team. His left bicep flexed and a fog of electricity screamed over his flesh.

It became like a painkiller, numbing in nature until he could hardly feel his lips and lungs. His lips tingled with the sheer sensation of the lightning coursing through him, a power that he could only see in his memories, but had never seen in real life. The outlines of blurry strikes of a storm in the sky. His lungs are tightened, they staggered his breath now, it is ragged and unruly like the side of a crumbling cliff, the fingers of an old man who has worked his life away in a mine for so long that his nails are unrecognizable as human, his knuckles crooked and painful.

“Do you see, 007? If you are motionless and good, you will not receive more shock. If you keep moving you will continue to feel pain. Remember what you were taught, remember that obedience is paramount to a functioning society, to the functioning of your existence.” The words rang, they were distant but they felt truthful. Still, Woosung, not 007, could not be motionless and good any longer. Obedience had run its course through his body, he could only do as much as his allies would do and the rest? The rest - every muscle, tendon, and atom of his body wanted to fight, fight those that surrounded him now like maggots on a wound. They were flesh eating parasites and he was a calf wishing to stand for the first time on his own two feet unafraid of the world around him.

The image of Han struck him again as more electricity thrashed his memory and body. Han wanted to see him again, wanted to know he was okay. Woosung’s mind became quiet, and his body did too. He grew still in the face of this opposition knowing that he wanted to see Han again more than he wanted to fight. His tingling dried lips placed themselves gently against the bit, relaxing in defeat for a moment. Every muscle in his body relaxed, but he felt none of it. He only saw the outline of Han with his blond hair and piercing eyes. Han who he wanted to see, and who wanted to see him. Woosung could not feel himself go lax, but he could feel his mind returning to darkness as if the electricity had taken its toll, as if all of this was insurmountable.

Obedience they said, for the sake of the government.

Obedience Woosung said, for the sake of Han.

Silence came swiftly then, it was a ripple that denoted nothingness, the calm before an incoming storm. A storm that would not come today, but Woosung was ready to know what lightning was not just in his memories.

Chapter Text

The light was dim in his eye line when he finally dared to awaken, his chest sore from impact, his body feeling aching and feverish. His first instinct was to move his hands, the twitch of his fingers letting him know that he was still somehow, very alive. The air around him was stale, but it was a welcome staleness that reminded him of home. Soon, he realized that he was not home at all, but rather in a hospital with a light that flickered overhead as if he had been discharged to a room where no one came to check, a liminal space of nothingness and nobody-ness. The neck, aching too, turned slightly to note how there were fresh flowers at his bedside with a note that only had a name on it and no other message.

‘Mingi’.

Yunho smiled, but the outlines of his cheeks were sore too. Everything hurt, but at the very least he knew that if he was here in this bed, in this strange liminal space, and that he could move his body, and there were flowers, that at the very least meant that the rebellion had been put under severe control.

Sector One was saved. Yunho’s heart beat a little steadier, the monitor near the hospital bed chirped as it read his vitals, becoming lively now as he came back into consciousness. The smile slowly bled from his features as he lifted himself up onto his elbows and just barely pulled himself up to sit. It was definitely more than just a little bit of a relief to know that he had survived and that his home city had too, especially after all that bargaining that he had done.

It had been perhaps the most terrifying reckoning that he had ever experienced in his life. Yunho knew that when he had signed up for this service that there would inevitably come a day that he would die - this was not up for debate as a soldier - but he had not wanted it to come so soon. He had begged in the most humiliated parts of his mind for a little more time so that he could see Mingi smile at least once more before he did pass away. Whatever energy there was in the world - though Yunho did not believe in such things - it had heard his prayers, the energy of the world promised him another day, and another Mingi smile.

This was not something that Yunho would ever admit to the world, his secret hidden away desires to see Mingi, to hold Mingi, and to ultimately see Mingi smile. He had not so much as touched Mingi, and he never would. At least not in the way that his heart wanted him to, pulled him toward. These were things better sequestered, tightly woven into a tapestry that could never be displayed to anyone but an audience of one - Yunho himself. It was a sad fact, but one that the soldier had come to fully accept. Even if his stomach jumped and bubbled with joy at Mingi’s presence, alone he could never act, he could only look and yearn softly from a distance. They could only exchange wanting glances, and leave each other flowers with notes that said nothing but the name of the giver.

It was enough.

For some, it would never be enough. For some, unadulterated, heated, desperate touch was the only thing that would ever solve their feverish needs and desires. But for Yunho, who had only ever touched Mingi in the most chaste of ways, it would always be enough. Just to be close…

A sigh left his lips, a sigh that fully sank into his body like an anchor. For all of this time that he had been passed out laying in this bed or another, his body did not feel rested. So now, suddenly he was exhausted, knowing that everything was alright and that he could rest.

So he did.

Yunho’s eyes closed and he slept. He did not know for how long he slept, but he did, falling into the energy of the world that he did not dare believe in. In his mind he was falling into the cradling safety of the government that promised sanctuary.

Just don’t show emotions. If Yunho could only experience total emptiness, that is when he would be submersed entirely in the feeling he wanted most - happiness.

Time slipped through fingers in this manner, and Yunho grew healthier, stronger. Until he was discharged from the hospital and was finally able to get back to work.

Indeed, he worked hard. Diligently as if he were making up for lost time.

Everything in that time grew still, the city as it stabilized, thrown once more into perfect equilibrium - there were no rebellions, no uprisings, nothing that could have anyone in the government on edge. Yunho’s confidence would slowly restore itself in that time, the mental and the physical. Paperwork was easier, sitting in his tiny cubicle with the rest of the team was infinite and comforting. They had even fiddled with the thought of going to dinner together to celebrate victory and a lovely stabilization of the government.

Wooyoung had been the most adamant about going out somewhere, even coming to work one day with a list of all of his favorite places. He pouted and begged to get samgyeopsal from San and then Yunho, and then both Seonghwa and Hongjoong. They had all laughed - against their better judgment - when Wooyoung got on his knees and smacked his forehead against the ground in some infinitely silly but endearingly Wooyoung way to try and get them all to go and eat that very same day.

The begging was vetoed by a worried Hongjoong.

Yunho could not pick up the pulse of Hongjoong’s behavior since he had returned, but their Captain had been increasingly more worried about something. The rest of the team seemed at ease, but it seemed as if Hongjoong was expecting all of this time to be an indicator of a calm before the storm.

“I do not think so, Captain, we successfully secured that sector the very same day.” Seonghwa had assured their leader one day, a day that Hongjoong had left his own personal office to drink coffee in the main room of the entire team. That distant and haunting expression was there and Yunho could not help but look at Mingi time and time again - he needed to ground himself.

“It does not sit well with me, the sudden silence.” Hongjoong murmured, his wrist moving gently to idly swirl the coffee in the disposable cup. The coffee was black, no milk, no sugar, it was very much unlike Wooyoung’s favorite choice of coffee - which had a lot more sugar. Yunho watched the Captain’s wrist twirl around until the movement made him sick to his stomach and he once more found himself staring at Mingi.

“Do I have something on my face?” Mingi murmured the pout of his lips more prominent, his eyebrows arching upwards into a delicate dome as he looked almost petulant towards Yunho.

Yunho shook his head.

“Then why do you-”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just staring.” Yunho dismissed Mingi, not wanting to dig deep into the reason that he was so desperate to look at his friend. He recalled when Mingi was at the hospital too, the way Yunho had to tell him that he should at least try to maintain his emotions. Mingi still could not maintain or contain emotions as well as Yunho wished he would - it would be his undoing. Even if the arch of his eyebrows and the pout to his lips was so endearing it made Yunho want to burst into a million pieces, fragments of glass that reflected every little detail about Mingi from the frazzled tips of his hair to the gentle slope of his ankles and curve of his toes.

Silence was the purveyor of their existence in those months, Hongjoong’s moods continued to shift beyond worry. They would reach a cataclysmic feeling of unrest, as if the feelings that gurgled like lava on the inside had become volcanic in nature. And in those days the Captain demanded that they train their physical bodies, oftentimes those days were long until every single one of the eight was collapsing or making mistakes. They all had their limitations, physical and mental, but their Captain demanded they train and so they would train.

Yunho was one that excelled in the physical aspects of training, the mental was something he left more to his superiors - Hongjoong and Seonghwa primarily, and on occasion he relinquished commanding power to Yeosang who oversaw their missions from a distance and helped direct the flow of battle with his communications, cameras, and drones. It was an important team dynamic to have, not everyone had to be a thinker. Yunho knew he could spend time at home, laying in his bed staring into the infinite darkness thinking. The government would never know then that he was a thinker, it was unnecessary to give them an inclination that he could protest against them. It was not something that crossed his mind, not when he picked up a rifle and laid stretched out on the ground and shot round after round into the center of inanimate, unmoving targets.

On rare occasion the targets would be set to move, their slowly erratic movements were nothing like that of a human being, and Yunho on occasion joked that it was far easier to shoot a fast moving human than a fast moving target for the way it jerked was not something that he could ever manage to truly predict.

“Perhaps you should learn to be more like a target, are they not the ideal?” Wooyoung would often retort, though the statement was never the same. It would always be changed one way or another, but the message was always the same. This part was crystal clear - to be human was not what the government wanted. The government wanted perfect robotic creatures that felt no pain, that experienced no emotions. The government at the top believed that contentment came from a lack of everything else. If the senses were shuttered, then one could finally be suspended in truth, in reality. So, their world was manipulated - the stars eradicated from the skies, the moon a strange specter of what it had once been if the children’s books of years gone by were to be believed.

Yunho’s parents had those books once upon a time, and Yunho had read them, looking at the pictures of the moon and all of its phases. But it was gone now, blotted from the sky and replaced with something else. Something robotic, emotionless, perfect. As a child, Yunho had desired the truth in many aspects, and it was this path of truth seeking that had led him to the government. As a student he had believed that all truths came from the government, and now he was at the heart of those truths. He knew that a lack of emotion was ideal because it meant contentment, true blissful happiness, it was not a bad thing that the government was striving for - but it was a difficult thing and that meant that sometimes people had to be put down for the sake of this utopia. Yunho hoped that he would live to see the utopia, though he was just as willing to die for it, given that he could see Mingi one last time before he did.

Wooyoung, in Yunho’s mind, was wrong. The way he quipped, joked, poked fun at the government. Yunho was often left wondering why the young man had ever enlisted, but it was not for him to know and though he disagreed he held no resentment against the talkative teammate. To Yunho it appeared almost as a childlike innocence, that he hoped one day would be snuffed out in the same way that he hoped Mingi’s would be. A thought that Yunho believed to not at all be malicious, but rather extremely thoughtful and benevolent. It was a thought that would ultimately help protect them.

It was a difficult thing to explain especially to an adult who had for the most part created an opinion for the world that they lived in. Yunho knew that each one of the team members had gone to school to some degree - at least the mandated basics - and had heard the exact same lecture day-in and day-out. Though it seemed that each one of them, in the end, walked away with a completely different opinion of the world. This was the part that was difficult to Yunho, who had a clearly different opinion of the world. Perhaps not the most practical and logical in the way that Jongho saw things, but certainly not as wild and free as Wooyoung perceived everything. It was what made their team so incredibly interesting, and dangerous, they all possessed entirely different views for why they were here, laying on the ground, shooting at erratic targets that moved like nauseating machines, instead of humans that moved with the fluidity of a dancer.

The most difficult days were the ones like this very day, many months after securing Sector One, and many months too after Yunho being discharged from the hospital. They had donned all of their heavy gear, vest, trousers, boots, and many different belts that seemed strung in the most uncomfortable ways all around their bodies. Yunho felt the most bulky in these scenarios - he and Mingi being the tallest were often relegated to being the heavy hitters, the pack mules of the team. Yunho did not mind, but Mingi hated it, often whining about how a buckle or a gun strap was pinching him in all of the wrong places.

The only thing that would soothe Mingi’s words in those moments was Yunho’s hand holding him by the shoulder, and assuring him that it would all be okay - that all of this was for good reason. They were the strongest and had to carry this heavy duty. Yunho knew that Mingi just wanted to be seen as capable, as strong and so those words had him smiling, and turning several shades closer to that of a pink carnation. Yunho could hear his own heart sing in those moments, the toothy-smile that could make a million people fall in love in an instant. Of this he was convinced. The way his eyes closed becoming the half-moons that had once been in those old children’s books that Yunho read. It reminded him of all things good in the world, in a way that no other thing could remind him.

“Let’s get it!” Mingi would announce soon after on those days and Yunho would nod in quiet admiration. Admiration of how quickly Mingi could turn distress into contentment. Today, this very day was exactly the same as those days - and Yunho knew that he could die happy today if the world wanted him to.

It had rained that morning, something that the government could not augment in any way as they did with the sky and the world all around. The rain fell past the projections, distorting reality. A spring rain, brown and grey like the cogs of a machine dripping with petrol thick, viscous, drooling from the maw of a monster. The drops of rain captured all the dirt and dust in the city and littered the ground with all that they captured. The air always smelled cleaner after the rain, to Yunho, but at the cost of humidity which Yunho did not like. This was the kind of day it was, a humid spring day overcast with a tint of unruly brown and off-green in the air when Yunho arrived at work and was once more pitted with a notice that they would be running drills.

“Another day,” Yunho let it sigh past his lips as he held the poorly stuck note on his computer screen. The blue paper quickly crumpled in his hand as he tossed it in an empty bin and he walked to take several substantial glugs of water from a nearby water cooler. The water dispenser was installed into the wall and only required a singular button press to pour water, water that it determined was appropriate for the individual requesting water to drink. It could be cold, hot, iced, a lot of water, or a little bit of water. The team never quite understood how the dispenser was able to determine, but it had become a game in the office when they all grew bored, just to see what the dispenser would give them today or at any given moment.

When the team all filtered into the room and saw their individual notes on their own individual computer screens they would all descend down to the militarized equipment storage, then they changed quickly in the provided locker rooms. Mingi and Yunho had their usual exchange before Mingi smiled and Yunho was happy to be alive.

The team of eight were driven out to a simulation dock, Yunho keeping mostly to himself, always trying to make himself smaller in the back of the cramped van as one of the tallest and broad-shouldered on the team.

In time they were released, jumping out of the van with an ambling and relaxed gait - it was not a high stakes mission, and Yunho had a feeling that this would be far from the last time that they would run another physical training, especially not with the way their Captain had been acting recently.

“Today, we will be running a mission simulation. We will split into two teams, each team will attempt to capture the other team’s members as well as the area that they hold the domain over.”

“With guns?” Wooyoung piped up, the features on his face twisting with confusion, a confusion that the team all silently shared now but did not speak out on.

“Yes.” Their Captain responded sternly.

Yunho’s stomach twisted, and he looked between all of his teammates that he had grown to cherish. Using real weaponry, even with protection, it did not seem like a smart idea.

“Was this approved, Captain? Truly?” Yunho inquired, careful in his tone, tip-toeing around his apprehension even as he could feel his heart beat into his throat.

“It was a submission by the superiors. It is unwise to speak out against such a request. They wish to test our combat prowess now that we are several months removed from the situation in Sector One.”

“But they know our prowess, don’t they? They’ve seen what we do, they know what we do.” Wooyoung pleaded, the crackle in his voice was apparent.

Yunho pulled a strange smile onto his face and looked towards the rest of the team.

“It’s a test! We should not shoot at anything that is not protected on our bodies.”

Though even Yunho knew this was easier said than done, aiming at the protected torso was easy, but if a bullet missed and ricocheted wildly across the simulation dock? It could genuinely hurt someone. They were not capable of regeneration after all, though Yunho found himself sometimes wishing he was capable of it for it would mean he could serve the government without any fear of death - he could always come back.

As Yunho spoke, he realized that the team morale had not improved. He supposed that this was the reason he was not a designated leader. So, he cleared his throat almost awkwardly, his shoulders curving inwards as he looked down to the ground. A heavy weight on his shoulders, made lighter only by a hand pressing down onto his shoulder a hand that he knew belonged to Mingi without even looking at who had started to assure him so pleasantly.

“If the superiors wish to test us entirely, then this is what we will do. We will show them what we are capable of as a team. But let us remain a team, shoot mindfully, and away from areas where bullets can bounce.” It was Seonghwa who had stepped forward, standing near Hongjoong now as they often did. Yunho had noticed that something had changed about them since he had returned from the hospital, there was a warmth that had not been present before. A warmth that was extremely pleasant and admirable to be around, yet it was something that Yunho found himself envying too. The way they stood for each other, it conjured emotions that Yunho did not dare to allow bubble-up to the surface. Envy too was a feeling he did not wish to have, but it was impossible when he looked at the Captain and his right-hand man who could silence the entire team with one piercing look. Even Wooyoung grew cold and obedient beneath Seonghwa’s gaze.

“Yes, sir.” The team spoke in unison, ignited for the exercise not by passion but of fear that someone might be injured.

Then the eight became teams of four.

“Team Alpha: Yunho, Yeosang, Wooyoung and Seonghwa.” Hongjoong listed off, and the four quickly moved to stand together, Seonghwa at the head.

“Team Beta: myself, Jongho, San and Mingi.”

For Yunho it was a disappointment to know that Mingi was on the other team, he had hoped that they would be able to fight side-by-side but that was not in the cards today and Yunho was far too willing to obey to try and change the team lineups.

Team Alpha disappeared quietly to the Northern side of the simulation dock, and Seonghwa motioned for them to huddle up.

“The goal is simple: shoot at the torso to stagger the opposing team, look for weaknesses in their defense - they will likely aim to take you out first, Yeosang-ssi so please remain near Yunho-ssi for supplementary protection.”

“Why do you think this?” Yeosang protested immediately, though quietly. His voice had a dark quality to it, deeper in some ways than the rest. It was like velvet, smooth and illustrious, spellbinding.

“You do not participate in the physical on our missions, your specialization is with drones and surveillance. They will think you are the weakest point of our team, it will be best if you stick with someone else while Wooyoung-ssi and I spread out.”

“Enough with the honorifics, it is as if you have not known us for an eternity.”

“It is perfectly normal for honorifics, we are co-workers, not friends.”

Wooyoung sneered at Seonghwa with a mocking look. Yunho almost chuckled were it not for the fact that his heart was absolutely attempting to jump out of his throat. Not only was this a dangerous exercise, but it was expected of him now to defend Yeosang and though he knew that Yeosang was more than a capable gunman, there was a great deal of truth to what Seonghwa said - the other team would see him as the weak man in their structure.

“Let’s take up three points to defend our area, think of this as the ‘capture the flag’ game we used to play as children in school.”

“With guns.” Wooyoung added snidely.

“Yes, with guns. I do not deny that this is a dangerous exercise, but it is necessary. We have been out of commission for a long time now, we must show to the superiors that we are worth keeping as a team.”

“I still do not see how they do not know that we are a good team.” Wooyoung shook his head, sighing but slightly conceding the point.

“Our work at Sector One was admirable, but it did not come without struggle,” Yunho felt Seonghwa’s eyes linger on him - his ears slowly turned red with humiliation. “Yunho-ssi would not be alive were it not for the assistance of the extra team that touched ground that day.”

Yunho remembered vaguely, a masked figure lingering over him as if he were the grim reaper. It was as if he had come to promise Yunho death, but he had saved him. The strange rebel’s body fell like a limp rag doll with how that mysterious figure with one single sickening twist broke the man in half. The physical power was unlike Yunho had ever seen before, and he was almost certain that it was either he or Jongho who were the strongest on their team…

This team was supposed to be the elite team of the government, a new collection of soldiers, but elite nonetheless. It bothered Yunho, though he would never say so, that there were other’s, others that they had no idea who they were. Others that were so overwhelmingly powerful that they appeared non-human. Almost as if they were machines.

“We’ll win the day.” Yunho exhaled, looking towards the three other teammates. “We’ll show the government what we are truly capable of.”

They placed their hands in, though the weight of them was not right as the pile of hands was missing four others and with a gentle push they moved out into three scattered spots on the simulation dock.

Once both teams were spread out, a click of a button somewhere indicated that they could begin as the terrain shifted. It was a simulation dock for a reason - it was capable of changing based on the whims of people Yunho had never met face-to-face. Today the terrain changed into that of a city. Buildings obscured their vision, alleyways formed, wide streets were visible, a littering of turned over vehicles, even smoke billowed out from the shorter buildings as if someone lived there.

The simulation became reality quickly, and easily.

Then the gunfire started, it was a sound that Yunho was familiar with and even found a strange and ironic solace in. Time went on in this manner, yet it seemed frozen all the same, manipulated for the team to practice against each other to the greatest degree. Yunho made himself smaller, and indicated for Yeosang to remain nearby, the two of them ducked down behind a dumpster that radiated warmth as if its insides were on fire. Yunho hissed and leaned away from the metal structure.

Footsteps echoed down the alleyway that they had put themselves in.

“Come on out!” The voice of their Captain rang out, and Yunho swallowed fearfully. They remained totally still and silent even as bullets whistled by just outside of the alley.

“There you are!” Hongjoong called out, his voice bouncing off of the walls only for Yunho to realize that the Captain was standing on top of the dumpster, leering over them with a look on his face that could only send a shiver down one’s spine. It was not the piercing glance of a siren that the right-hand man possessed, no, this was the look of a demon who took great pleasure in these activities.

“Move!” Yunho shouted and Yeosang scrambled up to begin running, and Yunho was glad for it as he shot round after round at his Captain’s well-protected chest, the bullets missed as his hands shook with the sudden fear that had washed over him that he might hit and kill his Captain. Then, finally, one did strike. It struck Hongjoong squarely in the chest and caused the Captain to stumble back and off of the dumpster. Yunho ran after Yeosang, not daring to check on whether or not Hongjoong was severely injured or not, he had a feeling that the man was alright even after falling backwards off the dumpster - there was a strange quality about the Captain, as if he were capable of anything.

Yunho turned a corner as he kept close to Yeosang who retaliated against incoming bullets with a few shots of his own. The entire simulation echoed with the sound of potentiality, the potentiality of death which stuck around like soft mochi dough on the teeth. It was relentless, mind-numbing.

They ran endlessly to the ends of the simulation and found a corner to hide between two buildings that had been placed together so closely that one might have thought it was a mistake in the simulation itself. Yunho put Yeosang in the crevice first before putting himself flat against the two buildings, protecting the entrance at all cost and therefore Yeosang by proxy.

More bullets, he could hear them from a distance and then one bullet that was not at a distance. It flew from above, angled towards Yunho’s torso, his shoulder. The whistle of the bullet registered before the impact, but the impact came before the sound. Yunho had no time to respond. He fell to the side with a bruising pain before another bullet came, as if to seal his fate it pierced flesh.

Immediately, Yunho let out a howl of pain, his gun dropped to the ground, a spot near his knee gushing red.

“Yunho!” Yeosang called out, forcing himself out of the glitched walls to kneel near. “Don’t move.”

“I kn-ow…” Yunho grimaced, applying pressure to his leg the only way he knew how as tears pricked at his eyes that he kept biting back.

“MAN DOWN!” Yeosang shouted, and it took only a few moments for the sound of bullets to cease.

The blood kept coming, it came relentlessly that it soaked all of Yunho’s leg and pooled beneath him.

“Fuck, what was shot?” Yeosang was trying to determine but Yunho would not let him as he kept applying pressure.

“Yunho!” It was a voice that Yunho wanted to hear, but not the words. “Yunho I’m so sorry!” Mingi collapsed near trying to help but Yunho swatted the frantic hands away.

Soon the entire team descended upon the point of where Yunho was sitting, at that point he had moved himself against a wall to lean, still holding onto his leg in agony.

Everyone was bruised and scuffed, even the Captain was bleeding, the back of his head matted with blood.

“Call for a medic, Seonghwa-ssi.” The Captain murmured and Seonghwa hurried.

Once the medics arrived the team parted like the sea. Yunho was breathing hard, his lower half almost numb from sensation as he was taken away on a gurney.

Another month lost…

Chapter Text

A long month passed, filled with guilt and the desire to mend what had been severely shattered. Yunho’s leg required a great deal of care after a significant artery had been punctured by a trigger happy Mingi. Mingi had done his best not to cry, but it was obvious to anyone who looked at him that his eyes appeared as if they were made of glass, glossy and fragile, ready to spill an ocean if given permission.

Yeosang too had been filled to the top with guilt, a guilt so intense that he was certain that it would gush from him in an infinite torrent. He was overfilled with the sensation, and desired nothing more than to retreat from it. So he spent many days the following weeks after the accident retreated into his shell, only working within the parameters given to him and not a moment more or less. His apartment felt stale and grey even in the increasingly hot and humid weather that the city was bursting at the seams with.

Then just as it felt as if the city would melt, Yeosang was seated in the back of a dark van, his body moving back and forth with the bumps in the road.

Smoke and fire rolled over the countryside. It was a dragon, a beast that had opened its jaws to unleash chaos upon the nation.

The van lurched and Yeosang felt himself helpless as his entire body lurched with the van, slamming heavily into the sturdy left shoulder of Jongho. Yeosang provided only a meek smile as an apology and Jongho offered a dismissive wave of the hand - nothing was wrong, even though the van was speeding faster than it normally ever had, their small bump-in was nothing to be concerned about.

Yunho was hunched over in the corner, Mingi had not dared to sit next to him ever since the shooting - even though Yunho had more than expressed that it was alright, that Mingi was not at fault.

Yeosang wondered then, who was at fault in the situation. Was it Yeosang? Because he had been the weak link on his team, always the one who was left behind as the keeper of a base, using drones to create the perfect scenarios for his team? Was it Mingi? For all the worry that everyone had, they had all been extraordinarily careful during the exercise to not strike one of their teammates with a bullet, aiming only for what was absolutely protected. But Mingi had not purposefully aimed at Yunho’s leg, it had been a poorly considered angle and a trigger-happy finger that ultimately sealed Yunho’s fate. But what if it had been Yunho’s head? What if they would have been a team of seven driving towards fire, brimstone and hell and not eight? It was horrifying to consider such an outcome.

In the end, Yeosang blamed the superiors. The strange individuals that never showed their faces, and only allowed them glimpses of their distorted voices and cryptic messages. The government was run by those unknowns, and Yeosang’s mind could not help but focus on them. They had been the ones who demanded such an exercise, a training as dangerous as it was potentially effective. It had sowed a seed of distrust in Yeosang’s stomach. A feeling that he had not yet had, but one that was growing slowly like a vine threatening to overtake the garden of emotions. It was difficult to think that the government might want to completely eliminate one of them as an accident in training, and yet it seemed like something they would be willing to do, for the sake of the world that they had carefully cultivated.

As the vine grew, Yeosang fought it. He did not want this to be the primary thought in his mind. After all, he had done nothing but feel extreme loyalty to the government that he had grown up in, and his distrust would not be met with action against the government, because he could not find the power in himself to do so. It was easier to fight the seed of doubt in the pit of his stomach, by doing exactly what his superiors dictated him to do.

So he bumped shoulders with Jongho and kept tapping his fingers against his wrist in an idle but almost certainly anxious stimulation of his body. Yeosang could only imagine what they were driving towards, and if the van was moving so quickly - how urgently their assistance was needed.

At the very back of his heart, he hoped that it was an overreaction and that the explosion had only been a threat with little to no result.

The majority of people lived in the city, some braver souls lived on the outskirts of the city. The lunatics lived in the barren trenches of the nation, in abandoned buildings or homes that had been destroyed and forgotten by time. It was in these barren landscapes that rebellion groups grew and organized. Unfortunately, in spite of the government’s best incentives, there were regular civilians living out in the rugged world too. These civilians were part of the nation, wanting to be one with the land without any modern amenities - a fact that most would discount, as this was a choice beyond the comprehension of most - these people were often families that had old root ties with the land and though after the war there was hardly any greenery leftover, some chose to stay regardless.

The last fifty years had swept many out of those traditional homes and towards the outskirts of the city. A lack of water, food and resources forced them to the city. So, this is what Yeosang was concerned about - the explosion targeted some innocent civilians who had made the very poor decision to keep their roots exactly where they had been for centuries and now they could very well be paying the price.

“Take a deep breath everyone, we’re almost there.” The Captain murmured, and a sigh passed through the back of the van like a cool river tickling yearning fingers hoping to scoop liquid and bring it up to the face for thirsty cheeks.

Yeosang sat up a little bit and the van went over a bump before halting and slamming all eight bodies into the frontside of the van.

“They could drive more carefully,” Wooyoung whispered under his breath as he started to stand up to their Captain opening the back of the van.

It was dark, the night in full eclipse of the daytime, but the sky was burning with an orange and reddish hue, it was a bruise that smeared itself across the heavens marked by a single point - fire and smoke on the ground as promised. The smell of charred stone and sand was prominent and Yeosang could only stare towards it in a trance, his bottom lip creasing as his teeth made purchase against it. The team most only ever addressed attacks in the day time so this was so very different, it was terrifying and awe-inspiring too; for as the smoke billowed towards the world above, Yeosang’s gaze continued to wander past the smoke towards the infinite blitz of stars, an explosion of its own silvery light.

The stars were invisible in the confines of the city, and this left Yeosang to stare without restraint, he could not help himself. This was what the people who lived here saw, every night - if they were alive at all.

Alive…

“Yeosang-ssi, please get into the van and begin drone activation. We need at least one pass over the area so we know what we will be dealing with. Once you have the area mapped out, begin strategy detail.”

Yeosang snapped out of his daze when he heard his name, and he glanced towards his Captain who had given him his command.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“Everyone else clear on your commands?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, let’s go.”

Yeosang retreated into the darkness of the van, earpiece active. He fumbled with one of the many boxes in the back, finding his favorite drone model he would unbox it and set it up so that it could fly. A screen flickered as it started to feed Yeosang the view that the drone had from the air. It was a small drone meant for surveillance, it was silent and particularly stealthy. In the night sky, Yeosang believed that it would not be caught at all and so he let it fly, its propels buzzing away before it disappeared entirely into the air and became one with the abyss.

Yeosang could not help but smile to himself, a detail that he was good at masking, allowing the smile to come to fruition on the inside but never on the outside. A smile that his superiors could not see, but one that Yeosang could feel light up in his chest.

The explosion had gone off in a small ancient compound from the looks of it. The buildings were absolutely scorched, most of them blown apart. It was difficult to determine from the drone if there were any dead bodies littering the ground, it was too dark and the flames cast too great of shadows. Yeosang feared that those that had passed had already been consumed by the flames, and if not were at the epicenter of the fires which meant that he would not be able to get a visual or a heat signature of any kind.

Kilo Yankee’s fingers worked deftly, guiding the drone carefully around the large fire to avoid melting any hardware, the smoke obscuring the immediate sight of the ground. A few more buttons were pressed and he switched modes on the drone, scanning the structures from the inside, looking for direct heat signatures that were not the fire. The fire was an explosive color on the screen, and he moved the camera carefully over to the main area of the compound.

There were a few signatures, people huddled on the inside against each other. They did not appear to have any weapons near them, which implied that these could be civilians. On the other hand, it was possible that these individuals had only made it seem like they were civilians and were in fact some of the rogue lunatics who had set off the explosion to bring the government’s attention out to this area.

“Kilo Yankee coming in, it appears that there are still people inside of the main building still.”

“Alive?”

“Yes. They should receive immediate extraction.”

“That may be dangerous with the fires.” San’s voice waned in and out as he spoke.

“Yes, but we are on strict orders to help any who are still alive following the explosion.” Seonghwa chimed in.

“Can you see any unobstructed way’s in, Kilo Yankee?”

“Plenty… Utilize caution for whoever infiltrates, bring back up. I have a bad feeling about whoever is inside.”

“Why?” Wooyoung questioned, as he often did.

“I cannot verify if these are civilian bodies or not. The heat signature can only give me that these are human bodies. Utilize caution.” Yeosang hoped to be short-winded in such communications, but not providing enough information could also pose problems for his team. It was a nuance that he had to learn during many hours of training, too much information risked the team wasting time, and not enough information risked the team’s physical safety.

He hoped that would be enough.

The drone watched helplessly as two new heat signatures arrived at the front door of the archaic compound, their shoulders beating in the fire-frayed door and wandering inside. The shadows moved carefully throughout the compound, though as they moved it was apparent that they had little knowledge of where they were going.

“Left.” Yeosang whispered into his microphone, and as soon as he gave the feedback he watched the two shadows move like a game on his screen. He kept watching, anxiety bubbling like vomit at the back of his throat. One mistake, and it could be over.

The screen made Yeosang both an active participant and a passive watcher. He could only give directions, or make the best directional choices from what he could see. Beyond this? He was helpless. If something were to happen to any one of his teammates, he could only feel his heart sink, and the gut-wrenching sensation of despair.

Every single mission had this feeling that lingered in the back of Yeosang’s mind, the opportunity for death was plentiful and every time they came out to perform for the government, the odds were higher than they were lower. How many times would the team cheat death?

A heat signature moved as one of his teammates on the camera appeared in the room, an arm extended outwards and another body grabbed and pulled to stand.

This was one of those moments where Yeosang felt his heart stop as he experienced chaos unfold in front of him. The occasional flick of sound that would come through their radio, bullets flying muffled by static and the sound of heavy breathing.

The drones heat-signature detector could only watch, capture and project onto Yeosang’s screen and Yeosang could only watch as his teammates shot at the assailants and managed to somehow get away from the trap unscathed. Or at least it seemed as if they were entirely unscathed, beginning to usher the mass of people out of the building. The mass slowly dissipated into what would become individual human beings. It was strange to watch, like a biology lesson from grade school - a strange worm that would become two, three, and then five of itself. They were hunched over as they came out into the cool night air deeply contrasted by the heat of the nearby fire that was still billowing smoke.

Yeosang switched out from the heat detector to a regular camera and started to move the drone around.

“Kilo Yankee, are there any more issues in the compound?”

Yeosang kept looking, silent, but breathing heavily.

They came like a storm, two, three, and then five all from nowhere.

“Yes! Everyone take cover!” Bullets started to rain down the van sustaining impact after impact which had Yeosang receding further into the vehicle to avoid a potential injury.

“They’re filtering out from the center, there are m-” Yeosang stopped speaking, and started to squint when there was movement near the fire. This was not a movement that belonged to the original assailants.

“Kilo Yankee? Status report now!” The Captain’s voice cut through, demanding and sharp.

“Masked figures coming from the North, they are wearing and carrying government issued equipment.”

Yeosang was staring down through the camera, the figures seemed so familiar in the way they moved and their physical bodies. It was strange… Suddenly one of these men stopped and looked up and with a deft shot put a bullet through the drone, cracking the camera and breaking a propeller.

“Drone One is down, activating Drone Two. Fire as needed, trust no one.”

And how could anyone be trusted in this hellfire of a mission?

—

There was a strange but irritating buzzing sound that kept interfering with Minsu’s hearing, it was prominent and coming from different spots in what he believed to be the sky. After a brief moment - after he had heard a gunshot ring through his ears from somewhere just behind him - the buzzing stopped and the static of the moment ceased.

The team was moving as one for once, they had no direction to split up and it was a welcoming change of pace.

Minsu had grown used to them splitting up during missions, every man for himself all performing one mission, for one cause, but never at the same time with the same intention. One of the youngest of the clones was holding desperately onto his rifle, fingers slick in tactical gloves with sweat from a sweltering fire that billowed out punishing all those that moved near it. The sensation could only be described as ‘sticky’, they arrived with little information, only that they were to assist in a confrontation in this barren desert of a place that had a singular home that Minsu recognized as being ancient in the way that it was built. The clones never received a lot of information, as if they were expected to put the clues of the puzzle together once their feet were on the ground, boots heavy, struggling and pushing against the shifting sand. Sticky, because of the way he felt his hair stick to his forehead, the salt of his sweat aggravating his vision as he kept moving forward almost mindless in the way he did. It was almost as if he were 006 and not Minsu at all.

The young clone knew that this would be what the people he served would prefer, that he be 006 and not Minsu. Minsu was an identity, an identity that he had grown warm towards in a way that made his heart blossom, his cheeks radiate with warmth. It made him feel truly alive. 006 was a cold prison, it was a vacant room with fluorescent lights, a suffocating vacuum. 006 was abandonment. His heart preferred Minsu, but his mind in these moments walked along the careful edge of only being 006 because it was safer to be him, to kill without remorse, and to see the world as it was meant to be seen - cruel, and needing to be cleansed of those who are unruly.

The buzzing returned, his ears blistering with the heat from the fire, the footfalls of the team silent across the sand in spite of their collective weight. The sands would shift beneath them, slippery and as unruly as the rebels that they were meant to put down.

“Halt.” A static voice pierced Minsu’s earpiece, and the clone paused immediately, finding a place to kneel behind some rubbish, the barrel of his rifle pointing to the bruised night sky. It smelled. The smell pierced the filter of his mask, it was bitter, and it burned 006’s throat as he felt the sensation of rubber, and something else, burning. Acrid, like plastic, a hint of sulfur, and something musky and sweet. This continued to overwhelm Minsu’s nose until he was helpless in his desire to lean his head directly against the rubble that he was crouched behind. Nausea ripped through his body, he leaned harder into the old singed tires.

“What is that smell?” He exhaled as bile pooled on his lips threatening to spill in the form of his supper that he had only two hours prior. Minsu closed his eyes, and gripped onto the rifle a little more firmly. He needed to swallow the sensation, but it kept swallowing him instead.

A round of bullets shot at a rapid pace was heard, and not a moment later they were flying over Minsu’s head, whistling the same way a pebble made the water whistle when it hit a tense and icy surface.

“Stay down!” The same voice called out, 003 sounded particularly tense. “005, report, number of targets.”

There was silence for a while longer, 006 had one hand against the ground the sand burying his gloved fingers as his stomach continued to retaliate against the smell that was all encompassing in its simultaneous sweetness and bitterness. It was like death had stuck to him like syrup, and his body could not take the intrusion.

“Too many, sir.”

More silence, the mechanism of the team’s mind was turning over and over again, considering their options as another exchange of bullets pierced the otherwise silent air. This time they were aimed elsewhere, and a panicked cry of unfamiliar human voices called out for help in the night air.

“I have spotted the naturals, sir, they appear to be in possession of human hostages on the other side of the building, they are taking heavy fire.”

The buzzing returned again, it dipped low, coming and going like a mosquito in a swamp worshiping the warm flesh of a living being. Minsu looked up, his lips parted, glistening with saliva that was dripping down his chin towards the bottom of his respirator.

A drone.

The drone was buzzing up and down, attempting to identify them it seemed, but they were masked shadows, and there would be no chance that they would be identified. Minsu considered firing at the drone, irritated by its assault on his hearing as he was forced to fight a barrage against his sense of smell.

“We must eradicate any defenses on this side of the building, and move in to secure the area so that the other team can escape with the hostages.”

“I will go ahead.” 007’s voice called, it had an unusual rasp to it, as if he had been smoking for many years and had an unresolved illness due to the smoking - his lungs sounded heavy. Perhaps from their lengthy advancement upon the perimeter of the building. Though Minsu could not believe that such a strong young clone as Woosung could fall victim to only a little bit of a jog.

“No. 002 and 006 will go ahead. The rest will lag behind, we will address our enemy’s numbers with strategic attacks, we cannot hope to overwhelm them.”

003’s word was law in these situations and though it was palpable that 007 wanted to protest, not a word was uttered. Instead, Minsu started to look around trying to locate the familiar outline of 002. He was shorter, but broad-shouldered with lean legs. But in the harshly cast shadows of the fire, 006 could not find anyone at all.

The sensation of someone patting him on the left shoulder had him leaping, turning his rifle swinging hard in an attempt to knock whoever had prodded him out entirely, a retaliation of pure instinct.

002 fell back into the sand.

“Hey!” It was a shout-whisper, and though 002’s face was not visible, the tone of his voice reflected his irritation.

Minsu immediately retracted the butt of his rifle and grew iron-hot up to his ears behind his mask, if any more of such a sensation was even possible.

“Oh, sorry.” He swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing as he forced down a mix of bile and saliva, still lingering on his tongue - it was tart, but not in the way that cherries or lemons were. It had an unpleasant, sticky flavor.

“Let’s go.” Han motioned, exasperated and Minsu could only nod in his humiliation and start to move. They used the harshly cast dark shadows to move up towards the house knowing that as much as the targets could not see them, they too could not see their targets. Minsu felt the tension in his stomach knot tighter, like a ten year tangle of yarn that was impossible to unwind. The bile receded as the air cleared slightly further away from the flames, and it was a relief that he was thankful for, in spite of moving closer towards the enemy hub. Their saving grace was the silent and trained fall of their footsteps. Their boots rolled carefully through the sand, each step trained and beaten into the two clones with precision. Each beating had been a lesson to be learned. 006 had been one of the easiest to train, he was a perfect soldier boy, obedient and pliant, and terrified of what would come if he did not listen to the commands given to him - even at the expense of his physical health, even when he felt his stomach turn over in knots and the sour acid come up from beneath his tongue - a familiar sensation due to how sensitive his senses were.

002 was in charge in this moment, and he gave a two-finger motion for Minsu to take up position across from him behind a dilapidated wall that had long since needed repair but now would be further abandoned - the desert sand would one day swallow this entire structure up, after all, there would be no one would ever live here again after this day.

Not a word was spoken as 002 placed his rifle carefully through a section of the wall that had a break in it, and Minsu watched the powerful kickback of the weapon discharge into 002’s shoulder round after round as he took on the enemy that was unaware of their arrival. Unfortunately, after he had unleashed several rounds, the enemy was now very well aware of his position and fired back. The bullets bounced and ricocheted off of the wall, but could not pierce the thick and old stone. It was a relief for Minsu who watched all of this unfold and it seemed that his and Han’s eyes would meet from behind their masks - or at least it felt like their eyes met because Han would motion for Minsu to take action.

Minsu became 006.

The younger clone placed his rifle through a break in the wall, similar to 002 and took the moment of bullet fires to join the chaos, firing at the targets. The bodies collapsed like flies, pathetic and flimsy in their makeup and each shot seemed to pull silence into the air, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the battle that was ongoing on the other side of the building.

“There are more coming.” 005’s voice was distant and passive as another one of Minsu’s bullets struck a man in the head, it ended his life and he crumpled like a puppet with no master of strings. As the enemy team stopped firing, so did Minsu, to avoid giving away his location though his finger remained on the trigger.

It was almost a bulletproof strategy, were it not for the fact that what 005 had shared was coming true. Out of nowhere, or so it seemed, more of the rebels crawled out from the abyss, the darkness of the home and one of them tossed a pear shaped object in Han’s direction. The object ‘plinked’ against the sand once, dull in its arrival, and then an explosion rocked the wall that both 002 and 006 were nestled behind. The wall, already struggling to maintain its composure, fell apart, debris flew, and sand engulfed both Han and Minsu like a wave heralding destruction and suffocation. Pieces of the wall clipped Minsu in the shoulder, thigh and face that were closest to the explosion - his only saving grace was a quick decision to push himself entirely into the sand.

There was a ringing in his ears now, tinnitus that disturbed his orientation of the world entirely.

Everything became an echo, his reactions slow, as if the world had become slow. Minsu pulled himself out of the sand with a huff, his respirator struggling to filter smoke with the sand filling it and yet the clone knew he could not remove his mask on a mission. His fingers clawed at the underside of his mask wanting relief so that he could breathe, the tactical nature of his gloves cutting into his neck skin, leaving red welts that sweat would slip into and sting like sea salt against open flesh.

006’s ears continued to ring as sand fell out from under his mask and he gasped for breath, now frantic to find his rifle that had been completely covered in sand and stone. Each movement felt reluctant as if he could barely move, his body retaliating against him as he forced it forward. The dark metal became visible and he grasped it quickly, a small exhale of relief before he felt a very sudden impact against his back. Minsu fell forward, turning in time with his rifle, a shadow stood over him pointing a handgun, and suddenly Minsu was faced with the stickiness of death on his very doorstep. His rifle pointed up, and retaliated with a click and the echo of a gun unloading against an unprotected body. Another man, dead at Minsu’s hands, his blood throwing shadows into the night sky, the darkest red that 006 had ever seen.

The bile returned in tandem with the ringing sensation in Minsu’s ears as he stood and choked on death. More bullets flew, and he knew that they were coming for him, his trembling and uneasy limbs carried him to another structure.

“006…”

A distant voice was bringing him back, but it could only call for him from beyond the veil of the ringing, which was stronger than it had ever been.

“Re-”

More ringing, his limbs moving him backwards again towards where he felt he knew the rest of his team was.

“More enemies…”

Minsu kept running, his ragged breath warm on the inside of his mask which was slick with sweat, saliva and bile as he forced himself to keep moving regardless of anything.

Then, suddenly, the ringing stopped and the frantic voice of 003 was calling in his ear.

“004 retrieve 002! Now! We must retreat, the naturals are removing themselves, we are being overwhelmed!”

When Minsu dared to look back he saw an army standing behind him and with his shoulders squared he kept running back towards his team, an easy target were it not for the fire that cast its sweet and acrid smell over the area.

“What happened? What happened to 002?” Minsu croaked, it felt like his voice was coated in sand and glass, it was a coating that was piercing and painful.

“Vitals are stable, heavy blow to the head from the explosion.” 004’s voice returned the information.

The next thing that Minsu knew was that he was sitting in the back of a van, shaking as it forced tires over heaps of sand, driving them home. The back cabin was silent, except for their collective ragged breaths. The team had never been overwhelmed like this, they had never seen a rebel force so large and collected in one spot.

And the smell, the smell still lingered in Minsu’s nostrils, it was sticking to him like velcro and refusing to let go, the smell of burning death had forced itself into Minsu’s body, into his very sinuses and refused to let go.

Chapter Text

An attack on Sector One, an explosion and the taking of hostages out in the countryside, it seemed to Minjoong that the rebels were getting bolder by the day, no longer planning or waiting long before attacking. There were many of them too, more than the government had initially believed - or so his files had said. The young biologist had overheard some conversations, whispers, words that hung on the tip of tongues that more was coming and the government would not be able to stop it all. It was difficult to determine if that was true or not, after all, none of them were able to truly predict the future. Still, a part of Minjoong was invigorated by the idea that there were rebels. A guilty, deeply buried part of Minjoong was excited that they could make a difference in the way the government functioned. He knew that his thoughts were treasonous, they were enough for him to be imprisoned for the rest of his life, or worse yet, enough to be shot down against a wall and thrown into a mass grave, never to be heard from again.

The thoughts came more frequently nowadays, even though he knew his brother was constantly putting his life on the line. Every day that he was dispatched for a mission, Minjoong worried that he would not see Hongjoong again and yet still he wanted for the freedom and safety of his greatest creations. Hongjoong could care for himself, right?

These thoughts permeated his daily life… In spite of his brother, in spite of everything, because he had seen the treachery of the government and the people that moved around him, working mindlessly ready to step in and stop the lives of real people for a poorly placed ‘greater good’. The doctor, the way he had treated Woosung, the way they shouted at each other as the doctor put a needle through his skin, unfeeling to his own pain, only anger poured forth from him like a river of black ink. Minjoong could only retaliate quietly, he still moved through the world with a mousy manner unwilling to rock the world the way his brother had been willing when they were younger. Minjoong had never been a fighter, he always chose the road of peace. This road, however, was testing him and taking him to battle without Minjoong's consent. The road of peace required conquering those who wanted to battle the most, who wanted to sow blood into the ground that they walked on. Minjoong understood this now, and the doctor’s screaming still echoed in his ears, moving him forward towards inevitable rebellion.

Rebellion of what? Minjoon hardly knew, but he continued to bring his creations fruits, treats, and games that they could play in their spare time. It was a soft rebellion, one that would not upset the government, one that would maintain the status quo, but it would present humanity to the clones, the young men who were like birds in a cage. They flitted around desperately, beating their wings against the enclosure, unable to leave. Their life's sentence was cruel, and it was something Minjoong tried to alleviate the pain of, but he wondered too for how much longer he could keep this up before he snapped entirely, before the world collapsed all around him, before he could no longer stand the way they were treated? The question of this was eternal.

Another day, he came to work with Hongjoong, the sun’s rays were just barely poking holes through the overcast sky, the clouds frequently as unyielding as his brother’s resolve for the service of the government. But even Minjoong could tell that there was a growing anxiety in his well-decorated and accomplished brother. An anxiety that was not the same as Minjoong’s anxiety; it was a rising tension, a dark cloud that threatened to storm over his twin’s head. Minjoong felt like he was watching Hongjoong’s demise most days, and today was absolutely not any different.

“See you for dinner,” Minjoong offered Hongjoong a weary smile and a wave of the hand, gentle and complacent.

“Mhmm.” Hongjoong’s response was distant, devoid of any excitement that he had once had.

The absence of his brother, this was what Minjoong had always feared.

The truth about the government was that it could only control people’s emotions to an extent, human beings were without a doubt flawed in this regard. There was a traceable correlation with people who lived further from the center of the city had a tendency to show their emotions more. The Kim brothers had once been like this, but it seemed that the government’s talons had finally dug themselves right into Hongjoong’s core and taken him away from Minjoong.

Minjoong could only nod, scan his identification card and disappear further into the building, placated, emotionless, content. Or so the government would believe as his thoughts continued to be a tumultuous tempest threatening to strike out at the slightest inconvenience.

The biologist descended into the depths of the government's hold and slipped into his lab coat for the day. It was sweltering downstairs for one reason or another and he fanned himself with a tablet that he carried around - a tablet that had all of the information that he needed for the day.

“Minjoong-ssi!”

“Ah, yes?” Minjoong turned in the middle of a corridor face-to-face with a young doctor who had recently joined the team. There was an infectious nature about this man, he seemed constantly intrigued by everything that all of them did. Even as he kept a neutral expression, it was obvious by the way his eyes would reflect in the lights, there was excitement and love for the profession.

“There is a check-up today!”

Minjoong looked down towards his tablet and nodded.

“I can see that.”

“Could I join?”

“Mm, have you inquired about getting permission for such an activity? I am not authorized to give said permission.”

“I-” The young doctor wilted, his shoulders drooping immediately as he looked down to his feet and the vapid, endless grey floor. “I did not, sir.”

“Mm… Then I am sorry, I cannot give you such authorization.”

“I heard it would be interesting, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

Minjoong did not say another word, instead he chose to turn on his heel and proceed down the hallway. There was a bit of paperwork he needed to file away, and beyond that he needed to visit the clones before their medical inspections today. They received regular inspections, but especially one’s after a mission. A part of Minjoong wanted to console them, the most recent mission had gone incredibly wrong. They would more than likely be upset, especially Beomhwa, who had faced some backlash from their overseers for having called the mission early. His reasoning had been sufficient on paperwork, but it had not stopped the masked men from gathering Beomhwa and taking him from extra debriefing. “Extra” in that moment had meant punishment, and something that Minjoong had been unable to stop. This would have rocked the proverbial boat, and it was not something he was willing to do. Not yet, not when the clones were as vulnerable as they were. Not when they were at the mercy of the government as readily as they were. Minjoong had to wait, and though he had no idea what he was waiting for, he knew that one day he would know when he was done waiting.

They were strong, he had made them strong, and the government could not take that away. This was one of the only things that the government could not take away, as capable and efficient as it was at destroying lives - artificially made, or not.

Minjoong sat down with a ‘thump’ in his rolling chair. It creaked with age but he was not one to ask for a new chair. There was no point or so he had surmised, as most of the chairs in the building were incredibly old and creaky, and in spite of this, the government was capable of incredible feats of technology. Projections and lights that Minjoong could scarcely begin to understand or explain. Science had always been his strength, but it had been the science of life that he excelled in, not this other science that the government loved - the science that replaced life with the automatic and emotionless, it was a science that disturbed Minjoong to his core. He did not understand it, or perhaps was entirely unwilling to understand it. It was difficult to discern which it was for him, a lack of understanding or a lack of desire to even try. Perhaps a drop of both, as he laid his tablet to the side and booted up a computer screen to begin his work for the day.

Mundane and endless as was the heat outside, mundane and endless. It made the air humid, and it made breathing so much more difficult. Though it was difficult to breathe here too, for one reason or another the air circulation was poor today, a question that he had yet to raise, though one that he was considering raising the more he sat in front of the computer screen, typing. A strip of sweat formed on his brow that he wiped away with disdain and flicked off to the side with a sigh, his breath hot as it reflected against his rosy cheeks. Thirty more minutes and he switched his typing out for working out chemical compounds in a processor. The government liked to keep all of these files for reference - it was unsurprising that they did not allow unsupervised, private work. It was also unsurprising that Minjoong kept only the most simple of compound notes here in their database. His work was just enough to satisfy their prying eyes, but they would never see the old traditional notebooks that he had tucked away at home, the many nights poured over something that he was working on that was far grander than the government should ever be allowed to know.

Perfect replications of people, without a need for maintenance, though at the expense of genetic modification, immortality. This, he believed, the government would not like. The clones relied on the government, they relied on Minjoong to administer injections to keep them living and breathing without physical and mental deterioration. Their reliance made the government interested in them. They were people tied to these walls, unable to run away, unable to leave without also acknowledging that by doing so they would all die. The clones knew this, and they stayed in line, their obedience hinging upon their lives. Their creation, the genetic modifications also made them several leagues stronger than any natural born human, and if not stronger than they were certainly better in another factor - Minsu, for example, had inherited almost perfect senses, both hearing and smell. Woosung was faster than anyone else and Beomhwa’s eyesight was second to absolutely nobody. Stronger and reliant, this is what the government wanted. They would never desire Minjoong’s notes - perfect replication.

Though Minjoong feared the worst, that they would desire it because from there they could create an army. An army of people willing to obey because their very lives were owed to the government. Children replicated and raised in the arms of masked and vastly superior men, polished into weapons not unlike the clones tucked away in the most prestigious of basements.

Those notes were best kept away from prying eyes, especially one’s without any sense of understanding of what the notes themselves meant. Minjoong would take those notebooks with him to the grave. He would, he realized one night while tossing and turning, rather die than ever reveal what he was capable of doing, what science had made him capable of performing. Even though he knew that his death would inevitably mean the death of the clones too, the injections were maintained entirely by Minjoong, and thus he was the only one with any knowledge of it. These chemicals were the very reason he was hired, and he maintained to this day the sole knowledge of exactly what they were made of. The government had of course insisted that he write the compounds down, and he did with a few changes that would most certainly never lead them to the same result. This quiet treason could also mean his death, one day, but it wasn’t today - because he was still here, he was still the one administering the injections and he would continue to be the one for many years to come.

A knock startled Minjoong, causing his shoulders to rise and the air in his lungs to cease moving.

“Minjoong-ssi?”

The young doctor was back, and Minjoong slowly swiveled in his chair, turning to address the young excitable doctor.

“Yes?”

He had realized just then, that he had forgotten his name. Still it was far too long into their relationship for him to ask for it, and so he was left with an awkward silence between the two of them as if the younger man was expecting him to speak more. But Minjoong remained silent, his hand still on an old mouse that he enjoyed using.

“I got permission!”

“You did? That quickly?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s surprising, it usually takes several days for this sort of thing to be approved.”

“Li Kihyun-seonsaengnim approved it.”

Minjoong’s expression dropped a little. Of course he did.

“Ah, I see. Then, I will see you at the medical inspection soon.”

“Where should I meet you?”

“The elevator.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mhmm.”

The young man turned to leave and Minjoong slowly started to turn himself back around towards his computer screen.

“Um, Minjoong-ssi?”

Minjoong flinched slightly and turned his head, almost craning it towards the younger man.

“Yes?” It came strained, fighting to keep himself from showing a hint of annoyance.

“Should you not be ready to come now?”

“Now?”

“Yes, well, it’s ten minutes before the inspection already.”

Minjoong glanced at a digital clock that hung on the wall, it had a black background and the numbers were viscerally robotic, and blindingly red. There it read clearly that he was about to be late to the inspection, having gotten caught up in the work that was, for him, so easy to get lost in. The numbers, charts and chemical write-ups were a fascinating puzzle to put together in a way that worked, in a way that made sense. His mind reeled with love and desire for the process. But now he was almost late.

Minjoong cleared his throat, and turned his head away from addressing the young doctor who had no name and started to save his work so that he could close it and shut down his computer. So much time had already passed, time that he had scarcely been able to track between the musings of compounds and his own mind.

“I will be there in a moment, just have to finish up.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door shut after that and left Minjoong to his own devices, quiet and flustered, realizing that he had no time to visit the clones now before the inspection.

The tablet was scooped into his hands, fingers fumbling with the device as they aimed to grasp the item firmly. It was as if time had purposefully run away from him, flew like a bird with preening blue feathers. It was a mockery of Minjoong’s natural ability to keep time, and to be respectful of the time that other people spent around him at such appointments. Perhaps it felt natural to get lost prior to this appointment, easy to disassociate into a work far more enjoyable than to think of the doctor that he would have to interface with today. The last time they had properly spoken to each other, the man was bleeding, stitching himself and screaming at Minjoong at the top of his lungs. It had been chaotic. The words lashed at Minjoong like venom, the biologist never wishing to speak to the man again. And yet, destiny would always bring him back to the doctor, a magnetic pull rotating him back to the man because he had sworn to protect the clones with all of his life, with every breath Minjoong took.

Any loose paperwork was swept into drawers kept under lock and key, the computer screen powered off with a lazy yawn as the mechanisms of the machine whirled to a stop. Minjoong grabbed seven shots, and sterile gloves before he was out the door. He left his office unlocked in a rush, though in his heart he did not think that anyone would think there was anything worth inspecting in his office room. Minjoong was, after all, a pliant and good servant of the government and nation. There was nothing about him that was worth inspecting in any great quantity.

Minjoong’s feet carried him to the basement, he loaded himself and the young doctor into the elevator and with the swipe of a card they were allowed down with a lurch of the lift that shuddered as it lowered them down.

It was hotter here.

The air was sweltering and unpleasant, and there was a lingering odor of human sweat that stuck to the nose. Minjoong could not help but scrunch his nose in distaste, and the young doctor nearby tried to subtly place his palm against his nose.

“Is it always so warm down here?” The nameless doctor inquired, his tone distant and polite.

“No. I wonder if something is broken.”

“Well, I hope that whatever it is, gets fixed soon.”

“They are working on it, to my knowledge.” A curt voice cut-into the conversation. It is shrewd and cold like ice that slides across sensitive teeth that recoil in pain.

“Ah, Kihyun-ssi, you have joined us.” Minjoong added suddenly, but he feels that his voice is tight, strained. It is impossible to restrain himself, if he had his choice he might have attacked the man now. But the thought is sequestered and pushed down into the deepest and darkest parts of his mind. Minjoong swallows thickly as the strange trio walks down the hallway.

“Were you expecting me to not join?” A raised brow etched along the doctor’s tone.

“Of course I expected it, just, I was not sure when.”

“I was not going to be late to this marvelous occasion.” The man dripped with sarcasm, a sarcasm that Minjoong hears but the nameless doctor is oblivious to, there is a distant and cold smile on the youngest face as if he were not privy to the context of the meeting between old colleagues.

Minjoong felt heat rise from his torso all the way up to his cheeks, the words are daggers into his chest and neck. They prickle along his body. It was he, who was late, in his own mind. Though, nevermind that it had been the doctor who had arrived behind them, not a moment too soon. This fact, Minjoong did not bring into conversation, he bit his tongue and all the vitriol it possessed.

They walked in silence for a moment longer and Minjoong scanned his card again, the card allowing the three of them inside.

“Inspection day.” He told one of the guards standing there, but the man behind the mask did not move, did not flinch. There was no indication that the individual was even breathing. The rifle ever-present clasped in his fingers was the only indication that he was more than likely alive, as his fingers were digging into the metal.

“Ah, everyone, it's time for your exam!” He called out, as if he were a mother arriving home from a long day of work, speaking to her children with an everlasting care. It was the kind of love that only a mother could have.

His creations.

As Minjoong called to them he could feel the iron hot pressure of the doctor’s gaze, burying itself into the back of his neck, daring him to speak more casually with those that he considered to be beneath him, less than humans, he had made it more than clear that these were beasts meant to perform a job and nothing else. They were not meant to be loved or fraternized with - a fact that Minjoong could not find himself agreeing with as they stepped into the common room to all seven of the clones standing in a line in numerical order as they were accustomed to.

“Hot day, isn’t it?” Minjoong made light, setting everything down on a nearby counter as he fiddled with the sterile gloves he had grabbed. He slid them onto his fingers, feeling more like a reptile shedding in reverse than a man when he did. The seven shots were carefully laid out, each weighed in proportion to the size of the individual clone. He eyed them with a sense of pride.

“Jihoon-ssi, this is 002, could you please lift his shirt sleeve and hold it up for me.” The doctor grumbled, and Minjoong was relieved to now know the nameless doctor’s name without having to ask for it again. A small relief.

Minjoong stood by, watching Kihyun and Jihoon work. Jihoon had a nervous but excited energy about him, having donned his own set of gloves he was enthralled to be working with individuals that were not like himself - in his mind. Minjoong could tell by the way his eyes gleamed, Jihoon looked at Han as a young child would look at a present on a holiday given to him by his parents who had worked hard to earn the gift with their money. This was not the kind of awe that came from medical work, it was gawking.

Han was stiff, each touch from the doctor was unwelcomed, and the tension in the air between the two of them was palpable.

Minjoong picked up the syringe meant for Han and walked over to him. He gave him a brief pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t move him, Minjoong-ssi.” The doctor spat and Minjoong could only blink once at Kihyun, slowly and without a sense of understanding for his words. The softest pat was not enough to move Han around. As sturdy as the clone was, it would take a great deal more effort for his hand to shove him in a way that would ruin the examination.

“My apologies.” Minjoong exhaled out a ghostly whisper, and he cursed at himself for being so weak and cowardly that he would not retaliate then and there. His fingers glanced across Han’s palm then as if to comfort himself, but Han’s hand twitched away. Minjoong stopped moving then, fearful that his touches that were meant as a comfort were making the situation worse.

He waited.

“002 is sufficiently healthy, his heartbeat is elevated but it is possible that such an examination would elevate it.” The doctor surmised finally before moving onto 003.

Minjoong turned to Han and glanced at him, noticing that he had scars along his arm that were still in the healing process. Guilt washed over Minjoong, he had not been there to save 002 from hurting and that made his stomach curl into a knot. He knew that it was unrealistic, that he could not attend their missions, that he could not make sure that they were all safe in the end, but it still hurt and it was a pain that he had never felt before. It was oceanic, the clasp of fingers that had long since searched for each other, it was a child ripped from the arms of his parents, begging to still be there in their safety and security. It was a chasm that opened him up and bled him dry.

“I’m sorry.” Minjoong spoke, his voice dry, quiet, rasping as if he had been wandering a desert for years without a droplet of water. The apology was that of a mouse, pathetic and dead upon arrival. Not because Minjoong did not mean it, but because he could not speak loudly in front of the doctor. Because he couldn't bring himself to speak loudly. Hongjoong would have, but Minjoong could not.

Minjoong’s fingers lingered on the scars before he administered the shot to Han and dismissed him. But Han did not move, his feet remained planted, his eyes fixated on the doctor ravenously.

Kihyun and Jihoon had already moved on to 004.

It was a relief as Minjoong picked up the syringe for 003 and administered the shot to 003, granting him small smiles as he did, his smiles distant kisses on pink cheeks. His lips half twitching into endearment towards Beomhwa who did not return the smiles. Still, there was a warmth in his eyes and it settled whatever anxiety that had bubbled up in Minjoong’s stomach that he was entirely unwanted in these quarters now. That his pathetic gestures had not gone unnoticed that the fruit-giving was simply not enough.

The shot was administered to 004, 005 and 006 too. With each one of them Minjoong paused and looked them over, not trusting the doctor’s judgments or statements. He wanted to see their emotional scars that lingered in their eyes, that were trapped there like a fly stuck to a cobweb, buzzing and begging for freedom.

“Jihoon-ssi, step back.” The doctor commanded, dismissing Jihoon with a flick of the wrist.

Jihoon did so without question, but the expression on his face was one that questioned the statement. It was plainly written there in the slightest wrinkle of the skin between his eyebrows, the downturn of his lips, a pause in the playful excitement that danced in the darkness of his eyes.

“This one is a biter, I don’t recommend coming near him.” The doctor drawled before addressing Woosung. “Isn’t that right, 007?”
.
But 007 did not respond. There was a slump to his shoulders, a curvature that denoted his exhaustion. His body was an outline of what it had once been, his lips were chapped and dry even in the hot and humid environment of the basement as it currently was. There was a defeated look in Woosung’s eyes, his skin pale and clammy as if he had been fighting a cold.

“Hm, Minjoong-ssi it seems this one needs an extra dose of your serum.”

“That is not possible, they must receive an adequate dose for their body type each time - no more or less.” Minjoong tried to be louder, tried to stand his ground.

“Then perhaps there is something wrong with you after all, 007.” The doctor mocked, approaching carefully to inspect 007. Still the clone did not move, his body remained motionless, the rings beneath his eyes mouthed a tale of illness and exhaustion.

002’s eyes pried in on the moment, expressionless, but ready to attack at the shortest notice.

“Breathe in, 007. Breathe out. Good.” The doctor complimented, but the words were falsehoods. The man examined him a moment longer and even drew a blood sample.

Then Kihyun moved onto the ever silent and patient 008. Soon Minjoong was administering shots to 007 who flinched and then 008.

Minjoong realized he was desperate to stay, but he knew that he could not and so they were given permission to move around once more and the trio of scientists departed from the common room space without another word.

“I will be taking this sample from 007 to the lab immediately.”

“How sick is he?”

“Hard to tell from the outside, this sample should give us a comprehensive look at his system.”

“A blood sample can tell you comprehensively if there is something wrong?”

“Yes, of course, what kind of operation do you think the government is running Minjoong-ssi?”

Minjoong paused, unsure of how to answer and so he opted for the safest route.

“A perfect one, but surprises are around every corner.”

The doctor, displeased with a lack of contention continued to walk, swiping his own identification card to have the elevator lift the three of them up to the main floor.

“I will leave a report on your desk for you to inspect by tomorrow morning. It would be unfortunate if there was something severely wrong beyond a common flu, wouldn’t it?” The words stung like wasp stings. Minjoong nodded and disappeared back into his office as quickly as he could.

The next morning came quickly, it arrived with a sort of darkening pretense against his eyelids. It beckoned the silver light of the sun there.

“Have a good day, Hongjoong.” Minjoong whispered, his shoulders wrapping forward as if he were a child again, shy and awaiting punishment from other children at school. He scanned himself into the building and escaped to his office where there was a substantial packet in a folder on his desk.

Upon the folder the words ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ were printed in big red letters, paperwork that was not meant to be known or seen by anyone but Minjoong.

The biologist chewed on his lower lip as he slowly sat down at his desk, terrified to open and unveil the contents inside. But while his hands hesitated, his mind begged for information.

That was when he noticed the extra note next to the folder.

‘Dear Kim Minjoong,

Here is the medical report for 1000-007. It goes without saying that this information is to stay between me, yourself, and the highest priority of individuals within the government. The scanned documents have already been sent. Understand that your 007 has no need to know of his fate. It would ruin the quality of his work, so keep your mouth shut. It will be known if you are not quiet, trust me, dear friend.

Yours,
Li Kihyun.’

It is a warning sign, cold and hot all at the same time as Minjoong opens the folder and pulls out the stack of paperwork.

The first page is crystal clear in its outline, it paints a picture as putrid as it is pure of the state that 007, Woosung, was in.

‘Stage 4 Lung Cancer, advanced to the brain.’

The world spins out of control and Minjoong sits in nauseating grief.

Chapter Text

The weeks dripped by like honey through fingers, sticky and warm. The heat continued to rise within the humble abode of the clones until finally, one day, Woosung found himself curled up in his bed alone and shivering. The fiery rampage of summer months seemed to dissipate against his skin as if he were impervious to warmth. It was not a change that the other six had noticed in the air, but Woosung continued to share how cold he frequently was.

In time, Han joined to sleep with him permanently in his bed. Han’s body provided a warmth that Woosung had determined he required. In contrast, Han would wake up in the morning with his hair sticking to his face from the beads of sweat that had formed over his face, his neck slick, and Woosung found comfort in the crook of Han’s neck in the mornings, enjoying the gentle musk that radiated from his partner and friend - always mindful of the healing scars that were closing more and more day by day.

“You’re so small, Woosungie.” Han murmured one morning, his breath a slight displeasure to Woosung who scrunched up his nose and turned away, pushing his backside up against Han’s groin without remorse.

“Mm, Woosungie-” Han moaned.

“Whaat?”

“I need to pee, and-” Han was too shy to say what was very obvious, he was incredibly hard and pressed up against Woosung. Though Woosung did not let up, and continued to lay there pressed comfortably against Han’s chest basking in his warmth like a lizard or snake that was collecting enough energy to finally rise.

Han’s fingers were curious, they had always been. No matter the amount of times that he brushed his fingertips against Woosung’s body, he never ceased to be endeared, to discover new parts to love. Today was particularly different, noticeably so for as Han ran his fingers across Woosung he noticed how his ribcage protruded, the slope of his stomach, the shallow breath of his once lively lover.

“Woosung, you’re so small.”

“You already said that.” Woosung responded, his voice muffled by the blanket that he slept under, his eyes still closed. He was reluctant to greet the world even as the lights blared their siren overhead, demanding that he rise and shine.

“I know but…” Han trailed and Woosung finally dared to pull one eyelid open, pouting to himself that he was being made to greet the world.

“You seem extra small.” Han finally spat out, with a flick of a finger ambling clumsily across Woosung’s rib.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Han. I’m, I’m just myself.”

Woosung had been trying to maintain that he was feeling fine and well for weeks, or was it months? It was difficult to track time in their capsule, the days seemed to move by in a blink, and yet the hours were as slow as a frozen lake in the heart of winter. It had been a difficult thing to maintain, he could see the strange slope to his shoulders, the bags beneath his eyes, the way his hair drooped without any of the luster that it once had. His mind was foggy, unclear, and he had to focus with all of his might when they were sent out on missions, both mind and body to respond to his demands. There were days it was difficult to breathe, and nowadays most days were difficult for him to breathe. His coughing had become persistent and he could hardly breathe, cough or laugh without more pain accompanying him like an old friend. An old friend that seemed more like death who lingered over his shoulder with a scythe in his hand and an obscured face.

“It’ll be over soon.” He could hear that voice boom from behind him every time he looked in the mirror, but Woosung found himself terrified of the idea of anything being ‘over’. He had only just begun.

This morning was one of those times that Woosung would have a coughing fit, and he would disappear into an attached restroom desperate to not be seen. Han almost followed him were it not for the door shut in his face. The last thing Woosung saw of Han at that moment was the hint of hurt that reverberated through his face.

The coughing persisted and it grew in volume. Woosung leaned over one of the sinks, his lips drooling saliva as he rasped for oxygen, cold and hot all at the same time as a heat broke over his forehead before cooling immediately into a clammy and unpleasant sweat that coated each thread of his thick hair.

There was a moment, no matter how brief it was, where he got some relief, the coughing stopped and he was able to stand there, his lips parted, panting. The God of Pain lingered over him there and he could see him again, without a face, only with a scythe.

“It’ll be over soon.”

Woosung closed his eyes then, and the coughing continued. Until finally a globule of blood dropped into the sink unceremoniously. It was thick, and wet, covered in some other clearer fluid, but the blood droplet as big as his thumb was there. Woosung stared at it in silence, and it seemed to stare back though it had no eyes to speak of. It was as if it too was telling him that everything would be over soon.

“No.” He grumbled firmly, turning on the faucet of the sink with a forceful grip of long fingers. It would flush the blood down the drain and out of sight. Woosung took a deep breath then as if to make up for all of the coughing he had done and then lifted himself and rolled his shoulders.

Stand tall, he told himself. Look forward without hesitation or weakness, he told himself. Woosung grabbed a towel and wiped his lips, irritated like his throat from all of the coughing, before throwing it into a hamper.

“Woosungie!” Han’s worried voice pierced through the door, although muffled it was obvious that he had not moved from the door.

“Woosungie, they brought breakfast!”

The truth of the matter was that Woosung had no appetite. Eating had become almost a chore, even with the snacks that he loved most when Minjoong treated them. Everything was bitter on his tongue, swallowing deprived him of the ability to breathe and it irritated the already reddened lining of his throat. But if he wanted to fight the words that lingered over his head like an all-consuming depressed cloud he had to try and eat, and try to fight his natural instinct to shy away from meals.

The door swung open at Woosung’s behest and he was faced with a blond and pouting Han who had not moved a centimeter since he had shut the door.

“You don’t have to stand there.” Woosung chided, his voice gravelly and weak in spite of his best attempt to put on a good show.

“But I want to, and I’m worried about you.” Han stepped aside giving Woosung space to move past him and when Woosung did, Han followed not unlike a mewling kitten, lost and alone in the fray of humanity.

“I’m fine. The doctor didn’t say anything about my health.”

“But he took a blood sample. He didn’t take a sample with all of us this time.”

“I know.”

“Woosungie-”

“Since when do you believe the doctor so much? I thought you hated him.”

“I do hate him.” Han’s voice grew low and dark at the insinuation that he was somehow loyal to the doctor in any capacity, especially after all that had been done to Woosung because of the man’s actions. No, he was a man that Han would easily shoot down if given the opportunity and it would be an opportunity well loved.

“Then why do you care if he took a sample from me or whoever?”

“Because why would he if there wasn’t some concern?”

“Morning-” Minsu cut-in, entirely unaware of the conversation or tone that Woosung and Han had attained in their exchange.

“Morning.” Han and Woosung sighed in unison. Youngho appeared behind Minsu, gently bumping shoulders with Woosung as they moved towards breakfast.

“You two finally tie the knot?” Woosung catcalled, his breath shuddering as he let out a few more coughs.

Youngho turned his head and wriggled his eyebrows playfully at Woosung, giving him a smile as bright as the morning before all four entered the common room - where Beomhwa, Jonghui and Sangwoo were already seated eating their breakfast with a half-hearted delight. The breakfasts they were given were never exceptional, but they fed their bodies and minds. The diet was specific and prescribed to them, and it was most certainly mundane.

Greetings were exchanged immediately, they were like a rumble of thunder through the common room before everyone finally sat down and started to eat.

Except Woosung, he sat there the longest staring at his empty plate, attempting to convince himself that he needed, no, wanted to eat. His stomach was vacant of desire, it did not grumble or gurgle as it once had. No, his entire body was devoid of anything, it was as if the world had taken away any desire for most things. Though, there was one thing that he still enjoyed, and that was to be intimate with Han. Intimacy had become a modicum more difficult if only due to his fatigue, but his mind still reeled when Han touched him in all the right ways, fingers like lightning, his kisses peppering his cheeks, neck and chest like rain.

Those were the moments that he wanted to continue to experience the most, if life had no other purpose then that was how he wanted to continue on living in Han’s arms, undeterred by this strange plague that had befallen him.

Was he not supposed to be a perfect creation? One without flaws? It was strange to Woosung that he was so full of them, physically. Though perhaps it was not unlike Jonghui, whose inability to talk could have been seen as anything but perfect, especially by the government. Still this strange deficiency in his creation had not made him any less useful. Perhaps this was just a deficiency in his body, one that he would have to live with until he was powered down - an inevitability, with the way the doctor treated him, and the way he refused to be treated by the doctor.

The sound of metal scrapping metal was prominent as the clones ate, and soon the sound became louder. Woosung blinked once or twice before he realized that the plate in front of him was filled to the brim with food, it was practically spilling over in sheer quantity. The younger clone looked up and inspected each and every face of his hyungs and one single non-hyung.

They all looked away, innocent and continued to eat, sincerely avoiding Woosung’s gaze.

“Eat.” Han whispered, the apples of his cheeks having bloomed with a rosy hue that could only be seen on an apple itself, pink and iridescent and perfect.

Woosung was reluctant but he inevitably picked up his utensils and started to pick at his food. It was a difficult process, picking through the grains of rice as if one would be different from the next. But soon he found the bravery to put one grain in his mouth. It did not have much of a flavor, but the texture was tolerable. After a few grains of rice, he dared to put a breakfast egg in his mouth. Its golden yolk was beautiful though he feared it would not taste as good as it appeared. The egg dripped from its golden casing down the white and into the mash of different foods that had been put on Woosung’s plate. It spread and made a golden mess there, though it seemed to give everything a little more life and color.

At least there were no cucumbers on his plate.

There was a bit of salt to the egg, and this was the most prominent flavor, the texture was differing. The edges were crisp, but the rest of the egg was bouncy and soft like a pillow though it had absolutely no structural integrity.

The salt lingered on Woosung’s tongue for a while longer, and he endured it for as long as he could, even swallowing bits and pieces of the egg. Until, finally the egg started to turn bitter as if a gradient had been turned on in Woosung’s mouth and unceremoniously he put the egg down only chewing up the bits that had already made it into his mouth and bitten off. There was a sadness to Woosung’s tired eyes, for the egg had ruined everything on the plate but the rice - it seemed almost a waste now that he could not eat anything on the plate, especially with the helpful contributions of the rest of the team to have built it.

Woosung took hold of the small bowl of rice and ate it, grain by grain, his slow method allowed him to not hurt his throat as he chewed, nibbled and swallowed. It was almost a miracle that he had only had one short coughing fit when he was about halfway down with his rice.

The meal turned out to be a methodical experience. Woosung had always been one to swallow his food quickly, or to over garnish it, he was a maximalist - though not as bad as Beomhwa who seemed to never have any food left on his plate after it had been placed there - and nowadays being such a methodical minimalist was grating on his nerves. He wanted to be who he had once been, not this shell of a young man that he was now. It was almost humiliating the way he ate, and the way the team did their best to not stare at him as if wanting to provide Woosung space and yet still their prying minds were all too present, all too obvious. The room was silent and yet it screamed. And if it was not Woosung screaming at himself, then the collective voices of the rest of the team were screaming. They were loud and cheering for him, they wanted him to succeed. But Woosung only found the cheering to be more of a humiliation than anything else.

In the end the bowl of rice was finished and Beomhwa offered to eat the rest of Woosung’s mostly untouched plate. Woosung obliged Beomhwa quietly and went to sit on the couch draping his legs over one of the arm rests so that he could stare at the ceiling and think of nothing. It would be ideal if he could think of nothing, if he could just disappear into darkness and let his mind rest, to let his mind have peace. It was a tall order, far taller than Woosung had imagined it would be as he dipped and hesitated his way into nothingness, led astray by the eb and flow of a river made of paranoia, pain, and fear.

It was easy to lay there on the couch, slipping into its well used cushions. There were spots on the couch that were softer than others, and Woosung always placed his head there onto those soft rivulets because they lifted him like dense water lifted a body on a day full of sunshine, with an endless blue sky. This is what Woosung imagined in his head, but blue skies were a rare image, they only existed well beyond the parameters of this bunker that he lived in, that they all lived in. This place suffocated him, as his heart yearned for a freedom that he knew he would never have. And perhaps that is where the voice struck through his ears, everything ending, if that were true then soon he would be given the freedom to escape this prison. Though it left Woosung with that fear, that fear of what happened after everything was ‘over’ - was there an abyss, a clawing darkness, a lack of consciousness for the rest of time?

The basement shook, as if a giant had run its large clumsy body into the very structure to which the basement was attached. It rumbled like thunder that disturbed the crust of the Earth. The ceiling sputtered with dust that had stuck to it for months now, some bits floated and others crumbled like granules of sand, a fleck of white landing in Woosung’s left eye. The clone sat up and blinked furiously, rubbing at his waterline in an attempt to dislodge the piece of white that had entered his gaze without consent. The dust filled his nostrils and invaded his sinuses which inevitably triggered a coughing fit.

“What’s going on?” Han’s voice breached closer to Woosung than he had previously been.

“Not sure but I-” Beomhwa started but was quickly cut off when a blaring siren sound went off in their space. The lights flashed with a panicked fervor, a notation of what was to happen next. All of the clones knew because they had once been briefed on it, but this sound was piercing to Woosung who clutched at his ears as he coughed over and over again into the couch - his fingers digging into his head, bracing down in pain from just how very loud the noise was.

The siren kept on until two minutes later guards arrived, and in their usual manner escorted the clones to a room where they were meant to change.

Today’s mission was not on the schedule, it was not listed anywhere, and there had been no warning. The entire team of seven was shipped off and Minsu kept complaining throughout the entire van ride that it was entirely unfair, that his breakfast had not completely digested yet and it was likely a bad idea for their health. Nobody responded, the car-ride was deeply silent. Woosung was especially quiet, his lips were sealed shut, swallowing saliva rapidly in fear that he would begin to cough again uncontrollably. The air he breathed was shallow, his lungs struggling to pull in more oxygen from behind the mask, but he preferred it that way because that meant he would not have to feel the razor edge of cool oxygen against his lungs irritating them further.

They arrived quickly, the van pulling up with a swerve, the tires loudly coming to a stop against concrete. Woosung felt himself flinch as the back doors swung open and the team filed out quickly, their boots snapping across grey morose concrete. Woosung was slower, he came out and fell in line.

Beomhwa was staring at their surroundings before finally he turned to the team that stiffened slightly awaiting a command.

“We must infiltrate and take out anyone we come across that is unauthorized on these premises.”

The command came easily, Beomhwa had always been quick to read the situations they were in, even without instructions from the higher-ups, in which case there had been no time.

Woosung was taken by the sight, smoke billowing into the smog filled sky that crackled unsteadily as if it had been a projection all along. It was unclear to the masked-clone if it was in fact a projection or not, but it looked like electricity, like glass breaking. The tall buildings were half destroyed, though some still stood proudly, looming over the rest of the city. These buildings, somewhere in there, is where they lived.

“005-” The numbers had been more and more foreign nowadays, Woosung so accustomed to the names that Minjoong had given them. The numbers were in comparison cold and distant. He wondered what the other soldiers said through their microphones, how they called each other on missions where being anonymous was a priority.

005 looked steadfast at Beomhwa, or at least that was made clear by his body language and not much else.

“Stay behind, please, activate one of the drones from the back of the van and keep an eye out for us from the skies. Eyes in the sky, otherwise we may not live to tell today’s story. We are unaware of how many individuals we are fighting, and we can be certain the government has all hands on deck for this, but we cannot risk anyone on our team.”

005 nodded and quickly dismissed himself to the van, grabbing a drone and beginning to set it up.

Woosung continued to stand there, his shoulders with a slump even as he forced himself to stand taller. There was still a curve to his back and he could feel it, like a heavy piece of cement weighing him down, forcing him to his knees. He wasn’t on his knees, but he wanted to be, he wanted to lay down and feel the warm concrete pressed against his face. Standing was strangely more difficult now that he had adrenaline pumping through him, the sling of his rifle a weight and the rifle itself pressed into his body punishingly.

“007…” Beomhwa hesitated, as if reluctant to send the clone out. “You go first to scout the closest areas.”

From the way he spoke, Woosung knew that he would have preferred to send Minsu and Han out first, or even Jonghui. But Minsu and Han were still recovering from their last injury and Jonghui was far better as a tank to take attacks on, instead of quietly scouting, a mouse unseen.

Han’s weight shifted then, and Woosung nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

Before anyone could say a word of protest - he could feel the tension on tongue’s rising - Woosung disappeared from sight. His feet carried him forward with a sort of exhausted resolve and resilience. Each footfall vibrated his body. It carried into his bones, reverberating like drumsticks against taught animal skin, his knees snapping gently.

The smell of smoke was more prominent the closer he moved. It was sharp, slicing through his senses as he kept moving.

Woosung ducked behind some rubble when he spotted movement. Two young men poorly dressed were running through the partially destroyed center district. They appeared to have no weapons on them, just their suit jackets that were tarnished - their hair was unkempt and one had glasses on, though the glasses had cracked and appeared to be of little use to the young man now. Woosung did not make himself known, he remained crouched, attempting to catch his breath - a tall order, considering the jog that he had just taken to get to where he was now crouched. A gentle but cold sweat had broken over his forehead, and he was staring into the darkness of his mask, his breathing rasping and superficial. He closed his eyes for a moment, bracing against the rubble pathetically. The slouch to his shoulder is more prominent.

“007, eyes on anything of note?”

“No.” He rattled quietly. “Two young men, escaping rubble. It is empty up ahead. 008, 002 and 006 can move in.”

“Are you alright, 007? I can send in 004 to check on you.”

“No injuries, just winded. Do not waste resources.”

There was a long silence and soon after he saw the outlines of his teammates come into view. They spread out along the ridge where Woosung was sitting and soon they were moving forward, inspecting the broken down buildings. They scoured the world thoroughly, looking for their enemies.

007 moved ahead of them, his rifle carefully pressed against his chest as he continued to crouch and move from rubble to more rubble. There seemed to be an infinite supply of it as the buildings collapsed more and more from the damage that they had sustained. From the appearance of it all, Woosung thought that it had been a focused explosion that had caused a domino effect. This much, his trained eye could tell.

As he moved, he saw others in similar uniforms to him arrive and they surrounded the area. They shouted commands as they fanned out prepared to take on an invisible enemy.

“Update, 007.”

“Government operatives are present, surrounding the entire perimeter of ground zero. The explosion appears to have been localized and caused a domino effect on nearby buildings.”

“Any targets?”

“None. It’s empty.”

It was almost too empty, and Woosung’s stomach tightened. His instinct was to fear for the worst that he would step on a land mine or a wasp’s nest of enemies that had hidden themselves away. This all felt like the calm before the storm, the water receding on a beach before it formed into a wave that could not be stopped by anyone or anything.

“Update, 005.”

“It is as 007 has reported, I see nothing other than a few civilians escaping the rubble. There are groups of government operatives arriving on the scene, we can expect their interference if shooting begins.”

Radio silence. Woosung moved ahead, quickly scaling a wall and moving over the top of a floor that faced to the outside now that it had been blown up, from here he had a better vantage point. Then, the sound of a bullet. It grazed Woosung’s shoulder, before a peppering of bullets started to fly in his direction. The clone ducked behind an overturned desk, ducking low and closing his eyes.

“I’m being shot at!” He shouted, so much so that he could not fire back. Woosung’s breath hitched in his lungs, shuddering before his lungs seized entirely, suffocating Woosung, depriving him of what he was rightfully owed by the greedy organs in his body. The young clone sputtered, saliva dripping from his lips as he tried to force air back into his body.

There were more bullets, and the nearby rifles seemed to silence themselves one by one, enough that Woosung got an opportunity to look out from behind the overturned desk and see that most of his assailants had been put down. The others were surrounded by 002, 008 and 006, their hands in the air. The men were not killed, but rather gathered by the operatives that were nearby and taken away - wearing shock collars, handcuffs, and leg cuffs. Woosung finally found that some air was willing to enter his lungs, but that air burned him with all of the fiery acrid passion that it could muster.

It made him cough again, a blistering cough that was so painful that he thought he would pass out. Woosung felt a vein bulge over his forehead and throughout his neck as he strained, his rifle dropping to the ground, his body listless except for the strain of his muscles against his lungs and cough. Gloved fingers found purchase against debris and torn-up office room floor, his cheeks turned red.

The spit filled his mask, distorting the respirators ability to function, further obscuring Woosung’s ability to breathe. He desperately gasped for air as he coughed and coughed and felt his throat boil like lava. After the saliva came globules, red, crimson, iron hot. His hands grabbed at the bottom of his mask, releasing it just barely so that the blood could spill out onto the ground beneath him, coating his fingers as he coughed. Then the coughing turned to retching, and the retching released not globules, but free flowing blood, the kind that one would find from a deep wound. He vomited, and coughed, and he couldn’t breathe and he felt he was suffocating until his face turned blue and he collapsed onto the ground, pathetic and weak. His chin and neck dripped a crimson river, and it was only when he was finally without consciousness that his nostrils flared, forcing air into lungs that felt horribly punctured. Woosung lay there, only half-staring at the sky, the world grey colored and broken with static, rainbow flecks flying through his vision until things went completely dark.

“007? 007?” An irritating and familiar voice is what he heard next. A pat on his cheek, a flashlight in his disoriented eyes that came slowly into focus.

“WhereamI?” Woosung slurred, bidding himself to sit up but finding that his body was far too sore for such an action and he remained laying down. Further sluggish inspection showed that he was not in his bed, but somewhere else entirely. It was a bed, but nothing familiar was around. The doctor was nearby and so was Minjoong.

“A separate unit.” Minjoong responded, sitting near Woosung. There was a glaze to Minjoong’s eyes, as if he were terribly sorry for a bit of bad news that he was intending to share. But the news never comes, Minjoong just ran his hand through Woosung’s hair as a mother would caress her own child. A warmth that Woosung had longed to feel from his creator.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to make you feel better.”

“What happened?” Woosung’s voice rasped, but less slurred now that he was more properly awake.

“You collapsed, lost consciousness.”

“Is everyone alright?”

Minjoong smiled and nodded.

“Yes, don’t worry about anyone else right now. Right now it’s all about you… You’re going into surgery.”

“S-Surgery?”

“Mhmm. But I’ll be there, they can’t do anything to you without my approval,” There was a long pause and Minjoong leaned in to whisper “Woosungie.” The name curled out of Minjoong’s lips and it was a sound as welcoming to Woosung’s senses as the gentle touch along his hairline.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

It was all Woosung wanted to hear as he leaned back down into the strange bed in the strange room. Even if Minjoong could not guarantee his safety, even if he were lying to him to make sure that he did not meltdown, it felt good to be reassured, to know that his fate was with Minjoong and no one else.

“Thank you, hyung.” Woosung whispered, and he felt another coughing fit coming on so he stifled it with a few strained coughs, his lips pressed closed, refusing to cough more. Woosung resisted in the end as he closed his eyes and fell into sandman’s arms.

Chapter Text

The gurney onto which Woosung was hoisted upon rattled as Minjoong moved alongside the other physicians into the surgery room. It provided a rhythmic staccato beat as they moved through the tucked away corridors.

Soon, the clone was on the surgery bed and hooked up to multiple lines through his veins. Needles were practically sewn through his powerful hands, and an oxygen mask was placed over his face, bidding him to breathe into slumber.

Minjoong was no surgeon, but his presence was necessary as the primary creator of this young man whose pale body that had once been so pristine, had now become a shell of itself. His skin was thin, veiny, and a touch grey as if he had been rolling in powdered concrete. He was covered in scars from head to toe, scars that even Minjoong had not been aware were there. He was a battlefield, a representation of what the team of seven went through for the sake of the government. All for the sake of Minjoong’s own livelihood - they were the martyrs, the sacrificial lambs for slaughter.

Minjoong swallowed hard at the thought as the main surgeon, two assistants and Li Kihyun washed up and put on gloves. They were all dressed pristinely - a sterile environment was vital for the success of this invasive surgery.

The biologist stood nearby, he touched nothing, and was almost statuesque in his demeanor as the surgeon called for a scalpel.

The blade ran across Woosung’s body, conservative and measured. It made him bleed and an assistant was diligent in stopping the flow of the crimson red. The texture and viscosity of it was the same as any other human, as Minjoong imagined their blood to be, his perfect creations.

The sterile gauze cleaned the wound over and over again, tenacious in keeping Woosung from bleeding out.

The scalpel cut deeper until Woosung’s body was exposed, the most vulnerable parts of him were visible now. His lungs, his heart, the strength of his ribs. It was both nauseating and fascinating to see, Minjoong’s mind reeled at the sight of it. It was not something breathtaking to behold, it was as normal as he expected it to be…

Except for one thing.

Woosung’s lungs are infected. They are not red and pink, vigorously pumping fresh blood. No, they are encrusted with black polyps, onyx black gems stuck against the walls of a darkened cavern. The blinding light overhead reveals where they had been hiding, the source of Woosung’s pain, the source of his suffering. The lungs are inflating and deflating now, but they shudder and struggle as the flesh scrapes and balloons out restricted by the darkness that had grown there.

Minjoong’s jaw grew tight. He was almost pulled to touch Woosung’s ankle, he wanted to soothe the young man laying there unconscious on the surgery table. But he soothed himself instead. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes in an attempt to remove the feeling of defeat inside of him.

“This isn’t good.” The doctor murmured. He broke the otherwise silent operating room.

Minjoong’s gaze snapped like a rubber band strung too tightly towards the man named Li Kihyun. He bristled at the idea of what he might say next, he did not want to hear it.

“It may be best-”

“No.” Minjoong found the courage in his own lungs. They were suddenly swelling with words, with feelings that he had not yet dared to share, especially not since he had been screamed at by this man for the actions of the very clone laying on the operating table.

“No?” There was a cool, chilling tone to the physician's voice, the slightest expression slipped through the veil - a cocked eyebrow.

“No.”

“And what is it that you are telling me no for? Do you know what I will say next?”

Minjoong swallowed, he knew and yet he did not want to be the first to say what they were both thinking. The inevitability of Woosung’s condition.

“I can see it, you can see it. The decision in front of us is plain, it does not have to be charged.”

“I cannot let you do it.”

“Do what?” The doctor baited Minjoong again.

“Pull the plug.”

There it was, infinity.

“Ah, so you agree? That it would be better to put this thing out of its misery. You see the polyps here? He will struggle to breathe from this moment on until he drowns in a pool of his own blood from the inside.”

“These surgeons can remove it.”

“It has already moved to his brain - or have you not read the file I arranged for you?”

“I did read it.”

“Perhaps not thoroughly enough, Minjoong-ssi.”

It was silent pandemonium. The surgeon had ceased his work and the two assistants seemed to have become stone under the gaze of a gorgon.

“It was a thorough inspection of the file.”

“He does not have long, regardless of what we do here and now.”

“We cannot decommission him so suddenly, to recreate another 007 will cost time and money.”

“An expense I am certain the government will be willing to foot.”

“An expense we should delay if at all possible, or prevent.”

Minjoong was staring at the surgeon and his assistants now, silently pleading with them. But they were pawns, they did not take orders from anyone but the superiors and routes of logic. Minjoong’s suggestion lacked any logic, it was fired up in a furnace of passion and love. Logic was a newborn babe abandoned in the rain.

“Is it possible?” Minjoong finally shattered the silence with the lashing of his tongue. No longer was he acknowledging Li Kihyun, he was only looking at the surgeon.

“It is, but not for very long, sir.”

“How long?”

A few more days, weeks, months… Just a moment longer with Woosung, a moment longer for him to be with Han.

“Weeks, at most.”

It was a horrible feeling, it was like sinking into muck knowing that one could never pull themselves out. It was suffocation, drowning. Minjoong clawed at the feeling, he was pulling himself up his own throat in pain.

“Weeks?”

“It is as it was said, it is already in his brain. If we remove the black growth in his lungs here, it will only delay what is promised to happen.”

“Then delay it…”

Minjoong breathed out a sigh, but it was not one of relief, it was one of a heavy heartache. He did not have the mental fortitude to tell anyone on the team what was going to happen to Woosung, and he made the decision to keep things normal for now. As normal as they could have it in their strange abnormal lives.

The surgeon had begun to work again, his blade was precise and he was careful to not destroy the good material along the lung walls. He comes quite close to breaking up the majority of the growths but he cannot remove them all, some sit on important arteries, others are so attached that to cut them would be to kill Woosung outright. Each decision was a choice, but it was a choice that ultimately left Woosung with only one choice - and it was not a choice at all.

The surgery was over in due time and Woosung was wheeled back to the waiting room, stitched nicely and bandaged with heavy pain killers running through his system the oxygen mask still pumping clean and pure air into his lungs that don’t rattle as hard as when they had first wheeled him in.

Once everyone left, Minjoong was charged with making sure that he woke up and the biologist sat down quietly on a swiveling chair, reversing the anesthetic, and waiting.

The wait seemed infinite, even though it was only a few moments before Woosung was stirring, groggy and whimpering.

“You’re alright.” Minjoong whispered, his hand placed against Woosung’s arm, a warm albeit clammy offering of comfort.

Woosung does not say a word, he cannot say a word, but he does look towards Minjoong his head lolling off to the side and he gives Minjoong a goofy smile, toothy and shark-like. Minjoong indulged in the smile for a long time, chuckling to himself, before it finally faded and Woosung was falling asleep.

With the confirmation that Woosung was well and had woken up, Minjoong would leave him in the room for the time being. He would be there for at least two or three days to make sure that his stitches remained clean and did not swell at the seams.

Slowly, Minjoong would stand and leave, reluctant as he was he knew that he could not sit there all day, he would have someone ask him why he was not working - even if surgery had been exhausting enough.

The biologist turned a few corners, shy in his movements. He had always been shy and mousy and the blustering wind of emotion that he had expressed earlier had all but exhausted him from being any variety of confident.

Minjoong settled in his office, quiet and staring into space. The energy had escaped him to work on even the most mundane of tasks.

What disturbed him was the sudden three patterned knock that came at his door, Minjoong startled and sat up, afraid that it would be someone worth impressing - though it hardly ever was.

“Com-Come in.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and turned around as the door opened to reveal Li Kihyun standing at the threshold.

“Yes?” Minjoong was greeting quickly, but his tone was short of friendly. There was no friendliness left in his body for this man - in fact he relished in the fact that Woosung had bitten him so badly that he had to have stitches put in by his own hand.

“Minjoong-ssi.” The doctor regarded, stepping unwelcomed and uninvited into the office.

“Kihyun-ssi.”

The doctor found a seat. He leaned his lean chest against the back of it, sitting backwards, his legs spread wide and he was staring dead into Minjoong’s eyes.

“What is the issue? You seem to have lost the plot entirely. First, you fall in love with those bags of flesh, and then you are giving them names. You regard them with such warmth, warmer than any mother would ever regard a child. Your defense of them… Some might consider it admirable, but I consider it asinine.”

The flame restarted in Minjoong’s stomach as he sat there in silence, taking the barrage of insults against himself and his greatest creations.

“You would understand, if you had contributed in any substantial way to their creation.”

“What does it matter if I contributed or not? I am one of their caregivers, I understand the attraction to it but I have something you do not Minjoong - restraint.” Disrespect oozed out of the man as it oozed out of a poisonous plant.

“You have restraint?” Minjoong almost laughed, but it was dry and died in his throat. “YOU have restraint?” The laugh that died turned into Minjoong standing up from his seat, he was shorter than the doctor but now he enjoys looming over the man who was seated in front of him.

“I do.”

“Do not lie to me, I know what you did to 007.”

“I gave him a physical exam, nothing more.”

“DO NOT lie to me.” Minjoong bound towards the man and grabbed onto the front of his lab coat, his muscles strained to lift him and so he opted instead to simply yank. “You abused him. You think I do not know? You have already tried and then you isolated him away from the others to do as you pleased. I read the file you provided plenty, there were traces of an anesthetic found in his system too.”

“It was a necessary precaution, you know he can be violent.”

“He is the least violent! He’s precious, he just wants positive attention, but he is a fighter. He’s a fighter in the way YOU deserved.”

Minjoong saw the scar on the man’s neck and he pulled back slightly as if self-conscious that there were eyes of the government peering out of the bite mark.

“Restrain yourself, Minjoong.” The man threatened.

“Or what?”

“Or I will do something we both will regret.”

“What, kill me-” The intention of the question barely left Minjoong’s lips before he was seeing stars on the ground. There was a strange, sticky and wet feeling along his face as he flinched with each blink. The pain constantly vibrated in his head while his vision struggled to swim back into focus.

When Minjoong’s vision swam back into focus, finally, the doctor was standing over him and he was shaking out his right hand, the middle knuckle split in the center, bleeding. As he shook his hand it splattered blood over Minjoong’s office room. The rest of his hand was bright red from impact. There was disdain and a clear look of irritation on the man’s face.

“I said we would both regret it.” He mumbled, his tone low.

Minjoong was unable to speak, as if his lungs had been punched out or he had been under the sharp edge of the scalpel today and not Woosung. But Minjoong could move. So he rolled over to stand, his body feeling hot and bruised after having hit the ground with the back of his head as hard as he had. Each shift of an unused muscle the biologist flinched, but most of all he found that he could not breathe even as he shifted.

The wetness on his face was blood and it was dripping uncontrollably onto the ground of the office floor and all Minjoong could do was pinch his nose and suffer the consequences. He stumbled up, his lower lip swollen from his own teeth pressing hard against it when he had fallen.

The blood kept dripping, it lathered him from his nose down to his chest. He tilted his head up, gurgling as he tried to breathe through his mouth, brown eyes squinting at the bright light overhead - a discomfort that he often wanted to remove.

There is a rummaging sound, the clack of metal against metal, the shuffling of papers and Minjoong glanced over to find the doctor looking through his office.

“Get out.” He croaked, finding a voice in his throat though it was foreign and frog-like.

“I am looking for medical supplies, do you not keep some in here?”

“GET OUT!”

The doctor flinched at the shout, for once a loud voice catching his attention. It was plainly clear by the look in Minjoong’s eyes that he has nothing left to lose now.

The doctor left without another word.

Minjoong did not settle at his desk, he too left the office and headed to the nearest restroom. Cool water was the remedy to his painful nose, though it did not take away all of the pain. At first the water ran red, and soon it turned a delicate pink like a flower petal that was being inspected in the bright sunlight. The blood became thin but it still flowed delicately, like veins down the sink drain. Paper towels helped Minjoong to stem the flow until he was breathing once more at least somewhat normally.

There were no significant cuts along his face, but his nose is black and blue not unlike a storm cloud that spread over a part of an otherwise clear sky. Minjoong was resentful of his new appearance, having realized just how stupid he had acted but knowing that the relationship between him and Li Kihyun could never mend.

The biologist leaned away from the sink and forced the faucet to close before he returned back to his desk.

There was darkness and fleeting thoughts as he sat there, leaning first his chest and then his cheek against the cool desk. He still did not want to work, he wanted to go home and be with Beomhwa and relish in the warmth of his body. But Beomhwa was not at home. There was Hongjoong, but his twin brother was hardly a body he wanted to bask in the warmth of. It was a body better trained, but still far too similar to his own. He loved Hongjoong, but as a brother would and should. It was not the same kind of feeling that he had for the clones, but especially Beomhwa. What he felt for Beomhwa was special in a way that could not be summarized with words. Though in there was the irony that he also had never tried to say anything to Beomhwa about his feelings. A wrong, and a constipation of his own emotions after years of suppression.

Home, Minjoong thought and his vision was getting fuzzy, he was feeling comfort by the very idea of home. Slowly, no, rapidly falling into sleep. It was easy, he had fallen asleep at his desk many times before in boredom after he had long since finished his work for the day but could not yet go home.

He inhaled roughly, his nose plugged by bits of skin and blood, clots that populated as they hardened and formed. The bruise bloomed over his face haphazardly, his nose bloomed too, it became swollen and more painful than before - but the expansion of his nose was a physical representation of his own rebellion, his stand against cruel and unjust hands. There was pride that also swelled in Minjoong’s chest. Sinful pride that enveloped him in his extremely fuzzy and lackadaisical state. It became like a blanket and a pillow and he fell asleep entirely, and easily.

There was darkness and silence, until the building was turbulent once more with life. The government’s workers were checking in for their long day of labor. There were footsteps echoing nearby and though Minjoong’s office had no windows he knew it was morning by the way he felt, the strange aching that was moving through his body after a sleep that could only be described as shrimp shaped.

“Shit…” He moaned, sitting up and stretching.

The place was crawling with people, ants on sugar, desperate for sustenance. Minjoong was an ant circling an outer parameter and for the first time he felt as if he could make it out there, all on his own.

Chapter Text

When the team arrived at the site of the explosion, the world had gone silent. The distant shouts of government operatives seemed as if they were underwater - their presence insignificant. There was smoke running a seam into the sky, billowing out with the wind, a darker grey than the grey canvas of the sky. There were smells that mingled with the smell of smoke. Bitter, sweet, acidic, like copper, like blood and so many others that Jongho was unable to identify them well.

They filed out of the van in silence, the dark vehicle fully reinforced to take on attacks, but leaving them stranded in the middle of the central part of the city in the later part of the day.

“Most of the threat has been neutralized, my report says.” Their Captain was a single pillar, his shoulders holding the weight of all the other seven members, with Seonghwa always reaching to help that pillar withstand the immeasurable amount of pressure placed upon it.

“We are to oust any other hidden assailants, if any, and neutralize them indiscriminately.”

The words were heavy from the man’s lips, but Jongho was a soldier through and through. He nodded towards their leader and glanced towards every other member of the team. Jongho was not certain if he was looking for assurance or comfort in the moment, but as the youngest there was always a desire to feel appreciated - even if he did not outwardly express that desire.

To outwardly express was an infraction, even when they had experienced what they had experienced as a team. Jongho understood that he could not show the side of himself that he yearned to show the most - he was a soldier, and soldiers were not sensitive, or kind, or warm-hearted. These were not things he dared to present to the world and instead sought solace in the slightest nods given to him by the other older members who took turns in babying him with fleeting gestures.

His left side was weary with the weight of the rifle in his gloved-hand. He knew that he would pull the trigger at least once today.

“We will go with formation 22B.” Hongjoong decided, and the team had to remember what formation 22B was before they began to move. They dispersed in different directions, boots hitting the ground with the intention to inflict pain on those who would dare disturb their way of life.

Jongho was not one to shake up the status quo, but a part of him did always wonder why the way of life had to be so fiercely defended - if it was so righteous, why did it have any opposition at all?

The young man took his spot towards the back of the pack. He was not backup but rather a tank that was meant to take opposition after they had tired themselves out on the forward most part of the team.

The group was led easily - Hongjoong and Wooyoung were up at the front, they were agile scouts able to tease their enemies out into the open. San was not far from them, his position was only secondary to the first two. Yunho and Mingi were the base to their defense, Yunho felt better after the accident during their gone-wrong practice session.

Yeosang stayed behind because his operation with the drone was most important. Seonghwa had gone ahead entirely, disappearing from view as his intention was only to set up a space from a vantage point that could be considered a blind spot for any hiding assailants. He would be the team's sniper as he always was, but today he played an even more important role. His position would determine the way the rest of the team moved.

Jongho was moving steadily, intention in each step. His movement was not as light as those up ahead, but he had never focused on moving lightly on his feet. He had always been the one that took shots and defended what was needing defense and barreled in where heavier offense was needed.

The team descended into madness innocuously. They were seamless, knowing each other down to the detail of who was breathing when and how each one would react at any given presented obstacle or threat. They were a well-oiled machine and still there were mistakes. Jongho had noticed them in the way they interacted, the way there were tensions in the outlines of their shoulders. They knew that each mission could potentially be their last, they always had to improve and always had to impress. The fear of becoming nothing more than a civilian, or worse, destitute was lingering on the mind.

Jongho swallowed heavily at the thought now, his mouth and lips going dry, a thick mucus building up along the corners of his mouth as if he had swallowed something particularly unpleasant. After all, their fears were very real after having to retreat in the last large mission that they had taken on. The extraction of those hostages had gone okay, at best, and the rest? It had been chaos. Chaos that Jongho had been ashamed to be part of.

These rebels were fuelled by something, they fired their guns without fear of death. They died as if they would continue on living after taking on a mortal wound. He could only imagine in his mind’s eye what it was that these men and women were fired up by, because there was nothing that he could feel in the pit of his stomach but fear and the everlasting eye of the government lingering over him - a sensation he could never shake off, even when he sat in the privacy of his small apartment and stared into the darkness of his room.

A monochromatic structure made of grey concrete crumbled in front of the moving unit as they slipped into the darkness. Wooyoung and Hongjoong turned on bright lights on the end of their pistols that would shine forward and illuminate their path. Beyond them was a chasm, it appeared to have been a parking garage at some point, but now it was completely vacant except for the occasional vehicle that had been either completely destroyed or turned over and thus unusable for those who had parked it there to begin with.

Jongho felt as if he were entering the maw of a beast with how it swallowed the team easily. Jongho slowly moved his left hand to a fabric tied around his neck and covered nose and mouth to filter out the crumbling dust that was all around them. It would make him cough, he feared, and in the end would give away their position more than any far reaching light would.

The team kept moving, their footfalls lighter here as they attempted to gain the advantage over anyone who might still be here. For now, the only sounds that surrounded them seemed to be just the dust and fall of concrete, echoing through the otherwise hollow space that they moved through.

It came out of nowhere, then, when a pillar that was still helping to hold up the structure started to disintegrate and collapse.

“Out of the way!” Jongho called out, his feet carrying him quickly to Yunho who was closest to the incoming disaster and pushing him entirely out of the way. His arm extended, and his feet tangled. Both men fell together in a heap as the rest of the team stumbled backwards.

Ultimately Yunho and Jongho were just barely out of the way of the freak accident, Yunho’s feet extended out, touching the collapse.

“Shit.” Yunho groaned, pulling his feet and legs closer in to move them away from the destruction that was now nothing more than dust settling onto the ground.

“Thanks for that.” The elder mumbled to Jongho, and Jongho nodded. A sense of pride bloomed in his chest warmly, but he did not show it though the corner of his mouth did twitch once as if begging to become a smile. Jongho denied his mind and body the request.

Jongho stood first and offered his hand to Yunho who stood with Jongho’s leverage.

“Don’t need another leg injury.” Yunho joked lowly, but soon enough their Captain interjected, a displeased look etched into his handsome features.

“We’re compromised.”

“I know, Captain. But I had to say something.” Jongho responded, slightly ashamed that he had been the one to trigger getting Yunho out of the way and shouting into the darkness they stood in. Which was particularly dark now with Wooyoung and Hongjoong not pointing their flashlight attachments out.

“I know.” Hongjoong responded with a slight sigh, and pointed the barrel of his gun down the chasm. It was still empty, with no indication that anyone had been moving beyond where they could see. It was such a hollow place that footsteps or significant movement could be heard, even their voices echoed and bounced around like plastic bobbles.

Jongho peered into the abyss and all it did was reflect his fears, though it did not reveal those fears to him.

“It is possible that we may come across those we need to assist in evacuating here too. Do not expect everyone we come across to be an enemy, however that should be the first assumption above all else.” The Captain whispered, but even at this low tone his voice continued to carry onwards, as if he were a siren of a deep and very unsettling ocean.

“Yes, sir.” The group chimed off quietly and continued to move forward.

They arranged back into their previous positions and moved on.

This left Jongho to think about Seonghwa and Yeosang. Seonghwa positioned somewhere unknown on a roof, how was he to know where they would be herding the opponents to if they were in here? Yeosang with his silent drones, surveying the dust and air, the movement of other operatives like ants below. There was nothing he could see of them, nothing that he could help with…

Jongho had a special fondness for Yeosang, he could not quite describe it. It was warmth above all else, he could be more vulnerable around Yeosang in a way that he could not show or be with the other’s. Being around Yeosang was like finally leaving the feeling of loneliness behind even if it was for strange fleeting moments.

He kicked a rock.

It scuttled along the concrete, landing near a parking line painted on the ground somewhere further up ahead.

Their movement seemed endless, as if they were simply moving deeper into a maze that had absolutely no end. If this were a creature, it would be a creature of tremendous size, and the world would be closing in on them. Fortunately this was just an unsound structure made by humankind, its seeming endlessness could not last.

Bang!

Wooyoung had fired his gun, and the group squatted immediately taking aim towards an unperceived end. Wooyoung’s bullet proved itself true in the chest of a strangely painted woman who had unkempt hair, long nails, and war paint all along her face and neck. There were strange tattoos from the looks of it, along her exposed arms. She collapsed without another breath to give.

At first there was silence, only the round of one single bullet echoing through their prison.

“Come out and put down your weapons, you may yet see mercy!” Hongjoong called firmly, his echo overlapping with the echo of the gun.

His words fell upon deaf ears. Like cockroaches, a group of twenty men and women appeared from somewhere and in the darkness it was hard to tell where they had climbed out from. They were all differing levels of dress, some wore the clothes of government operatives - distressed and used - others opted to look more like the painted woman.

They all held firearms - guns, rifles, shotguns that had been modified - but there were more too: a few held firmly onto hatchets, and their belts had spots for knives and daggers.

“ATTACK!” A leader cried, his was an emotional warcry as the twenty unloaded a storm of bullets on the infiltrating team.

“TAKE COVER!” Hongjoong called.

But none of his team needed to be told twice, they all scattered, finding pillars, rubble or vehicles to hide behind in the darkness as the bullets kept flying.

Jongho found a pillar and though he was panting through the fabric around his mouth and nose he was focusing on counting how many bullets were being fired. He had always been exceptionally good at knowing when to pop out and make his attack the most effective. It was something that came in a bundle with also being one of the most important defensive players on the team.

He could hear the buildup, the buildup to silence before it happened and his trigger finger trembled gently against the curve of the metal. Anticipation grew until the final bullet was fired and he turned out from the pillar to begin firing into the vacant darkness. He fired as he remembered the positions of his enemies, and he fired indiscriminately.

Soon the entire team was firing and there was yet another cacophony - no, symphony - of bullets, but it was on their end. They had the advantage now, and the grunts, groans and screams from bullet wounds were heard mingling with the echo of bullets.

“Hold your fire!”

A young woman shouted, her voice unfamiliar.

“Cease fire!” Hongjoong echoed and the firing stopped immediately. Jongho pulled himself back behind the pillar panting hard as if he had run a marathon. The kickback of a gun was never an easy task to withstand even for someone who was trained as he was.

“What do you want?” The woman asked.

“Your surrender.”

“And if we do not?”

“We will fire upon you until you are all dead and gone.”

“But there will be more of us. There will always be more.”

“When we have put out every rebellion there will not be another.”

“You mistake my words, leader.”

“Captain.”

“Captain - you think that once you have killed us all there will never be a rebellion again?”

“What is she talking about?” Yeosang’s voice cut into their collective radio, but he was ignored.

“That is the plan, yes.”

The woman let out a laugh.

“When people stand against the principles of your government, there will always be those trying to liberate the minds of those who are being oppressed.”

“We are not oppressed, we are content. There is a difference.”

“Contentment through oppression is no contentment at all.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I wanted to speak to the ones who so fervently destroy my brothers and sisters. You follow us everywhere.”

“Only because you wreak havoc. You steal from the government, you take children, you take men and women alike. What you do is treason in the land!”

“Treason against a corrupt power is what makes life worth living!” She cried out, and Jongho heard the passion and desperation there. For a moment it was as if she were singing to him, as if she were simply speaking a universal truth. She was like another siren, and she beckoned him towards the light.

But Jongho’s training, and every bit of programming that he had ever endured kept him from moving and kept him from speaking. He closed his eyes, trying to dive back into his own head, and what he knew to be true.

The truth was that life was cruel and emotions often aided in that cruelty. Emotions, feelings, they would lend a hand towards every moment of suffering. It was better to be numb, because within that numbness within that void there could be safety from the world’s cruelty - the death of comrades, or pets, the disappointments that came with simply breathing air. Jongho felt shielded when he was experiencing nothing in his mind but the numbness that he had been prescribed. It was easier to not think about the death of his team, and if he did think about it, it was easier to think of it as an inevitability, not something to be mourned. But Jongho did not like to think that his own death would be thought of as an inevitability, he would want mourning from friends and family - he wanted them to feel tears running down their cheeks because they were overcome with grief.

This was the part of him that this woman spoke to, and he chewed on his lower lip as over and over again he tried to dip himself back into the mentality of a soldier, protecting the city and their way of life.

He inhaled slowly, startled by the sound of his Captain’s voice.

“Will your death be worth it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Your life will be forfeit here if you do not surrender, and no one will remember you once the dust settles.”

“And you, Captain - will anyone remember you and your service? Will anyone mourn you when everything is said and done?”

“I do not need someone to mourn me.”

“But there is anger and fire in your voice, you are only human, you wish to be acknowledged like anyone else.”

“I do not care for acknowledgment, the impact I have made, my team has made, it would be enough.”

“I can look into your heart, and I know it to not be true.” The woman was decisive with her words, she did not seem like someone who wavered easily in these situations, it was likely what had allowed her to survive for as long as she had.

“Stop this madness! Surrender and your entire force will not have to as you say ‘mourn’ your death!”

“The force of humanity will prevail in the end!” She cried, once more a siren to Jongho’s ears as his fingers gripped onto his rifle, he could feel just how slick in between his fingers was inside of his gloves. “Troops, lay down your arms. Show this Captain that we will go in peace.”

A silence and then the dropping of weapons echoed through the chasm. Metal clattered against the concrete, a knife bouncing and rebounding in the darkness. Then they all stood unarmed and innocent. To kill them now would be a travesty, and still Jongho felt that it might become necessary.

Once the last echo of a weapon drop resounded through the area there was a tense silence, and Jongho could feel it pressing down against the top of his tongue - as if there was something more, as if he and the rest of the team should expect retaliation or a trap to spring.

“Men, round them up.”

The team of six moved in, their guns pointed up, Wooyoung’s and Hongjoong’s flashlights illuminating some disorderly, and in some cases emaciated figures up into a circle. They all complied, but they did something interesting, their bodies became a shield to their leader who stood at the epicenter of the mass. Even if they were to shoot them, she would be protected.

Jongho thought it was a cowardly move, their own leader would never have stepped into the center for protection - Hongjoong always led at the front of any formation, a leader was always meant to be at the front of battle…

They moved quietly through the area, the sound of damp footsteps against concrete. Some of these people did not even have shoes. Jongho could not imagine putting himself in a situation where this was not something he could access. Shoes of all things - the government would always provide, if only one would stay in line. So he walked in formation with a rifle pointed through the heart of one man or woman - he could not really tell - knowing that if any of them acted inappropriately he could pull the trigger and end their meager existence.

It would certainly impress the Captain, or at the very least one of his hyungs who would give him a well desired nod for his actions.

The team was moving them back the way they had come. This was their job, after all, to push out any last dregs of rebellion from the center. The superiors would be compelled to give them all a raise or even a rank promotion. Foolishly, Jongho almost smiled at the idea. This was one of their most successful missions to date, and it seemed so simple at the moment, all it took was an infinity of walking through the space that they had just barely made it through. It was fortunate that no other pillars or supportive structures decided to collapse on their way back.

“Prepare for Plan Axis.” Hongjoong murmured into his microphone, the voice echoing through each earpiece. But it was not for anyone but Seonghwa that the order came

“Copy.” Seonghwa responded, his voice a low gravel.

Jongho had never heard of this particular plan before, which made him think that it was one that was exclusive between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, they were the undoubted leaders of the group after all. They had to have a protocol that was not otherwise shared with the rest of the team. Still, Jongho could not help but feel a touch uneasy, knowing that there was something he was not aware of. It was as if there was an important piece of information that he could not and would not know. It made him anxious as they continued to lead the rebels out into the open.

Soon the flashlights were turned off, replaced instead by the natural light of the city. It was dark here too dusk having fallen over the world in a blanket. The air was fresher here, but it was still tainted with the smell of smoke and burning iron. Jongho slowly lowered the mask around his nose and mouth and took a silent but deep breath in his lungs bursting with the crisp evening air as he tried to ease some of the anxiety and strange thoughts bubbling in his mind.

It was almost too expected when a bullet struck the ground near Jongho’s feet making him flinch back.

“Scatter!” The woman suddenly called out to her rebels and they all, like vermin scattered into different directions.

“Shoot without discrimination!” Hongjoong called out then, and Jongho’s finger pressed down on the trigger quickly aiming at the backs of several men and women who would collapse in heaps of blood. Some dead, others groaning in pain, on the way towards the embrace of death. His back felt a bullet strike him, causing him to stumble forward onto his padded knees, he let out a grunt and started to scramble to his feet.

“Locate the leader, Papa Sierra, Axis is still ongoing.”

“Copy.”

More bullets rained down and Jongho soon found that there were more rebels sitting in window vantage points, and they were well-armed. They had to be taken out before they took on any of the unarmed rebels. He was not certain how, but he found himself hiding behind a fairly tall but crumbling wall, occasionally popping out as he counted how long it would take before a reload to shoot back.

One body after the next collapsed and soon their team would trim the number of rebels substantially.

Thud.

Jongho’s ears were ringing and he was staring at the bruised sky that was lit with city lights more than any star. He groaned and found a large man straddling his chest wrestling his rifle out of his hands. But Jongho was strong and was holding onto the rifle for his life even before he had realized that he was being attacked.

The high-pitched ringing continued, the man slamming the butt of the gun into Jongho’s face repeatedly to try and make him let go, but Jongho kept on holding on, his fingers on his left hand damp as he reached down towards his hip to grab a concealed handgun.

Bang.

The man fell to the side, his face lacking features now except for the blood soak of death. Jongho rolled over quickly, his heart beating out of his chest as he saved himself from his own demise, blood running down from his nose.

His muscles were aching and tense as he forced himself back behind the tall wall, the bullets were still flying - though in far lesser quantity.

It was easy now to count down when he could pop out, when a reload would occur. Easy, because there were so few rebels left. More shots and bullets exchanged until there was nothing but silence. Nearby Hongjoong’s radio burst with a panicked voice.

“Team A, do you need assistance?”

Hongjoong’s breath was ragged. Jongho could hear him from where he had settled, his eyes closed as he breathed, remembering suddenly that he could not relax yet as they still had the rebels that had scattered.

“No. Team A has control of the situation, please continue all operations as intended.”

Jongho stood his legs buckling beneath him, his knees struggling to hold weight. But he told himself he has to stand and so he does.

The words to shoot without discrimination were still ringing in his head and so he moved. He recalled every direction that each rebel, male, female or somewhere in between had moved. He unearthed every hiding place with the rest of the team, and he shot them point blank. On occasion, Yeosang’s voice whispered locations into the team's ears, directing them stealthily to the spots that had not yet been inspected.

They moved, and they shot. Jongho felt nothing. Anger, exhaustion were replaced by numbness, contentment. He was not the problem, he was a faithful servant of the government, and the people that lived within its confines - he protected people who followed law, and lived simple lives. This was what he hung his hat on, and he was proud of it.

They found the leader curled beneath fallen rubble, and pulled her out without any gentleness on their gloved hands. There was not a drop of sympathy, just the cold enactment of law.

“Captain, Plan Axis…” Seonghwa murmured.

“Yes.” The Captain responded as he shoved the leader forward and out of the blown up ditch that had become part of the city center, excavated and destroyed by these rebels who had met their match today.

As they moved, Jongho looked up and saw a drone floating just above them. It had an erratic movement, not exactly human but he knew that Yeosang was in operation of it, which meant that Yeosang was there with them. He let out a gentle sigh and continued to follow the group as they led the woman.

A stray bullet hit Mingi’s back squarely center causing the taller teammate to stumble and fall onto the ground with a grunt. Yunho was on him immediately, looking around.

“I cannot locate where the bullet is coming from.” Yeosang’s voice broke through, and the group was silent, Hongjoong’s grip still harsh against the woman.

“What do you mean?” The Captain asked, almost as if nothing was happening at all.

Another bullet whistled by, this time it did not hit anyone.

“I suppose you didn’t finish the job.” The woman grinned, she was excited and manic with the news of potential rescue.

“I still cannot locate it.”

There was a peace in Hongjoong’s eyes and he yanked the woman along, beginning to walk again.

“Captain! We are being shot at, we must find the source!” Wooyoung burst out, his voice full of feeling.

“You would be a good addition to my team.”

Wooyoung sneered at the woman and then looked back to Hongjoong - desperate.

“Charlie Juliet.” Hongjoong’s gaze fell on Jongho. “You go, find the shooter.”

“What?” Jongho was in disbelief, he blinked several times as if it were a suicide mission.

“You, you go find the shooter.”

“I-”

“Go.”

Jongho flinched once and detached from the rest of the team unit. He walked tentatively, careful to step behind potential obstacles so that he could keep out of the way. At some point he glanced up and noticed that the drone was buzzing over him like a bumblebee.

“What are you doing?” Jongho whispered, suddenly worried that with the camera on him that Yeosang would be reprimanded for not keeping an eye on the main team and the target as they moved back to their meeting point so they could make the right decision with their new hostage.

Another bullet.

The drone’s camera whirred as if looking for the right trajectory of the bullet.

Jongho was still moving, but his heart was beating out of his chest. There was a fear in his mind that was gripping, he was not certain that he could overcome it as his fingers became more and more slick, the sweat soaking through his gloves. He knew that his fingertips were likely pruned from the sheer amount of sweat that his body had given.

He tightened his jaw and jumped behind a wall just as another bullet flew. It was strange, guns usually had far less time in between full clips. Rifles tended to be far quicker than this, and more explosive weapons had rounds that shot off as quickly as the blink of an eye. A handgun would have a difficult time reaching this far without him having already spotted the perpetrator. Was there a sniper somewhere that they were unaware of?

The drone’s body lowered and it slowly pointed its camera in the trajectory of the last bullet.

It floated nearby Jongho who was moving out from behind the wall to continue getting closer. A gasp broke from Yeosang’s throat.

“It’s P-” The words never left him, or Jongho did not hear them as the back of his head hit the ground below hard. So hard that everything went blank and he could only hear the sound of tinnitus in his ears. Then the gentle, drowning sound of another flying overhead, hitting metal and causing it to clatter against the ground nearby.

Jongho felt something warm on the back of his head, but he could not determine what it was. Blood, perhaps? His head lolled awkwardly to the side, his nostrils flaring in both pain and the sensation of numbing that his body was feeling.

The last thought he had before he felt and heard nothing was that he had failed the mission, and his team would never accept that as a result within the confines of their excellence.

Chapter Text

Time seemed infinite for Youngho in the time that they were rushed back to the barracks from their mission and placed back where they belonged. It did not take long for the team to realize as they were shoved into the back of a van that Woosung was missing. In spite of Han’s protests pushing past the guards that ushered them back into the van, there was still no answer. There was a ringing in Youngho’s ears, a heightened sense of pain and panic like a grenade had blown up nearby and blown his eardrums to bits. Minsu had offered him a stray strawberry he had found in their refrigerator but Youngho had a bitter taste in his mouth and no appetite.

“WHERE IS HE?!” “LET ME OUT! I NEED TO SEE HIM!” “BRING HIM BACK!”

Han screamed and banged on the main door down the single corridor that branched into all of their rooms. He was like this for hours it seemed. At some point the screaming stopped and some time later the banging did too. When the lights flickered off on their evening timer, leaving the team in a dimly lit room, Youngho stood and walked towards the main door. He found Han curled up near it, asleep, but ragged and with streaks of tears down his dust covered cheeks soiled from the mission. Youngho was deliberate and pervasively kind in the way he handled Han, who was a nimble and smaller bodied young man than Youngho. He lifted him as if he were made of delicate glass, and in that moment he very well could have been. Youngho’s stomach churned and twisted with anxiety to see Han’s sleeping features so ghostly, pale and distraught - doubly so against the background of his golden hair.

Youngho placed him in his bed, tucking him in with all the care of a parent - though he himself had never felt such care, he knew it almost instinctively and he even planted a kiss on Han’s sweaty forehead, brushing stray hairs out of the way. Han stirred at the warmth of his lips, but in his exhaustion only blinked once or twice at Youngho before turning over in his bed and falling back asleep.

Youngho could not leave Han that night. He fell asleep on the floor next to him and at some point as he shivered he felt someone slide fabric beneath his head and a blanket over the top of his body. Heat radiated between him and another and in his twilight state he realized it was Minsu by his gentle breathing, the slightest snore and a whimpering rumble to his voice when he inevitably talked in his sleep as he always did. Youngho is lulled by Minsu’s occasional speaking, and the feeling of his warm breath against the nape of his neck. He felt loved and encompassed and was able to sleep more comfortably then.

Except that his mind kept replaying the mission, a failure as it were. It was like a mechanism, it rewound when it reached the pinnacle, the team rushed back to the van, Woosung missing.

He woke up when the lights flickered on for the morning hour, but he felt no desire to twist and turn his aching muscles. Inevitably, he does. He turned to face Minsu who has fully attached to him now like a baby koala, his legs draped over Youngho’s hips and he did not move even as Youngho turned.

“Time to wake up, princess.” He whispered and Minsu whined as he often did, burying himself as if he were a small child into Youngho’s chest, avoiding light and responsibility.

“Your breath stinks.”

“Thank you.” Youngho whispered, chuckling into Minsu’s hairline at the top of his head when he heard another nearby groan.

“Is Woosung back?” Han’s voice was distant, exhausted as if he had run a marathon, he was tired from all of his efforts the day before.

“Not sure.” Youngho was honest, even if it might hurt Han in the moment, he could not find a way to lie and thus ease the pain. His uncertainty was the closest thing he could get to a lie.

The three lie there in silence. Minsu is particularly silent as if he had fallen back asleep but the way he held onto Youngho’s waist, Youngho could not imagine that this was actually what had happened - he held on too tightly, with too much intention to have truly fallen back into his much desired sleep. The silence inevitably was broken by the sound of machinery whirring as it always did, their breakfast had arrived. The guards ignored their rooms and set breakfast in the kitchen before departing - they did not care if the clones ate their food warm or cold. In fact, the guards did not care if they ate at all.

“We should eat.” Youngho mentioned, but his tone was half-hearted as if he did not believe what he had suggested at all. Eating seemed like a great chore now, and one he did not want to participate in. Still his mind dictated that he get up, and his muscles did too as if he were a puppet on strings. He gently stirred Minsu whose hair was disheveled and his lips pink and pouting, Youngho is endeared at Minsu’s morning appearance wishing he could devour him after all the mornings and nights that he had watched him sleep - he was the most lovely person in the world.

Once Minsu was on his feet - though clutching a pillow - Youngho attempted to wake up Han. Han resisted, he had no energy and had no desire to eat either.

“It’ll get cold.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should eat. It’ll make you stronger.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should, I know Woosung would want you to eat.”

“No.”

The mention of Woosung is upsetting, and drove Han to pull the blanket up and over his head, leaving him in the dark with only a sliver of blond hair tufts at the top. Youngho sighed and ran his hand gently from Han’s shoulder to his mid-back, his gesture was assuring but he did not try to get him up again.

Youngho and Minsu were the first in the kitchen where the basic breakfast was laid out. They sat and started to eat and only halfway through their meals did Beomhwa, Sangwoo, and Jonghui appear. The atmosphere was pitiful, damp. It was the sordid affair of a funeral, as if they had buried one of their own but had no chance to say goodbye. There was no closure, and Youngho could feel the collective pain they shared.

The pain was not like Han’s, he knew, but it was one worth feeling nonetheless. One that was deep and expansive, it was like a great chasm opening up in the middle of his chest and ripping out every organ until he felt numb. This was the feeling that he had. Still, he felt like he had to be abhorrently positive, as if the team’s morale depended on his ability to lift them up. It was a pain he shouldered and then pushed down. He ignored the metaphoric bleeding of his exposed chest - his pain was almost secondary to the guilt he felt for allowing this funeral-like feeling to continue on.

“One day they will give us a new breakfast.” He voiced, the first to speak.

“Yes and on that day, we will become the leaders of the world.” Beomhwa retorted with a hint of sarcasm in his throat. Youngho had never seen Beomhwa like this, not truly.

“I think a new breakfast layout is far more likely than that!” Youngho tried to be playful. There was playfulness in his voice, there was a smile on his face. But it was all forced, and he felt the dampening of his mood in his throat once again.

Minsu touched at Youngho’s thigh and squeezed. It ground Youngho as he looked into his almost empty bowl of rice. His lips squeezed tight into a white line, and his knuckles wrapped a little more firmly against the chopsticks in his hand, the metal bends slightly beneath his sturdy gesture - his strength unaccounted for in the moment.

“It’s okay, Youngho. I know you’re trying.” Beomhwa whispered, a softness to his voice when there was an edge before.

“I just want it to be like it was before.” Youngho sighed out in his pitiable admittance as if he were confessing a great sin.

“It does not feel the same without Woosung. He seemed to always be the case for conversation around here.” Sangwoo added on, he was staring into the abyss.

Jonghui nodded and brushed his thumb over Sangwoo’s cheek to remove some bits of rice that got stuck there.

“No one can replace him.” Youngho murmured. “It’s stupid of me to try.”

“Not stupid, but you’re right that no one can replace him.” Beomhwa leaned back a little bit now, they were conversing and the meals appeared partially abandoned.

“Maybe we can try to see if they will let us see him, or at least his body?”

“You saw the response Han’s screaming got. More than likely, it is best to try and move on. We can take today to grieve…”

“You can’t say that!” Minsu’s voice was like a bubble, it was quiet and then it popped with a higher-pitched resistance. “How would you feel if we just grieved for one day. Or Han, he’s going to grieve for a very long time.”

Beomhwa frowned, but he did not say anything. There was a doe-eyed kindness to him now, he seemed to agree with Minsu even if his training dictated that he respond to this without any emotion.

Youngho was slumped forward against the table, one hand in a fist leaned hard against the surface, his chin placed against the fist. A new found silence swept through them, the clones sat without so much as a word falling from their lips and Youngho was content with this. Silence left him to his thoughts, but his thoughts were allowed to be vapid in the company of others. The muscular slope of Jonghui’s shoulders, the delicate discoloration on Sangwoo’s face that has caused him ocular pain time and time again - having left him on permanent pain killers - the way Beomhwa’s face is contoured by the light, the high bridge of his nose, or Minsu’s pouting lips, and the feathering of his unkempt hair - as soft and sweet as his beckoning eyes and strong brow. There was something there that Youngho loved in all of them, and he gently memorized them as he sat there, fearful that he would lose them as quickly as he had lost Woosung. Will he remember Woosung in a month? In a year? Will he remember his nose, and the glint of mischief in his gaze? The foxiness of his smile and the way he laughed so enthusiastically and unafraid even under surveillance? A chill ran down Youngho’s spine, and the chill passed into the top most part of his spine, into the back of his skull and it forced a wetness to his eyes. Youngho bit on the inside of his cheek, desperate to not show the sudden fear of forgetting that has washed over him.

Minsu’s hand grew heavier, more prominent in the way it held Youngho’s thigh now almost at the same time as the tears threatened to break the dam of Youngho’s waterline. The heavier hand, the squeeze was enough for Youngho to begin crying, his chin quivering against his fist as the tears came as an inevitability, dampening his cheeks.

“It’s alright, Youngho, you can cry.” Beomhwa assured him, his eyes were like glass too, and so were Sangwoo’s and Jonghui’s. They all sat in this tearful manner, each one shedding a few tears for what was lost to them forever.

“I’m just so afraid to forget him.” Youngho’s voice was thick like he ate a spoonful of molasses. It was difficult to speak through his tears, the gumming of his vocal chords. He managed though it was as if he was choking. “If we don’t see him again…”

“Then we all must pitch in to make sure we don’t forget him. Everything about him.”

Breakfast was abandoned then, and the five moved to the sitting area, choosing to spend most of the morning discussing their favorite things about Woosung, or moments that were memorable - be they good or bad. They dared to laugh then in their remembrance, because they knew that this was how Woosung would have wanted them to be. Full of complete and utter joy, not the government prescribed contentment. Youngho’s mind was sparkling, it felt electric, like one of those sparkling drinks that Minjoong had snuck in here once. It left the mind and tongue reeling, and his chest was joyful.

At some point they all fell asleep, they were draped over one another. Jonghui and Sangwoo were on one end of the couch, Jonghui’s head resting in Sangwoo’s lap. Minsu and Youngho were curled like pond koi against one another, awkward in their arrangement but oh-so-very them. They were close, uncomfortable, but almost used to these positions on account of their towering heights. Beomhwa was asleep seated at the center of the couch, his head tilted back.

Youngho was awakened not by the pain in his back and neck from how he was positioned, but rather the fact that he was alerted to being awake by the sound of the door whirring down the corridor and it expelled breath in its mechanical way. The sound of squeaky wheels followed, but Youngho did not remember that today was an inspection or check-up day and so he slowly started to sit up.

“Who’s here?” He groaned, fearless suddenly even if it was someone worth respecting. Minsu smacked Youngho on the chest for moving.

“Sorry, baby, someone’s here.” Youngho whispered, brushing Minsu’s hair gently as he started to sit up more when no response came.

Youngho was getting up now, leaving Minsu behind on the couch. Beomhwa had heard the noise too and had decided to check it out as the leader of the team.

The two of them moved quickly out of the common room towards the corridor. They turned a corner and their bodies collided immediately with something smaller. Everyone felt the impact with the ground.

“Ah, ah…” It was Minjoong, who was now gingerly picking himself up having dropped a book, and his glasses falling out of his coat pocket.

“Minjoong-ssi!” Youngho was scrambling to his feet, trying to pick the smaller biologist up in his apologetic half-bowed state. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Beomhwa was standing up too, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his head that was now sore from his fall.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Minjoong soothed, trying to wave Youngho off of him. “I should have said something when you asked but I was making sure Woosung was tucked away nicely.”

“Woosung?” Youngho repeated as if the name itself was meant to be buried.

“Yes.”

“He’s alive?”

“Yes, but he did have surgery.”

“Surgery?”

“Yes, he’s very weak.”

Youngho could not listen to Minjoong a moment longer, he rushed past the biologist and ran to where he knew Woosung’s room to be. There Woosung was, asleep and bandaged. He looked pale and sickly, not unlike he had been before - but now he looked somehow worse. Youngho’s stomach dropped into his toes.

“He’ll wake up soon, I have him on a slight sedative to help him recover.” Minjoong was behind Youngho, but he did not intrude, his voice carried from a clear distance.

“What happened?” Youngho asked, whispering, fearful to wake Woosung up - though by now Minsu, Sangwoo and Jonghui were all awake and near the corridor. Minsu and Sangwoo were talking to Beomhwa about Woosung’s return.

“I-” Minjoong trailed in thought, as if he wanted to pick his words carefully. As carefully as possible. “I cannot say, but he is very sick. The government is not certain he is worth the maintenance fee.”

“What?” Han’s voice rang through the corridor, he was not as asleep as Youngho expected - as if he had been awake and listening to the exchange.

“Woosung is-”

“I heard that part, what do you mean he is not worth the ‘maintenance fee’?”

“It means that he is sick enough that they are not sure it is worth paying for him to continue to live.”

Han’s face turned pale.

“Then why can’t you tell us what it is?”

“This too, they wanted to keep omitted from this team. I can only give you so much information.”

Minjoong rubbed at his nose bridge and in doing so smeared something along it, revealing a horrific discoloration.

“Minjoong-ssi…” Youngho pointed at Minjoong’s face then, mostly in horror at the discovery.

“Oh… Oh.” Minjoong almost laughed, but the laugh died before it was born. “I thought I could cover it up. Don’t worry about it, it's just a bruise.”

“That doesn’t look like just a bruise, does the government have you fighting now too? Are they so desperate?” Youngho felt possessive and protective. Beomhwa wandered up slowly with only one intention - to see Minjoong’s face.

“Minjoong…” Beomhwa whispered casually, Youngho could see Beomhwa’s jaw tighten as if in anger, but he didn't say anything.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. Wor-Worry about Woosung.” Minjoong was dismissive of his injury and turned to hand the book that was clutched in his hands to Youngho.

“You have a preference for healing, Youngho, this book should teach you plenty. Good, practical things.”

Youngho’s fingers were trembling as he took the book into his hands and looked at the cover. It was bound well, but it was old, the pages were yellowed as if it were from a forgotten time. Still he was appreciative and he nodded to Minjoong in the slightest bow.

When Youngho turned to look at Woosung again, Han was on his knees near Woosung’s headboard, staring at Woosung and brushing wisps of thick hair out of his face.

“He’s very sick, so please use the book to take good care of him. Make him comfortable, maybe we can show our leaders that anything can be fixed.”

Youngho nodded again, his grip on the book was more feverish then, as if he were to carry this task to make sure that Woosung survived and got to live happily with them, forever.

“I will. I’ll make sure of it, Minjoong-ssi.” Youngho swore then, bowing more firmly to the biologist who shook the palm of his hand at Youngho.

“Y-You don’t have to do all that.”

“I do. I’m making a promise.”

“Some promises are meant to be broken, Youngho. You don’t have to bow and swear an oath.”

“This is not a promise I intend to break.”

“I see.” Minjoong’s voice grew distant and cold then, almost dismissive. “Well, it is an appreciated gesture then.”

Youngho did not know how to take it and he glanced at Beomhwa. Beomhwa, who had not taken his eyes off of Minjoong, who was staring deeply and intently at the bloomed bruise on Minjoong’s nose. When there was no response there, Youngho turned to face Woosung once more and entered the room. He went to sit at the foot of his bed and opened the book. He did not touch Woosung, but he sensed a protective jealousy coating him as it radiated off of Han’s body. Han, who has leaned his forehead into Woosung’s hand, kissing it periodically as if he were experiencing something religious.

Youngho remained seated at the foot of the bed for hours, his attention entirely poured into the old book with its yellowed pages. It had notes in it, all in different varieties of hand-writing, as if it were passed down from one generation to the next, and now Youngho became part of the books history, a generational hand that got to touch and feel the pages, a mind that got to soak in and learn from the information presented in front of him. It was humbling and endearing all at once, Youngho felt human for a moment - because he was suddenly part of that history.

Somewhere else, he could hear the low buzz of conversation, but the information in the book was too enthralling, too new and exciting for him to join the conversation. At some point the buzzing died, the room became silent, an indication that Minjoong had left, but Youngho continued, he continued to read.

Reading was a process of meditation, the mind was thrilled by the built world. In this case, the world was factual, it was the remedies that can be created from the wilderness. The ‘old’ wilderness specifically, though the ‘new’ wilderness would suffice, the book mentioned before meandering on about herbs, berries and trees. Youngho was unfamiliar with any of these things beyond what he had seen within the confines of his training and missions, but he vowed to become an expert. He searched the index, searching for symptoms that Woosung presents - the fragility, the blood in his lungs, tuberculosis the book said, but Youngho knew that this was not what it was quickly because whatever Woosung had was not contagious.

Hours passed on, and the lights soon switched off. Reluctantly, Youngho receded to his bedroom that was already occupied by Minsu and he fell asleep quickly but the book was still in his hand, his thumb rubbing soothingly against the page where he had left off.

Tick, tick, buzz-

The lights turned back on and it was morning again and Youngho was washing his face and brushing his teeth, his eyes still perfectly glued to the contents of the book. Breakfast was not at all interesting as he continued to read and he was so engrossed that it took Beomhwa’s hand softly brushing across his shoulders.

“You should eat. I am sure it is interesting, but your mind will not remain sharp and certain of the details if you don’t eat something.”

It was logical but Youngho was reluctant to peel away from the pages. At some point the angering sensation in his stomach forced him to put the book down. He was careful with it, placing it on a distant table that he knew nothing and no one would touch the book there. Youngho treated the table like a small shrine for the pages of the book and its history as he hoisted himself into a seat and ate a bland and cooling breakfast.

“The book,” The first bite had made him realize how hungry he was and he was shoveling food by the third bite, desperate to fill himself up enough that he could go back to reading for a long period of time without his stomach becoming angry. “It talks of the ‘old’ and ‘new’ wilderness. I wonder what that means.”

“Maybe there is something ancient?” Beomhwa suggested but his voice was no more certain than Youngho’s.

“Mmm, I don’t think so. There are a few notes, the ‘old’ is apparently destroyed now and is mostly desert? I wonder then, what ‘new’ is. I haven’t seen any notes about it.”

“Too dangerous to mention?”

“Maybe.”

“The government probably keeps an eye on all things, I am surprised Minjoong has access to such a book.” Beomhwa mused, shaking his head slightly.

“He seems the type, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose. A little rebel at heart.”

Youngho smiled briefly into his rice and fish before he leaned up, caught his breath and wiped off his lips from any residual and stray saliva.

“I’m going to try and finish it today.”

“That thing is huge.”

“I’ve gotten through a quarter of it!”

“Youngho, please be realistic. Don’t overdo it.”

“But I promised that I would learn everything so we can heal Woosung.”

“You still have to take care of yourself.”

“That’s very rich, coming from you.” Youngho raised a brow at Beomhwa as he pointed out the hypocrisy. It was well known that Beomhwa was not one to care for himself but rather everyone around him. In much the same way that Minjoong had the same tendency.

“I take care of myself.”

“Oh yeah? When?”

“I take showers and relax when all of you aren’t looking.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well, sir, I didn’t know that showers were a form of taking care of yourself in the way that you are implying. I thought it was just a requirement for us.”

“It is! But sometimes, oh nevermind.” Beomhwa was defeated and he looked defeated and slightly petulant, annoyed even. He leaned back and crossed his arms with the most gentle of huffs.

Youngho let out a laugh, invigorated by the laughter from the day before and the openness he felt. He stood with a bit of a hop and went to grab the book. The corridor was nearby and so he walked down in and found Woosung’s room to sit at the foot of the bed. The scent here was prominent, sweet, bitter and sour with sweat and illness. Han’s hair was stuck to his face, oily and unwashed. Han had not moved since Woosung had been brought back, still holding onto his hand, desperate for contact.

“Han,” Youngho was slow and deliberate in how he spoke. “You should eat, wash, you will feel better.”

“I can’t let him go. What if they take him from me, again?” His voice was muffled against the side of the mattress, his fingers curling into the in-between spaces of Woosung’s own fingers.

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m going to make him better.” Youngho was certain of it; he was punished by the very idea of allowing Woosung to face demise. Woosung and Jonghui were in their own ways the most precious members of the team, the youngest, the one’s that needed the most protection. But it was Woosung who was in dire straits now, and it was Youngho who was convinced that he would pull him out.

“But you can’t say that for sure.”

“Has he woken up?” Youngho switched the conversation. Han was right in that he could not say it for sure, but he was convinced of it. He was drunk with the knowledge that the book had given him so far. His body and mind were electric with the idea that he had become part of *human* history.

“Yeah, once. It was after the lights went off, we talked a bit.”

“Does he know what happened to him?”

“No. Just that he was in surgery. Apparently he fell on the mission and started vomiting blood.”

“Vomiting? That’s… dramatic.”

“Coughing up? I’m not sure, it was one of his fits, times ten, he said.”

“I see.”

“So if there is some magical remedy in your book then by all means, I’ll go shower.”

“You should eat and shower regardless, you cannot be your full self to help him if you do not shower and eat.”

Han was reluctant but in time he forced his hand away from Woosung and disappeared from the room.

Woosung’s eyes opened soon after that and when he was certain that Han was no longer nearby, he cracked a weary smile at Youngho.

“I was waiting for him to go. Thought that if I just stayed quiet and acted asleep he would get bored eventually.”

Youngho almost laughed, but he didn't. He sat a little closer to Woosung.

“You know he loves you so much, he would have never left.”

“I know. But I had to-” He cleared his throat and flinched. “-try.”

“So you had one of your fits?”

“Yes, but it was bad. It hadn’t ever been that bad.”

“Maybe the physical activity over-exerted you.”

“That’s definitely what happened.”

“How do you feel after the surgery?”

“Sore.”

“Can I see?”

“See?”

“The bandages.”

“Oh. Yeah. I think they did it somewhere on my chest.”

Youngho was concerned to hear this but he pulled down the blanket and pulled up Woosung’s loose scrubs to see the bandages.

“These need to be changed, I think. But Minjoong-ssi didn’t say anything about them needing change and I don’t have extra gauze laying around.”

“Surprising isn’t it?” Woosung was smiling, a bit more light on his features than before, but he was still distant and weary. “Minjoong before he gave me the sedative to rest, told me that they are self-sterilizing. So no changes needed.”

Youngho was surprised to hear this, most of their wounds were never cared for in this way. It was always regular gauze to pause the bleeding at most. Their bodies were powerful machines, capable of recovering quicker than a human being. So, to hear that this even existed it came as a shock. It also showed Youngho how little he truly knew.

“...Once you’re better, we have to take those off of you and hide them somewhere in here.” He whispered as if he were committing treason.

“Mmm, I suppose you’re right.”

They both nodded gently in agreement of their new little pact.

“What other symptoms are you having? Fatigue, blood in the lungs, anything else I should note?”

“My muscles hurt, like I’m having a fever.”

“All the time?”

“Yeah.”

Youngho opened his book and looked through the index. It was hard to determine from just those three things what it is. A muscle ache could be anything, blood in the lungs was unusual and usually contagious.

“We’ll figure it out. Between all of us, we’ll have you on your feet and like your old you. I’m sure you’d like that.”

“Yeah, I would.” Woosung sighed out and stared at the ceiling for a moment before he looked back at Youngho. “But I wouldn’t try too hard, I don’t think I have much time left anyway.”

“What? No. You have plenty of time. We will make you better.”

“Honorable, Youngho, but I really don’t thi-”

“Don’t. Please don’t say that. You have to try and live, you can’t give up now. For us. If not for us then for Han, at least.”

Woosung’s chin quivered but it stopped as if he had stopped himself from feeling.

“For Han, then.”

Chapter Text

The air was stale and warm, summer had come into full swing and now it reminded everyone of its presence. Though the city remained balmy and overcast most days, but the sun broke through the clouds with a belligerent force - it shone dominantly and warmed up the concrete buildings until they were nothing but heat and fire.

The office air was also stale and warm. The air conditioning seemed to be breaking or malfunctioning frequently ever since the attack, and in spite of attempts to fix the generators they seemed to sputter from the heat and groan with a reluctance before falling into slumber again. This battle stretched on for weeks, civilians continued to be pulled from the rubble - some alive, but as time went on, the majority of them were found dead.

Seonghwa’s team was untouched at that time. They were given well deserved rest. Though Captain Hongjoong was restless and found himself working in his office regardless. Seonghwa had found him locked away there bent over the paperwork, briefs and debriefs in a million different formats. Seonghwa teased Hongjoong that he worked too hard, that he looked like a shrimp when he was bent over the way he was, that in all of his hard work he would hurt his back and that he should go and breathe some of the smoggy air.

Hongjoong dismissed the teasing remarks, though it was clear that he found them amusing by the glint in the chestnut of his eyes.

“How’s your brother?” Seonghwa asked one day, and Hongjoong just shrugged, as if he did not have a brother at all.

“You live with him.”

“Yes, but… We hardly see each other anymore.”

“You work too much.”

“I work enough.”

It was a constant back and forth, Seonghwa always trying to remind Hongjoong of just how much effort he put into this job. It was not as if he were positioned to receive a promotion anytime soon. Major Kim Hongjoong did not have the same ring as Captain and Seonghwa hoped that he would stay that way - if only so that he could catch up to him in due time.

“And what of your family?” Seonghwa suggested bashfully. He had been particularly nervous when he had arrived during a winter holiday. He had worn an old long wool coat in a tan color, and had done his hair to try and look as appealing as possible. Though in the end he had no idea who he was trying to please, except that his gut reaction was that he was trying to please his Captain. The family took him in happily, they were welcoming and kind, and it had made Seonghwa feel as if he were part of something greater. It was a fleeting moment in an otherwise bleak existence that he had learned to be content with.

Work, home, work, home, the store, work, home. An infinite loop of nothingness that he knew that he would never truly escape. So those pockets where he got to be *almost* alone with Hongjoong were the closest thing he could think of to escaping, and this was a difficult thought to muster. Especially after knowing what he knew, what he had to do for the greater good of the nation, the twists and turns of the reality he lived in.

“What about my family?” Hongjoong murmured, his fingers delicate in the way they flicked through a few pages of stray files he was having to count.

“Are they alright?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I’m just trying to make conversation.”

Seonghwa let out a sigh as he stood by a row of cabinets a while longer. They were tall and arranged like bookshelves, but all they really held was an infinite amount of data for all of the missions that the team had ever gone on, and every report from those.

“I’m busy, Seonghwa-ssi.”

“You’re always busy, when am I allowed to talk to you nowadays?”

“When I’m done?”

“And when is that?”

“When the light disappears and is replaced with neon.”

Seonghwa sat with Hongjoong all day after that, every day he sat in silence and ruminated. There were days he had to go and complete a bit of his own work, but whenever he was done he would return to Hongjoong like a lovesick puppy and sit in front of his desk waiting for his mental return to the real world.

Hongjoong did not seem to mind, and if he did he never said so and so Seonghwa continued to sit and wait.

Whenever Hongjoong would be finished with work he would always let out a long sigh and stretch out, his spine arching so beautifully it imitated a rainbow, firm against the rolling office chair he sat in. On occasion, Seonghwa would hear a few pops and chided Hongjoong again for his future back problems. Hongjoong was dismissive, always, as he packed away his things and started to head out for the day.

Seonghwa was awkward, but every day he still offered Hongjoong a ride home. The Captain became increasingly reluctant, but never denied him the opportunity and honor. Seonghwa had started to revel in being around Hongjoong in a way that he had not before. There was a light buzzing feeling, the Captain was so endearing to him that he wanted to eat him whole. He couldn’t, he realized, tell him how he really felt and so he opted instead to sit in his office for hours or to drive him home so that they could have repetitive superficial conversations that did not seem to dip beyond what was accepted.

At one point, Hongjoong pointed out that Seonghwa had placed his hand on his thigh and was holding onto the warmth as if he were going to lose it.

“Um, Seonghwa?” It was almost a stutter from the otherwise sturdy Captain who was so full of conviction.

“Hm?”

“Your hand.”

It occurred to Seonghwa then that his fingers were rubbing something plush, muscular, but plush and his face would glow a bright red color as he yanked his hand away and put it on the steering wheel.

“My apologies, Captain. I-It won’t happen again. I suppose my hand must have gotten cold.” It was a poor excuse for what he had done, and he sat stock straight the rest of the way to Hongjoong’s apartment, and he did not show up in the Captain’s office the next day either.

The humiliation quelled the day after and he returned to the man then.

It was several weeks after the attack, several weeks into the sweltering months of pure summer when the folder arrived on Seonghwa’s own desk.

‘CONFIDENTIAL’ it read on the front and his jaw tightened. What could he possibly be privy to, that nobody else needed to read.

He slid long fingers through the folder, pulling at the sticky apparatus that kept it shut, a strange glue-like substance. He preferred tape, this always left a strange residue on his fingertips. Once the substance was in the bin he opened the folder and sat down in his chair that squeaked obnoxiously beneath his weight. Not because he had a tremendous amount of weight, but because the chairs seemed to react to any amount of weight placed on them, especially when pivoting or turning. They were so loud, they could wake the dead.

Inside there was a letter, written formally and carefully, typed and clearly stamped that gave Seonghwa the indication that this was no ordinary letter even before he started to soak in the words printed.

‘To Second Lieutenant Park Seonghwa,

We are ecstatic with your activity in the ranks, enlightened by the loyalty that you have shown to the order. This is to be rewarded. We hope you understand what we have had you do, the importance of your actions and how valiant they have been in the face of friend and foe.’

Seonghwa felt a prickle of guilt populating on the back of his neck as he read the letter, long-winded and unnecessary. It seemed to want to compliment him, but he did not feel that his actions were worth complimenting. An attack on one’s own team even at the command of his own superiors, it felt wrong. It was a plan that only his Captain had otherwise known about, and now Jongho was on bedrest and Yeosang had been asking questions and Seonghwa had to deny what Yeosang had seen through the camera over and over again. His fingers trembled now as he held onto the piece of paper, his stomach tightened.

‘In time, you will come to understand your own actions and the request that was made. This afternoon at 1400, please arrive at meeting room 5C for a discussion of what your role will be going forward. Do not worry about the location, you will be shown the way to the light.’

Meeting room 5C did not ring a bell, and for that reason Seonghwa suspected the last line of the letter had something to do with this lack of knowledge. Even Seonghwa was kept in the dark about many sections in the building. For example, he had no clearance to go downstairs, the basements were entirely off limits and his identification would not grant him the ability to go down there. The majority of what he dealt with were the highest floors, he rarely ever went or worked below floor fifteen.

‘Cordially,
The Guardians.’

The letter was signed and Seonghwa stuffed it and its essence back into the confidential folder and set it off to the side, hiding it behind a stack of old paperwork that he had long since completed but had not yet destroyed to avoid any paper trail. A sigh left him as he rubbed at his forehead which he felt a trickle of sweat had formed there from the heat in the office room.

“What a pain.” The man whispered, his lips barely moving as he unglued himself from his seat and went back to his Captain’s office to see if he could bother him with his presence alone.

“I have to leave for a meeting at 1400.”

“Meeting?”

“Mhmm.”

“I see.” Hongjoong seemed suspicious, but did not comment further, just nodded in acknowledgment and continued working.

Their silence permeated the air, and it made Seonghwa sick to his stomach at some point as he placed his chin down against the wooden desk that Hongjoong worked at. He recalled the first time they had all met, the entire team gathering here and meeting each other.

Now… Now, Seonghwa was not even certain that he could call them a team. Not after what he had done, the horror that he had imparted upon them with his shots. He had hit Mingi in the back, and had he not stumbled forward, he feared he would have met the same fate as Jongho. Jongho was discharged from medical care fairly soon after he had been taken in. A mild concussion and a bandaged head for the large amount of blood that had spilled after he had hit the ground.

Yeosang… Yeosang was the real problem. He had seen Seonghwa, almost calling out that it had been him. But Seonghwa had destroyed the drone and destroyed Yeosang’s ability to transmit information. The entire van ride back, Yeosang had accused Seonghwa of working against the group, refusing to speak to him. The other’s tried to soothe the man, but he was so certain. Seonghwa could not lie, but nor could he tell the truth, something was preventing him from doing so, it buzzed on his tongue. He sat quietly in the corner in his designated space and fiddled with the seams of his gloves, his stomach wrapped in anxiety.

In the end, Hongjoong had to silence Yeosang, telling him that it was impossible that he had seen Seonghwa shoot at another team member. Though Yeosang was not convinced even then, he was silenced. His lips pressed tight together as he stared and stared at Seonghwa, the brown of his eyes carried a million daggers ready to stab the sniper - and the birthmark near his eye seemed to heighten in color too, burning red… Though Seonghwa was certain that this was just a figment of his imagination.

“It’s so warm in here.”

“It’s the windows.” Hongjoong murmured.

Hongjoong’s office was outfitted with a wall of windows that faced out towards the city, though they were blacked out so it was impossible to see anything from the outside. Looking outside through the blinds was easy except the windows were never used. They remained mostly shuttered the majority of the year, Hongjoong always too engrossed with his job than the ongoing business of the outside world. Seonghwa thought it was because it was too nauseating to look outside, especially with the height, but he didn’t say a word. Hongjoong did not like to be doubted, did not like anyone to think that he was fearful of absolutely anything.

“That’s why you keep them shut?”

“It doesn’t work much. Clearly.”

“They should really just replace the air generators, I am so tired fighting off the heat.”

“I wish they would, but it is a difficult process. They are still finding dead bodies, civilians mostly and a few government employees.”

“Who?”

“None we know, likely office grunts that keep operations moving along. Replaceable numbers, though it is still putting a stop to a lot of what is happening in the inner ranks.”

“Have to wait for a new generation of workers to come in, or to start hiring mid-year like this. I wonder at what point we can run out of resources. That attack was too large to shake off.”

“It was. The resources are definitely being spread thin.”

“Is that why there is a pile of folders double of what it was a few weeks ago?”

“And if I said yes?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but I would not like it, Captain.” Seonghwa sighed out. He did not like to see the Captain work more when he already worked himself to the bone. But it was almost an addiction to the man, who was nothing short of a workaholic.

“I am doing work for some who I do not usually do work for. The jobs that are currently displaced everyone is having to pick up the slack.”

“The team hasn’t.”

“No. I took on every bit of the team’s work.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” There was a bitterness to Hongjoong’s voice as he shook his head.

“Yeosang?”

“Yeosang.”

“Doesn’t that give him too much free time to think then?”

“I hope not. I hope he takes the time to rest his mind and body, so he can come back ready to work hard again.”

“It is too easy for an idle mind to start thinking of… Unsavory options.”

“This is true, but the down time was planned as part of Axis.”

Seonghwa was rubbing at his forehead now, deeply concerned for what Yeosang’s mind could be thinking about, if a screw was loose in his mind. The swirl of theories or suspicions that could be cropping up there like sprigs of green in spring.

“I know what you are thinking, Seonghwa-ssi. Do not worry, it is best to leave these things to the superiors, they will know what is best. They believe this downtime is best, and we will keep to it.”

“Seonghwa-ssi, you are so formal with me.”

“We are at work.”

“It seems wrong, and soon it becomes a habit and then I must hear it when I am driving you home in the evening.”

Hongjoong reflected on this momentarily, his lips pressing thin before he let out a dry sigh shaking his head.

“I will try to remedy my formality.” It was a conclusion, as formal as the promise that he had given. An ironic presentation, formal words promising to break the formality between them in private moments.

Seonghwa held no hope for Hongjoong to actually hold up to the statement, he was more likely to forget the statement entirely in the next few hours as he poured passionately over computer and paperwork alike. Hongjoong was a Captain who was both the leader and a lost cause in such matters. He knew his job well, and he worked himself to the bone. He was feverish in his dedication, tired at the end of most days beyond recognition. But he was lost in reality; there was no life outside of the confines of his office, and the time that he took to sleep in his bed. Seonghwa has found this to be true, time and time again when he has inquired about hobbies or family life that has started to suffer the more time went on.

Seonghwa was not a great deal better, a lack of family and relations outside of work had made him a dedicated player in all of the activities that the team undertook. He had become a secondary Captain, a Co-Captain to Hongjoong’s leadership. It was a role he took on easily, almost too easily with the way the role fell into his lap, as if he only had to breathe it in and it assimilated into him like air. Hongjoong called him his right hand, and the words were endearing more than anything else. The severity of Seonghwa’s expression had fallen to the wayside since they had first met, softening around the edges where Hongjoong hardened. It was a constant tug o'war between two men unable to find a neutral middle of their relationship.

At some point, though Seonghwa hardly knew when, Seonghwa had stood up and wandered towards one of the windows, cracking one of the blinds open slightly, letting a slice of light to cut through, illuminating wisps of his dark hair and the brown of his eyes as he looked out onto the city. It was possible to still see the stacks of smoke here from the attack zone, though not without craning one’s neck more significantly. It was almost a godsend to not have to see it, to not be reminded of it from the vantage point of one’s office space.

The blind cracked beneath the pressure of his finger and he let it rebound back to its place, looking down at his wrist to see that his watch read 1345.

“Ah, I should go, Captain. Is there anything I can help you with before I do so?”

“No. You are dismissed.”

Seonghwa bowed his head and left without another word. The air conveyed a sense of distance between them. There was nothing, as if they were perfect strangers working out a job. Not teammates, not two men who were inherently close with each other - as close as allowed. Seonghwa could not help but sigh as he walked through the corridors, his shoulders stiff as reeds of iron, his spine locked in one straight path with seemingly no curvature.

The man was punctual, he arrived with a careful precision at the row of doors he was commanded to arrive at by the letter right at 1400. There was no door that read 5C and this elevated Seonghwa’s heartbeat. At first the feeling was only in his chest, and then it rose and drummed into his ears like blood rushing in a panic. A meeting such as this, it was going to be important, whether good or not was up for debate - after all the government could have lulled him into a sense of peace with the word ‘reward’.

There was silence in the corridor, not a soul walked by. From the appearance and sound there was no one here, no one inside of the rooms meant for meetings either. The line of Seonghwa’s jaw became more prominent as he stood there, as if he was at the galleys awaiting his own hanging. It was the worst thing that his mind could soar towards, but he could not help it. It was as if the government had programmed his mind to think of the worst. His fingers were gripping at his own palms, and burying the neatly trimmed nails deep. Even when trimmed his palms hurt with the sharp sensation, but they brought him out of the spiral of thought that kept him thinking that he might face his end.

A man - or so Seonghwa assumed - arrived, military garb, an embroidered insignia to signify that this was so. He was wearing a mask, his identity unknown.

“Park Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa nodded, a drop of sweat rolling from his brow towards his chin where he wiped at it awkwardly, showing his identification card to prove that he was being truthful of his own identity.

“Come with me.”

It was a long walk, through many different hallways, so many that Seonghwa felt as if he was a new recruit once more - easily lost in the labyrinth of hallways that the government deemed necessary to have. It was easy to get lost here, and it was meant to be this way. The government had never been infiltrated because not a single soul had ever seen every part of the building, and for this reason it would be impossible to actually infiltrate effectively. It was a smart thing to have isolated every employee to such a degree, and yet it also created a pitiful feeling - a feeling of lack of transparency. A trust that was not entirely bound to each employee sacredly. A trust that lied only with the government, the superiors, the guardians.

It was a ten minute walk before they arrived at the door of a room. The individual with the mask patted Seonghwa down briefly before scanning a card against a card reader near the door, placing his thumb against another plate for a fingerprint scan, and it was only then that the door clicked, releasing itself to be opened.

Seonghwa walked into a room that was blindingly white, so white that he had to close his eyes and flinch, adjusting to it.

There was a large table at the center, made of a white wood, and each chair was white too. There was a chandelier on the ceiling, the largest and most ornate one that Seonghwa had ever seen - but his mind told him that it was gaudy and tasteless. It was a waste of valuable resources, but he did not say a word. Instead, he noticed that the table had many individuals seated. They were all dressed in white, and they all seemed to mirror the chandelier. These were people that Seonghwa had never seen before and he swallowed as subtly as he could. They wore strange masks, as if they had gone fencing. These too were draped in chains and bits of what appeared to be diamonds.

“Park Seonghwa, please, sit.” The voice of the one at the head was distorted, and when ‘he’ stood the rest stood too, robotic in their movement.

Seonghwa, who was frozen in place, found the courage to move forward. He sat opposite of the leader and stared down the table that was barren of any decoration, as barren as the room that aside from its pristine white paint had not a single touch of decor on the walls.

“We wished to speak to you privately, surely you understand the necessity for such a meeting.”

Seonghwa felt another bead of sweat rolling down his face. It dewed on the tip of his nose and suddenly he realized just how cold it was here. It was not warm like the rest of the building, and this made his stomach tighten. He was silent for a beat too long and the masked individual spoke again.

“Do you not, Seonghwa?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

The masked people nodded in unison, agreeing blindly with the positive affirmation.

“The attack on the central part of the city has been an unfortunate result of the rule. Rebel coalitions grow. Team Z was unable to perform, their failure a stain.”

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed for a moment, he did not know of any Team Z. He knew only of his team - Team A.

“But your team, very successful extraction of the rebels and their demise. Your Captain and yourself created a magnificent display through your plan. A teammate downed by a rebel. We must continue to practice sowing such loyalty into the fabric of your team.”

“But one is not compliant, he saw me-”

“We know.”

More nodding in unison, giving Seonghwa a feeling of inherent lack of ease.

“We know and we will remedy the situation soon. Once the efforts on the center are completed. But your job will continue, you will continue to grow the team’s integrity in whatever way necessary.”

Seonghwa’s mind reeled - Plan Axis had been a one time deal, he had thought, and now it was possible that there would be more of such plans. It did not sit well with him, and yet he understood the importance of it too. The twisted part of his mind understood the importance of keeping his team quiet and in line. It was easy to lose faith; even now and then, Seonghwa felt his own faith waiver not unlike the loosening of a bolt in his mind. But it could not fully unwind, because he was one of the foundations for the pillars that stood upon his back. He and Hongjoong were what kept the team moving, without them… He had to stay strong.

“If I may speak.” Seonghwa gathered courage, though he could tell that his throat was dry.

“You may.”

There was a pause, each head turning to face him, like puppets on a string.

“Who is Team Z? I haven’t heard of them.”

“They are the extra team that accompany your team on missions now and again. The backup.” The masked ‘man’ responded, but it was unclear if he was being honest. Seonghwa knew of the backup team, they were always masked not unlike the individual who had picked him up to bring him to this unmarked place that Seonghwa would never be able to find again even if he tried.

“This is the masked team, then?”

“Correct. You need not worry about them. They were dispatched in an attempt to scout the area when it had been first attacked. They were extracted not long after when an overwhelming wave of rebels appeared.”

“I see. But when were we going to be told about them? It was strange to be accompanied by a team, we do not even get a radio connection to them.”

“THAT,” The distorted voice boomed and it made Seonghwa flinch, regretting the courage he had shown as he receded into the back of the white seat he sat in. “Is for the best.”

Seonghwa did not know why it was for the best, perhaps this Team Z was full of disfigured monsters, or perhaps they were mindless robots? Though from what Seonghwa had seen they did not move or act like monsters or robots. He let his mind settle at them being underlings that needed training and that this was a new program that the government was testing. It was best to let his mind settle here, because without a firm answer he would float in speculation and never sleep at night.

“But that is not why we have called upon you, in truth, Park Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa reached up to touch his nose to remove the sweat that had pooled there, his fingers flicking the liquid off to the side with a swipe, he felt a chill again.

“The group has considered you for a promotion.”

This made Seonghwa sit up, a promotion was as great of a reward as anyone could imagine. For a soldier, or an officer in the military there was no greater honor.

“We have filed for you to be granted the rank of First Lieutenant.”

A rank only below Hongjoong’s, a was terrifying prospect and yet an honorable one.

“Is this agreeable to you, Park Seonghwa?”

“Is this agreeable?” The rest of the table echoed in unison and Seonghwa’s shoulders almost slouched with discomfort.

“Yes.” He saluted, his knuckles pale white as he pressed the blade of his hand up against his brow firmly.

“Good. Then from here on you will be First Lieutenant Park Seonghwa.”

It had a lovely ring to it: Captain Kim Hongjoong and First Lieutenant Park Seonghwa. It almost made him prickle with pride, gluttony for the future. What else could he accomplish in a short amount of time? What a great deal he could accomplish in a long amount of time? His mind was bleeding with the idea that he was unstoppable, and a reward this great reinforced his loyalty to this table he sat. It brushed away any fear or uncertainty that he did have. Team Z was suddenly forgotten, and Yeosang’s petulance was too. This committee knew best, because they gave him the honor of a promotion, a promotion unheard of in Seonghwa’s time within the ranks. He almost chewed his lower lip to blood with a simmering excitement that he dared not show on his features.

“You are dismissed, First Lieutenant.”

The masked one stood and the rest followed, Seonghwa was the last to rise. He saluted, bowed and left the room. The air in the hallway was in deep opposition to the air in the room. It was so cold there, and here it was so warm. The humidity meant instant perspiration on Seonghwa’s features as he was led by the masked guard in silence away from the room.

Left, right, right, right left… Seonghwa’s mind attempted to memorize, but after ten minutes of walking the pattern was entirely lost and he was left at the row of meeting rooms where he would have naturally expected 5C to be.

Upon inspection, Seonghwa noticed something strange - there was 5A, 5B, 5D and 5E. But 5C was simply missing, it was a wall wide enough for a door, with no door. He pressed his fingers and palm flat against the wall and a part of it cracked beneath his touch and then it opened itself to an elevator.

Seonghwa jumped back with a gasp, and when his palm left the wall the wall closed. The man looked around, over each shoulder and down each hallway to be sure that he was alone. Then he pressed the same spot again, revealing the elevator again. There was an identification pad and he scanned it, but it only made a loud noise of rejection and Seonghwa stepped back.

It was a discovery he was unsure he should pursue, but for now the only thing he was certain of was sharing his new promotion with the only person he cared about to hear about it - Kim Hongjoong.

Chapter Text

Heat. An incredible heat had settled over the city, a blanket that warmed everything in an already sweltering environment. Most of the generators had been put out of commission, going in and out of functionality as both government buildings and civilian buildings seemed to suffer from a series of prominent connection issues.

Ever since they had been dismissed and put on break, Yeosang had been waking up in the middle of the night in a sweat. It was not cold sweat, but rather a sweat that made each strand of hair on his head something he could feel. It was a visceral sensation as his body poured sweat, inevitably driving him to stand so that he could relieve himself before stepping out onto the balcony, the slightest breeze to touch on his dampened cheeks.

This evening was not much different. He stepped out onto his balcony, his white shirt soaked through, clinging to his skin as he picked at the fabric pulling it off so that the city air could circulate through it. It was not a great relief, but it was one that he welcomed regardless. It was a small allowance for relaxation as he leaned over the railing, breathing.

The smog was not as prevalent where he lived, one of the outskirt sectors where the rent was cheaper and the old crumbling apartment structures were covered in more old moss and green from lack of care. It seemed that the old trees and lichen helped the air cool and be cleaner - though Yeosang was no expert in such worldly functions.

A droplet of sweat moved down his brow to the tip of his nose before dipping into his cupid’s bow, ending upon his lips. He let his tongue idly swipe at the sweat, tasting the salt and musk of it. He inhaled again as he looked out towards the center of the city. It sparkled at a distance, the neon lights, the strange and inhuman shapes and shadows. The cars that were still out there, in spite of curfew. A world of small rebellions. With all of this though were the shouts of commands, the sirens of patrol cars ready to put anyone caught out past their curfew in their place.

Ever since the attack on one of the primary government buildings there had been less patrol cars to send out, after all it had destroyed a hub of patrol cars and killed multiple government employees. It had similarly killed many civilians too. Even now the smoke was continuing to rise, a discolored shadow upon the neon colored city - the lights were an irony for all they represented was emptiness.

Yeosang leaned back a little, still holding onto the railing but now he was squatting, his bare feet balancing him as he stretched his back, the railing creaking slightly against the application of his weight.

“Bastards, all of them.”

The normally quiet soldier could not help but let it slip out, his back popped and he fumed as he remembered the pops of bullets coming straight towards his team from the barrel of an allied gun.

Park Seonghwa. He had seen him clear as day firing those bullets. Not towards Mingi - though he had certainly confirmed it was him that had fired that bullet - but certainly several towards Jongho before the drone went dark. He chewed on his lower lip, rubbing at his face while one hand kept attached to the railing, which groaned a bit more from the concentration of weight on its metal carapice.

Yeosang had spent a great deal of time in the van after, telling their Captain that it had been Park Seonghwa who had fired the shots at the team, that there was no mistaking it. That Jongho had been injured because of Park Seonghwa, there was simply no way around that he was a traitor!

The Captain did not believe it, or perhaps he could not believe it because he was in on it.

The rest of the team did not budge on the topic either. They looked at Yeosang with a bit of doubt, as if he were an unreliable narrator - or if he was not an unreliable narrator then certainly it was too dangerous to speak out now as he was doing in the back of the van, under such severe surveillance.

There was this, he ruminated, but also the strange fact that they had been followed and ‘assisted’ by a team of seven masked men. It was not to protocol, to his knowledge, to be assigned a mission, and then be flanked on that mission by seven others whose identities were completely hidden, their motives hidden, and their radios completely separate from the primary team. It was simply not done, it was stupid, arrogant, and dangerous. Firstly, they could commit friendly fire without a proper debriefing that more people would be assigned to the team. Secondly, having ulterior motives on the same mission was an extremely unusual occurrence. Yeosang was often considered the fool of the team; he was quiet and fairly obedient, his job was to survey and make good calls for the team in difficult or messy situations with his drones and cameras. But Yeosang was not a fool, and he knew that despite his silent nods towards almost any command given.

Dissent was simply not done. Yeosang realized he was not like Wooyoung who protested a lot, or Mingi who could not help but show his heart on his sleeve. This was not who he was in the reality of it all. This had been uncovered for him through the work that he had thus far done. He could only maintain his emotions so much before he knew they would end him up in prison - a worse disgrace than execution, he believed.

A strong wind blew through, drying and lifting some strands of his hair away from his face, bringing relief as he moaned in pleasure.

Yeosang had been the first to visit Jongho in the hospital, and to his knowledge he had been the only one. Jongho had not been in a grievous state, but it could have still been avoided if only Seonghwa had not shot at him. A concussion was easy to treat, but Yeosang had still sat there in his hospital room, worried for the state of his friend.

“It was Seonghwa-ssi.” He relayed, and he was so certain of it that Jongho’s face had warped towards Yeosang in an almost disbelief.

“That’s impossible.”

“It isn’t, I saw…”

Their conversation was cut short when a nurse had wandered in and Yeosang could no longer speak the truth. Jongho’s lips pursed as if he had been given very grave news indeed.

But Yeosang had hoped to spread this doubt he had now, he wanted it to be known that there was a disloyalty going on. Though he was not sure where the disloyalty was - was it a disloyalty on behalf of the government? Was Plan Axis something that Hongjoong and Seonghwa had hoisted upon them to put fear and unconditional loyalty into the team? Or was it a disloyalty on behalf of the team leads? Were Hongjoong and Seonghwa planning to dismantle the government order from the inside?

To Yeosang, Hongjoong did not seem the type to dismantle anything. The Captain was a workaholic, and his words were always one’s of strict loyalty to the world that they lived in. In the end, this left Yeosang with an uneasy feeling - that Hongjoong and Seonghwa had this grand scheme put upon them by the government, and that they were trying to create chaos on purpose. It was chaos with such precise intent that it made Yeosang sick to his stomach.

The smoke in the distance was becoming less and less of a shadow, signaling the rising of the sun somewhere distant. Yeosang let out a sigh, reluctant to leave the balcony but wanting more sleep. He retrieved his pillows and blankets and laid down on the old concrete of his apartment balcony falling asleep with a soft breezing lapping at his body and face. The breeze soaked the white of his shirt through with a smoggy brown as the air penetrated through and left him marked with the heaviness of the city, fully imprinted on his body.

Morning arrived far too quickly, and his internal alarm woke him up with a grumble and a groan. Yeosang threw all the bedding inside and stumbled over the raised threshold, swearing to himself as his left big toe throbbed with pain. He wandered almost aimlessly, preparing for the day as if he were going to work, except that he was not - not yet.

Instead he descended down the stairs. There was no elevator in the old apartment and so he was forced to walk - every morning he helped an old man get down from the second floor, and this morning was no different. Though the intent of the morning was different as he exited out with a wave and a bow to the old man before heading towards the local market.

It was a government sanctioned market, and so, many sold their produce - in whatever little quantity they might grow it - and other government approved trinkets, or clothes. Some were woven by hand, some only sewn. There were many interesting pieces to be found here and Yeosang took one of his days off with a heft of seriousness.

Yeosang was not a great cook, but he liked to make himself chicken when he had the time and extra funds to do so. He still visited his mother quite often, borrowing her kimchi supply and hiding it away in his fridge so that it did not sour as quickly as it could sitting on a kitchen counter. Once it soured he hesitantly made himself tofu soup, throwing in whatever meat he could scrounge up that day. Usually, it was a vegetable, or a fungi of his choice - these were cheaper to source in the city.

So, as a half-made homecook Yeosang took his shopping seriously, purchasing some mushrooms, spinach, cabbage, tofu, green onion, and a bundle of bok choy - that he had not yet decided what he would do with, but was certain that he would find a good use for regardless. His shopping bag was slung over his lower arm, just in the crook of his elbow as he continued to look through the market.

In time, he came across the jewelry, trinket and clothing merchants. They were more desperate to sell, their wares were pricier, more personal, and there was a yearning in their eyes as they quietly called out to shoppers who walked by, hoping that they might find someone and make them purchase their items out of guilt.

But, no one made great money. Private merchants and sellers almost all had other jobs. Yeosang was lucky, he had one of the best paying jobs in the city, and still he could only afford one of the oldest apartments in the same city. No one could afford anything, and everyone was content. There were no known internal rebellions - from the debriefs that Yeosang had seen - and no traitors that were among the humble civilians. The rebels and revolts were outside, they were the people who left, who refused to stay. Or they were the people who refused to join after the war ended, and they had been wandering for decades now, and those people have had children now, and perhaps those children have had children too and they continued to wander. In the meantime the city hoarded precious resources: food, water, shelter - and the children of the rebellion grew anxious, hungry, and organized.

From all the missions and all of the work that Yeosang had done, he knew one thing - hunger was a powerful beast. The most weak, and emaciated people would do so much to make sure that theirs was known.

A woman walked up to Yeosang. She was older, her hair in a messy bun with streaks of grey throughout. She had a warm smile and she offered Yeosang to look at her jewelry for a woman in his life.

Yeosang obliged, quietly he walked up to her humble stall and inspected her work. It was simple, it was expected to be simple. There was no particular creativity or sparkle, they were gold or silver with not-so exciting inlays of stone. One in particular caught Yeosang’s attention, but he realized that his mother would never like something like that, and the interest was entirely his own. Unfortunately, men were not allowed to wear jewelry and in the moments that he would otherwise wear jewelry, hidden from the world, he would not be able to show it, or go to work with it. There was no point, and so he glanced at the woman, smiled, almost wearily and gave her a bow. A bow that excused his presence, and apologized for his lack of interest all at once.

“But are there none that catch your eye? I will cut you a deal!”

Yeosang was moving, turning away when he was forced to make eye contact again. His heart sank with guilt.

“No, I’m sorry.” It was all he could say, and it felt bitter to say, but he did - because he must - and then he left, shoulders slouched forward.

As he turned back to the rest of the market he realized just how heavy his arm felt and how heavy the bag weighed in the crook of his elbow. He switched arms delicately, almost too delicately, cleared his throat and continued forward.

There was a blanket shop, nicely organized. Yeosang thought of his own threadbare blanket at home and sighed, reluctantly going into the shop so that he could at least look at the options. There was a man there to greet him, his personality as exuberant as the patterns on the blankets. Though it made Yeosang uncomfortable the way he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and began to lead him around, showing him all the different types of blankets, covers, bed sets, and quilts that he had. They were all wonderful, and of varying quality that was dependent on price. But Yeosang could not stand this exuberance, this brightness in the bleak world he lived in. It was so different from what he was accustomed to in the military that he tore away from the man’s arm and left the shop immediately. Once he was out his eyes were frantic and searching for the way back out.

It was then, he was hit with a feeling of nausea. The exuberance was a discomfort because it was simply not allowed - but there were no soldiers here to report the man for his act. The exuberant man was aligned with the rebels, with the attacks, the explosions, the strange behavior of his Captain and Seonghwa. The man was aligned with the seven masked individuals who interfered with the integrity of Team A’s missions, this prickled Yeosang, it made him believe that perhaps the team *needed* assistance when they in fact did not.

The bag felt heavier now as he turned on his heel out of the market and towards home, his mind set on seeing Hongjoong.

Today. Now.

Each instance became like a virus, passing through his body and taking root. A garden of doubt for everything that had ever happened. The attacks on the city, Yunho being shot in the leg and being taken out of combat entirely, Seonghwa taking out both drones and Jongho, and to some extent Mingi as well. The strange masked individuals who shot at his drones as if they could see the silent sentinels in the night sky, or worse yet - hear them.

Yeosang rushed home, his cheeks burning red from the heat of the day as he tossed his heat burdened vegetables onto a kitchen counter - he did not care where the bag landed so long as it landed - and he quickly changed. The civilian clothes were torn off as he changed into his office uniform. He desperately searched for his ID card, as if it were gone from the apartment entirely, but he soon found it in the tangle of sheets on his mattress that were still damp from his body laying on them for several hours in the night. Yeosang sneered slightly at the sensation, his fingers brushing against his own body's damp residue before the ID was firmly grasped in his palm and he was on his way out.

His ID card, his saving grace and the only thing that allowed him to enter the government building to begin with. It always stayed with him, and there was a frantic feeling when he did not have it - as if he were leaving something behind, there was a vulnerability and nudity to not having it. Yet, still, Yeosang had sworn to himself that he would not take it everywhere. That carrying or displaying a government ID would make people fear him for everything that he was. They would not grab onto his shoulder and lead him into their stalls to sell him wares, they would turn away from him, their eyes cast down defeated and grey, anticipating the worst. This was the power of the government identification card, and though Yeosang was scared to be without it - so much so that he slept with it - he did not bring it into civilian areas because there were times where he was desperate to be nothing more than a simple civilian, wandering through to purchase bok choy.

Yeosang was frantic as he moved. He locked his apartment door and was practically leaping down the steps, each more swift than the last, picking up speed until he felt as if he was going to fall over. Yeosang grabbed onto the old plastic railing, steadying himself when the sensation of failure entered his legs and feet. He was standing on a stair step, staring at his own feet cursing them for their sudden failure as the world spun and went in and out of focus.

Desperate, Yeosang closed his eyes and breathed in. The air was hot, humid, stale, it smelled like time’s gone by, dust and old urine and sweat. He swallowed, opened his eyes and proceeded down. The subway, trains and buses were always moving from checkpoints and he was quick to check the time of the bus that was coming the soonest. His journey to the center always took a long time - two buses, and a short subway trip before he could feel the smog and sterile air dancing along his cheeks.

The bus arrived on time, and he sat down in his usual seat. It was near a door, a button glowing red on a pole that invited travelers to press it when they were ready to disembark - it signaled to the driver that the next stop was worth stopping at - if there were not already people standing at the stop, waiting to board.

This public transportation was boring and possessed no character. People did not speak on their long or short commutes, though some whispered to their children to keep quiet as they went from one place to the next. Yeosang felt small in these moments. He felt like an ant that was scurrying along in a large mound, a mound full of ants that were all trying to survive, to perform their duty. The duty was assigned at birth, or at least it felt that way were it not for the most certain illusion of choice. Their schooling did make it seem like they got to choose their paths, but in the end the choices were not equitable. Intelligent children ended up on far more coveted tracks, and those who struggled with basic arithmetic were relegated to simpler tasks in life. The government still reported that every duty was a worthy one, a noble one, because it served the city, the government, the way of life. Most citizens did not dare to question the idea, they were willing to move through life in this way.

Yeosang was among them, an ant, moving through his path willingly. But something was wrong with the programming of this ant, he knew. Because he dared to question, loudly, Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s motives as they returned to base that day. Because he was running now towards the center, towards the government building, desperate to have a confrontation with the team’s Captain, because in his mind it would solve everything.

Yeosang needed to hear plainly why Seonghwa had shot Jongho and Mingi. Yeosang wanted to hear the explanation for why those masked individuals kept following them on every mission, and why their presence was a necessity. Yeosang was desperate to understand why such a dangerous training had been put in place, when their superiors undoubtedly knew that someone would shoot at someone else and hurt them. All of these were desperate desires, and they were burning him up from the inside.

He lept off of the bus and entered another, just barely making it. Then he scurried from the second bus to the subway and on to his final stop.

When he exited the subway the center building of the government, no matter how tarnished, was still as intimidating as it was when he had first arrived for his first day on the job. It loomed over the city, but it loomed over those who stood near it the most. It felt not unlike religion, the meeting of God and Man. It struck a man with a feeling of reverence, and fear, daunting in its presentation.

Yeosang swallowed the feeling that lingered in the back of his throat and hurried into the building - each step quicker than the last.

He found himself rushing again, his feet faster than what he could naturally sustain, so fast that he barreled through the revolving doors of the government building, running into the back of an older man who appeared immediately irritated with Yeosang’s lack of care.

“Young man, watch where you’re going.”

Yeosang was still moving; he was bowing in apology, but he was still moving. He pressed his ID through a second set of doors, he was checked by masked security guards and then he was using an elevator, going up to the very top floor as the vine against the government grew so thick in the back of his throat that he was suffocating.

It took everything out of Yeosang to not burst through Hongjoong’s office door. It took everything to not slam his entire body against the structure as if he were running and unable to stop. His heart was beating against his lungs, ready to pop out, and his mind was a runaway train. His fist - fortunately - made it to the door first. He was slamming on it, emotional, too full of feeling. Dangerously full of it.

“Come in.” The voice was muffled on the other side, but he knew it to be his Captain. Yeosang swung the door open and it slammed so loudly, even on its bouncy new hinges, that Yeosang flinched with regret.

“Yeosang-ssi?” Hongjoong was standing up at his desk, his delicate fingertips pressed against its surface.

“I-” Yeosang was perspiring, he was covered in sweat from head to toe. His uniform felt soaked, the same way his shirt had been when he had fallen asleep. It was warm in here too, as if one could not escape the heat of the summer anywhere.

“Yes?”

“I-” He was catching his breath, and soon he found enough courage to pass through the threshold and close the door behind himself. The world was a blur, there were so few details that Yeosang could surmise from his surroundings. It was easier to try and calmly close the door, to cross through and towards the desk. He did not sit though, he remained standing, as if he were a soldier at attention, his jaw tightening and loosening as he sought the right words to begin.

The Captain remained standing, he wasn't twitching or moving a muscle - there was concern in his posture, as if Yeosang had finally lost it.

“Captain, we must speak. It is extremely important.”

“Did something happen? I thought Jongho’s injuries were taken care of?”

How stupid the Captain was, the venomous thought crept up inside of Yeosang’s mind, for thinking that he was coming here to only speak of Jongho.

“No. Well, yes. No. Nothing is wrong with Jongho, he is fine. Nothing has happened today, or yesterday. But things *have* happened. You can’t deny it to me. It’s too much, I have eyes. I have a brain. You can’t just keep pulling the wool over me and what I think!”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The Captain was cool, level-headed. He was sitting down, now, slowly.

“Don’t you?” Yeosang felt bitter, still standing there in front of the man, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I really do not, Yeosang-ssi.”

“Be plain with me, why did Seonghwa,” Yeosang could not bear to use an honorific then. It felt disingenuous to respect the man that had shot at their team. “Shoot at us? He shot Mingi first, then he shot the drone camera and Jongho. Was this your plan? Plan Axis?”

Hongjoong’s lips were thin, they were drawn with a delicate pencil of white.

“I think you did not see correctly.”

“But I did. The drone picked up that it was Seonghwa’s sniper pointed towards us. There was no one else that I could see from that trajectory.”

“Yeosang-ssi, you cannot come and accuse people of such treasonous actions. Plan Axis is a private plan between Seonghwa and I for rebellion hostage situations, nothing more or less.”

Yeosang knew it was a lie. He felt unsatisfied, but he turned to the next topic feverishly.

“I don’t believe you, Captain. But if you refuse, fine. At least I know where your loyalties lie, and it is not with our team.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Yeosang.” The honorific was dropped. The Captain’s voice was stern but it felt brittle, like ice drops as if the very notion of his loyalty being challenged made him upset.

“Then why allow such dangerous training to occur? I saw you, the way you shot at Yunho-ssi that day. You were a mad man, you were drunk off of power.”

“I will admit to my own enjoyment, that I like to put myself into the mindset of it being a real mission. I do receive a hint of pleasure from our missions. This I will not deny you. But the training itself, I could not control. It is something that the superiors gave to me. You know that their decree is the law and it is the final word.”

“Could you not resist? Could you not have modified the training to be more safe?”

“Could I have?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Yeosang felt his shoulders lowering slowly as if he were being fed an antidote to the fever he was experiencing. Not because he believed Hongjoong entirely, but because he knew his Captain could not answer everything or would not. It was as if his arrival here was becoming in vain, and for this reason he felt deflated. After all, it was probably true that this man in front of him could not have stood up to the superiors, in their constantly changing and mysterious tactics. What was the purpose of the training if not to injure one of them? Were they taking a gamble? These answers would not, or could not be answered.

Why was he here?

Yeosang stood there in silence for a while longer, and he could feel his Captain’s gaze burning into his chest. It was a powerful gaze though it possessed no ire in it, and this scared Yeosang more. It was the amount of control that Hongjoong had over himself; that Seonghwa had over himself, these things scared Yeosang more than anything as he stood there. A drone operator, a playmaker.

“Do you know about the others?”

“The others?”

“The seven that seem to be at every one of our missions? They always wear masks, the way they move it’s so familiar. I don’t know how to word it, but it gives me a sense of apprehension to see them. It feels as if they are interfering, or the government has placed them there to sabotage our missions.”

It was a thought too far, and Yeosang watched a vein in Hongjoong’s neck rise slightly.

“The government would never purposefully sabotage our missions.”

“But-”

“They wouldn’t.”

“But why not connect us to them, they wear masks, they don’t interact with us. They’re always there, on the same calls, but it is as if their task is different. I’ve spoken to other’s on other teams and they don’t get this sort of treatment. Are we not trusted to finish the job? Are they backup to our potential blunder?”

Hongjoong visibly stumbled. He was silent as if in consideration of how to answer Yeosang’s clearly final and desperate plea for some kind of answer.

“Yeosang-ssi… Some things are better unquestioned, and unanswered. You may put yourself in danger thinking these things, and saying these things out loud. Consider those individuals as nothing more than assistance. Whether they are or not, I am not certain.’

There it was, Yeosang realized, he saw it plainly in Hongjoong’s gaze. Uncertainty, doubt. It gave Yeosang the slightest hint of peace. A sliver of humanity that remained in his Captain after all that had happened.

“I cannot help it, sir.”

“But you must try. You must try harder. You cannot show up here, looking as if you had run a marathon, shouting for answers where everyone can hear -” The pause that followed was ominous, and Hongjoong swallowed, the apple of his throat gently bobbing. “Or see.”

It was a reminder that they were always being watched and Yeosang felt the sweat pressing against his body, like a weight, suddenly turn very cold with the reminder.

“Right. Yes, sir.” Yeosang’s voice was fragile like crepe paper, it was lost in his stomach. All he did was bow, and start to leave. His skin was pale and clammy as he almost drunkenly walked to the team’s shared office, fearful all at once of the surveillance he lived in.

Chapter Text

There was a broken street light just outside of the Kim apartment that made Minjoong’s skin crawl. It flickered ominously. Not near enough to be fixed by one of them, but definitely close enough to be an incredible nuisance to them both. It had gotten worse these last several months, the light’s flickering had become like an orange eye, some sort of strange metaphor - Minjoong was certain that there was a metaphor in there - for always being watched. It was an uneasy feeling when the natural light disappeared from the world and would be replaced by the city lights. All the public lights would flicker on and hum with effort. This one did not hum, it flickered and the few times that Minjoong had the displeasure of passing it by there was only the incoherent buzzing of a light trying hard to stay alive.

Today, Minjoong found himself staring at the light from the apartment balcony, his hand delicately holding a cup of water, his mind anywhere but at this very moment. His gaze was fixated on the light.

Bum, bum-da-bum, bbbbum, it flickered in this incessant pattern, the eye watching.

“Even here,” Minjoong let out a sigh, his head drooping forward slightly in an almost defeated gesture. It felt like everywhere he went, he was being watched. Everywhere he went, his once sturdy belief in the system and the government had grown cracks in its foundation so wide that he was trying to convince himself of the next steps necessary.

Minjoong did not believe that he had it in himself to become a rebel, especially not with how much violence they caused. The smoke that plumed from his place of employment, and Sector One - still being rebuilt in spots to this day - were proof enough to him that he was not cut out for it. But how was he supposed to fight anything from the inside when the penalty was death?

He, the great biologist, the great scientist that had cracked the code to immortality, had become fearful of death.

But Minjoong recently realized that he had always been fearful of it. It had come over him like a wave when he was placing ice against his nose to help the bruise calm - a bruise that Hongjoong was more than angry about, asking who had dared attack his brother. Minjoong choked and tried to dismiss it but Hongjoong had gotten aggressive-

Hongjoong had been different in these last sweltering months, and at first Minjoong had speculated it must be the unnatural weather they were experiencing, that he needed more light and fresh air - Minjoong believed that humans were not unlike plants in this way - but it occurred to him that Hongjoong had never been *this* extreme even in the hottest months before.

Their brotherhood had once been unshakeable, they marched through their lives so separately and yet always in arm. Their more recent division had come as a painful turn of events. Family had become secondary to Hongjoong and to Minjoong, a new family was forming so quickly that he was no longer sure if his biological family was any closer to him than the family that he had created as the product of his mind.

The kiss he had shared with Beomhwa continued to linger like a droplet of dew on his lips that he could not quite lick away. It was lipstick, staining his lips permanently and Minjoong realized - and feared - that he wanted more. He could not have more, but he wanted more.

Bum, bum-da-bum, bbbbum.

Minjoong brought the glass of water to his lips and drank a few gulps. Satisfied momentarily he turned his head to see through the window of the balcony that the front door remained locked as it had been. An indication that Hongjoong was somehow still at work. If Minjoong was a workaholic, lost in the art of chemistry and biology then his brother was a workaholic of the war-variety.

Perhaps the violent reactions came from his continued service. The Captain in the military could no longer sustain the pressures of being a Captain, the pressures of being sent out on missions that required violent intervention against other people.

Hongjoong had never been that kind of person, rough and tumble, but a killer? Minjoong could not see a world where Hongjoong was a killer at his core, no matter what the government made him do, or tried to make him do. His jaw tightened, had Hongjoong changed?

In the same way that Minjoong had grown doubtful of the government and its ironclad rule that seemed to have no fault in anything, Hongjoong changed, twisted to become a perfect pawn for the government. Had they become such extreme opposites, in such a short time?

Minjoong swallowed heavily at the thought, his mind reeling at the very idea that he could lose his brother. It was not something he had ever considered, not something he had ever wanted to consider.

He placed himself in those shoes now as he turned back towards the light, towards the eye and watched it flicker the way it did. Immediately Minjoong felt the pain of loss, and it struck him so quickly and deeply that he thought he might cry. His lungs collapsed inward and he shuddered to think that Hongjoong would ever abandon him for the sake of the government.

Bum, bum-da-bum, bbbbum.

The light’s presence reminded him of the feeling that he was being watched and that he could not cry out here and so he quickly turned back indoors, swinging the door to the balcony and disappearing inside where the air was cooler from a fan that the twins kept running when they were home.

Minjoong collapsed onto the couch, and all he could do was stare at the ceiling as the after print of the orange light danced in his eyesight. An afterthought, but still there.

Bum, bum-da-bum, bbbbum.

“Stop.” He whispered, but it would not stop, it continued to taunt him even when he closed his eyes and pushed himself into darkness. The water was unsteady in its cup, shaking, as if a wind were forming ripples on a pond’s surface soon to become cataclysmic waves.

A glob of water landed on Minjoong’s hand, and the cold sensation pulled him out of the feeling. He sat up a little bit, realizing that he had spilled his water and quietly - gently - slurped the liquid from the taut skin between his thumb and index finger, where the water had politely pooled.

The light was gone now, but only for now as he sat and stared into space.

Time escaped from Minjoong when there was the jingle of keys and the dull movement of a key in its slot before the front door opened and revealed a uniformed Hongjoong who was loosening his tie and quickly taking his shoes off.

“Long day?” Minjoong croaked, though not on purpose as he realized his voice sounded as if he had been sleeping.

“Unfortunately.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later.” Hongjoong was distant and cold. He dropped his briefcase by the door and threw his jacket off, revealing sweat stains on his shirt along his back and underneath his arms. He let out a groan, his shoulders curving forward as if he were finally allowed a moment to simply be himself.

“I didn’t make food, sorry.”

“Do we have leftovers?”

“I don’t know.”

“I thought you were the one who was supposed to know.” There was a snap to his voice, grumbling as Hongjoong stumbled to the kitchen almost as if he were belligerently drunk.

“Oh come on, give me a break. I’ve had a hard few weeks.”

“What could be so hard about pushing little numbers all day?”

It was not the way they usually spoke to each other, and the jab at his profession had Minjoong sitting up a little bit.

“It’s not just little numbers, plus you have no idea how much of that can be taxing.”

“Don’t worry, I know how other things can be taxing.”

“Right…”

It came over Hongjoong like a wave. He became a red-eyed demon, turning towards Minjoong as if he were one step from frothing at the mouth.

“Those damn rebels, they’re ruining everything!”

“Are you still dealing with fallout from the attack?”

“God! The paperwork, it’s ceiling high and when I finish one stack another arrives. So many of the people who were supposed to be doing this work, they’re fucking dead from the attack! Now the rest of us are having to work on it all!”

“Can’t your team take some of the burden?”

“No, they don’t have the clearance!”

Hongjoong’s body turned like a doll and he punched a nearby wall. The walls were made of concrete so his punch was a dull thud with no echo. Minjoong could see his brother grimace.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. While you get to play the little scientist, I’m doing real work, dealing with fucking rebels on the ground. Or dealing with the result of their attack.”

“I still work for the government, I provide a necessary service, I think.”

“See? You just *think*. You’re expendable, could probably find another-”

“-Now you can’t say that!” Minjoong stood up, he found the strength to say that then. It was unusual for him and Hongjoong to fight like this. They had not truly hurt each other since they were kids, over some toy that Hongjoong or Minjoong refused to share… But now Hongjoong was overstepping a line, and Minjoong with his bruised nose had lost much of the fear that he had once had of potential retaliation.

“And why not? It’s true, isn’t it? Could go to the university and just pick up some biologists there, no? Someone like me? I’m doing real work, and I have a talent that can’t be replaced as easily. You have to train a soldier, an officer of my status and caliber.”

“And I had to train too! I had to train my mind and prove my creativity. You think I just got to work without a single important contribution? Give me a break!”

“Give you a break? I-”

Hongjoong paused but Minjoong could see that his tongue was about to lash out again, just for a moment, before the twin stepped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The decorations on top rattled gently as he looked inside, ducking his head and disappearing from Minjoong’s view entirely.

Minjoong felt himself slowly recede back into the safety of the couch, his heart pounding in his head.

Bum, bum-da-bum, bbbbum.

They couldn’t scream too loudly, they could not fight. Their voices could carry and then a report could be filed that they were being too loud. If they were loud, that meant emotion to some degree and emotion could be penalized. Minjoong took several breaths then, trying to cool his mind so that he did not raise his voice against his brother again as he had moments ago. But his heart kept beating, the thought that his work was less valuable when he was irreplaceable in the government with his work, it was gnawing at him like a wolf. A beast from a fairytale, from the frayed edges of a book almost burned not long after the civil war had ended.

“God…” Minjoong exhaled, there was a touch of him that felt defeated at the moment. He didn’t want to feel this way but he did. “You know, you can’t say things like that, Hongjoong.”

“Why?” Hongjoong’s voice is muffled clearly still looking at his dinner options.

“It’s hurtful. Don’t you think about those things anymore? Hurting someone’s feelings.”

“We aren’t supposed to have feelings to hurt.”

“And since when do we not have feelings?”

“Since the government has told us as much.”

“Realistically, we can try all we want to be neutral zombies, but our brains are biologically wired to emotion. It is how we process our lives.”

“It does not matter.”

“Then why did you get so angry, just now?”

“I didn’t.”

It was a denial too far and Minjoong remained silent for a moment. Hongjoong had truly fallen into the hands of the government, and he had fallen so quickly and steadily that Minjoong was certain that he no longer knew his twin the way that he had once had. This was not even the same boy who had invited his colleague to a family dinner on a holiday. This was not the protective and kind man that he had once been. He had become… Something else.

It was hard to pinpoint but there was something there, at the core of him that had been corrupted.

Bum, bum-da-bum, bbbbum.

“I need fresh air.” Minjoong said quietly, hearing the clanging and clinking of bottles and pots from inside of the fridge as he stood up and stepped back out onto the balcony. The air was not fresh here, it was clogged with city pollution, filled with a latent heat and humidity from the day and a constant smog that filtered into the lungs.

Perhaps a mixture of this and the constant missions was what had ultimately sent Woosung into surgery. Precious Woosung who was being cared for so well by the rest of the team in their compound. Still, it was a life worth mourning - Minjoong knew that Woosung did not have long. It was hard to say exactly how long, even the surgeon had said as much, but the days were limited. Minjoong just hoped that he and Han would at least be able to get some closure before that day would inevitably come. Above all else he hoped that Woosung would not have his body put under stress anymore, no more missions…

It was a thought not worth having, because Minjoong knew that no matter how much he would protest the government would send the team out and Woosung would be required to go no matter how weak he was.

This thought, however, only fueled Minjoong’s distrust of the superiors, the masked individuals who seemed to hold their power over the world with such intensity that they were just as oppressive as the heat in the day and night time, and just as oppressive as the light that flickered, poignantly straight on the sidewalk of a street below.

The light flickered again and then it suddenly shut off entirely. Minjoong stared into darkness, the world was just as suddenly filled with neon signs. Minjoong became too aware of all the neon, the lights of a cyber forward world. The government was enthralled with this, the lights an ironic display of life and emotion - pink, purple, blue yellow, and everything in-between. Deeply ironic as each person lived under the thumb of the masked one’s, wearing grey masks on their faces. There were no colors to display, not even the flash of red of anger would the government accept as Minjoong and Hongjoong argued.

Hongjoong in denial of his gentle rebellion, and Minjoong fully aware of their interaction being nothing more than quiet, private rebellion.

In this darkness, Minjoong stood completely isolated from the world. The noise of tension was scraping at the back of his skull, it was as loud as one would expect - a dull din, orchestral, painful and yet so distant all at the same time. No closer than the sound of a car’s horn somewhere closer to the center signalling their dismay at something or someone. No closer than the sound of the sirens that were encroaching upon someone’s privacy, ready to take them away never to be seen again. Rarely would they be killed, but often kept away from society. Minjoong had seen a glimpse of the files, an accidental mindless but too late of a screen flickering away on his bosses screen has revealed as much. People, the unsavory kind, put away into prisons or camps. They were not killed, they were just kept away. Their labor was the source of many prominently necessary but simple things in the city. Soap, shampoo, cotton clothes, hair brushes, tooth brushes, these were all made by those rebellious fingers that had once voiced themselves above the din that Minjoong felt in the back of his head now. Their dissent was rewarded with a lifetime of thankless labor, thankless because no one would know where they were, or what the conditions in which they were kept…

A cold sweat pricked down Minjoong’s spine. Like lightning he stood a little straighter, his breath hitched in his throat like a glob of molasses. It could be him, it could be Hongjoong, gone forever from the world if they rebelled. Yet, here he was, rebelling in his own stupid way. Foolish, it was a foolish thing to do. But he was overwhelmed by the feeling of it, he wanted to fight back so bad now. It was as part of him as bringing air into his lungs, as natural as the rapid blink and flutter of his eyes and eyelashes. Rebellion was natural, when your entire existence has become that of oppression and stagnation.

Minjoong returned to the balcony door. It swung open now, the smell of food cooking immediately assaulted his nostrils that flared at the steam that was rising from the stove over which Hongjoong was meticulously bent over - wearing an apron now by the appearance of his waist - the misery and anger is still there in Hongjoong’s shoulders.

“I can’t do this anymore Hongjoong, we have to talk. You have to listen to me.”

“I really don’t.”

“You do.”

There is a scraping sound, wood against a metal pan, the sizzle of something wet evaporating once it hit the heated coil on the stove.

“I do not.” Hongjoong’s voice is a coiled snarl.

“You can’t say things that insult my work. You don’t even know what I do, I have a higher clearance than you.” This was simply the truth, and Minjoong did not know how else to push this through Hongjoong’s head, who was shaking it as Minjoong spoke.

“I can say what I please.”

“You can, but that may mean I won’t be living here any longer.”

“I suppose mom and dad wouldn’t like that, but I wouldn’t care.”

“Really? You think you can afford this space by yourself.”

This is a sobering thought, Minjoong knows that Hongjoong cannot afford the space. Minjoong knows that he himself cannot afford the space, and he has a decent salary, all things considered. He budgets and is not wasteful, neither was Hongjoong but the truth was that they both have to pitch in to make things work. This clearly stifled Hongjoong, his arm was moving but he did not speak as he continued to heat up the leftovers.

Minjoong heard his brother inhale, it was long and drawn out, and then he continued to say nothing.

“I- I don’t want this to be our relationship, Hongjoong. We’re brothers, we’re more than brothers. We’re twins! There is no bond like ours, or at least there is not supposed to be. Do you know how hard it is for me to watch you?”

“Watch me?” Hongjoong turned his head slightly, as if he was enraged at the idea.

“Yes. I watch you and I see how much you have changed. Your job, it’s changed you. This isn’t the boy I knew, the one I grew up with.”

“And you? You have changed too!”

“I’m more cautious, perhaps.” Minjoong tried to reason, though he knew his voice was wavering at best, unconvinced of its existence.

“Cautious? You speak of emotions as if it is normal now to do so. As if the government has suddenly mandated that we all show our feelings to the world. As if fifty years of law have been revoked!”

The food was now forgotten as Hongjoong faced Minjoong entirely holding the wooden cooking spoon that dripped with a thick red sauce. It dripped onto his hand, and he did not seem to care at all.

“It’s the truth! We’re not biologically programmed to be like this.”

“It is a training of the mind! You know this! We have gone through enough schooling to know that we must fight our natural urges. This is what leads to contentment. If we do not feel, if we do not experience emotions, we will be content. You must be numb, empty.”

Minjoong’s throat felt tight and his eyebrows knit together.

“But we can’t, look at us now.”

“We are not content. You are angry, and so am I. Yet if we did not feel, if we put it all away somewhere in a box, then we would finally experience true contentment.”

“It’s impossible, if we repress it will come gushing out of us like a geyser one day! We will hurt someone! This is NOT a way to go on living, and the government is wrong for it.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s the truth! All they do is try to lie to us, control us, create rules, and repression. There is so much surveillance too, to make sure we are constantly paranoid. Like that damn light!” Minjoong threw his arm out towards the balcony door, his finger pointing as if he was pointing towards a real life human, the flickering, blinking, eye that would never stop watching them, or at least making them, no, him, feel like he was being watched. Every moment, of every day, even if it was not true. Even if he could sit here in his apartment forever and the government would never know what he was doing here all day. There were no cameras here, but they made him feel like there were. It made him sick.

“Shut up!” Hongjoong was a blistering fire, he was a tornado ready to destroy. His fist slammed loudly into the counter that he stood near, flinging the sauce everywhere from the spoon. It coated the white walls nearby, and a part of Hongjoong’s white shirt.

“AND THE FUCKING CRUELTY!” Minjoong felt sick, as if he might vomit, the feeling was easily and quickly building in his stomach. He could vomit now, but he did not know if he would feel even a modicum of relief from doing so. The feeling continued to build, as Hongjoong moved from the kitchen - having abandoned the spoon - towards Minjoong.

Hongjoong was grabbing Minjoong by the shoulders, his fingers wrapping into the shirt’s shoulders. He pulled at the hems where the stitching of the shoulder meets. He pulled and there was the slightest sound of the fabric tearing.

“Shut the fuck up, now.” Hongjoong’s voice was low, deadly, that of a killer and nothing less. It was a man who derived pleasure from cruelty, from serving the government with such ease that he did not fear to speak to his lifelong friend, the one person that he shared a womb with, dark and warm, as if he were nothing more than another victim, another rebel that needed putting away, putting down.

The bubble burst, and Minjoong’s desire to vomit had transformed. It was fear and tears that were welling uncontrollably in his eyes. They were there, on the precipice, for a moment, the flicker of reluctance and then finally they were a waterfall down Minjoong’s already damp cheeks from the humidity. The biologist was sliding down to the ground, holding onto Hongjoong’s wrists and he was desperate as if he was holding onto a God in fear, and holding onto his brother in tragedy, the part of his brother that was still the one from before. The one that had not been torn away from him in a cruel twist of fate.

“God, Hongjoong-” His voice was raised, and it did not sound like his own, and he sobbed, completely surrendering to the feeling. It was a foreign one at first, but now it felt like an old friend that had come to visit. This intense grief, he wanted to dive headfirst into it, and it was so easy to let go. The government had no hold on his heart, and no control over the tears that kept coming down from his eyes. Tears not from a natural reaction as a result of dust or ash flying into his eyes, but rather one’s that he had conjured from a place of genuine emotion. Emotion that he had allowed to pour forth uncontrolled.

It was almost too easy. As if he had always been able to do this, even in the moments that he felt he could not. It was a sensation that was sobering, empowering and painful. It washed over him like a tide, and he found himself overwhelmed by that tide, on his knees pressing his forehead and wet face directly into his brother’s thigh.

“Brother, my brother.”

It was a deep plea from the bowels of his very being. If there was a fragment or a shred of Hongjoong still left, he would have felt it.

Minjoong felt relief against his shoulders and the slightest push to rock him back into a more comfortable position. His defiance had turned into a strange pose of submission, a pose of prayer as he sat back on his knees, his palms flat on his lap staring into nothing, into a dark abyss.

Hongjoong’s touch was gone, his brother had returned to the stove. Somewhere in the distance Minjoong heard a ‘clack’ as the coils were turned off and they crackled as the air surrounding them started to cool them down, contracting the coils around, making them microscopically shrink. The stove clicked with the cooling too.

As Minjoong slowly returned from his prayer he noticed in his peripheral vision that the orange light had returned, casting an orange and bitter shadow along one of the walls of their balcony. It flickered in its old pattern, familiar. The orange light forced Minjoong’s arms to move, his hands up to his face as he covered it and wiped the tears away as if the return of the light was the return of a watching eye that was keeping him in line. He was so close, so close to being brave and true to himself. All the while he still bent beneath the boot of a light.

Just in case, Minjoong thought as he started to stand up, his knees creaking as he did so and stumbled back to the couch. He sat there a while, his attention meandering through everything, even if the paranoid potentiality that his thoughts were already recorded by a microchip that had been placed into his mind at birth. The paranoid thought that the government already knew of everything that he hid here, of all the formulas that he had ever written down, that they could-

No. The thought had stopped and Minjoong was sitting up a little bit. No technology existed - he would have surely found out, right? - that could do such a thing, if it did exist, they would not need him for his specific formula to create the clones and to maintain them too. Their maintenance was the very reason Minjoong, even as a more junior biologist - despite having been there for a little while now - was such a vital part of the entire team. He was a brilliant researcher, one who understood chemistry and biology as easily as he knew how to walk. They needed him.

The government needed him. The superior masked one’s needed him. Hongjoong needed him too, though his twin did not seem to know this.

Minjoong realized in that moment the amount of power he possessed, and how easily he could take all of that power away. It was tempting, for a moment, it might be easier to end it at all after all, than to consider any other options. But he displaced this thought too - he could not leave Beomhwa to care for the rest. He could not leave them all to slowly deteriorate into nothingness.

He could not leave them.

Minjoong took a deep breath in, all emotion was now wiped from his face. For a moment he felt that flash of contentment that was promised. He could mindlessly sit here for hours, knowing that he in one hand held a great deal of power, and if he went through the motions right, he could change the world.

He could change things in a way that Hongjoong could never change them. Try as the Captain might, Minjoong could alter the way the world functioned, the trajectory that it was being taken down on. He could create a perfect world, a utopia, where everyone was allowed to show emotions, and immortality was available for those who wanted it.

“Yes.” Minjoong whispered to himself, he was inspired and re-inspired by the thought.

“What?”

“I can do it.”

“Do what?”

Silence. Minjoong did not speak further. If he shared with Hongjoong, his entire plan could be stopped, could be put on pause with his imprisonment, or worse.

The world came back into focus and Minjoong was looking towards Hongjoong.

“Don’t worry about it, Hongjoong. It’s work related.”

“Nerdy stuff, hm?” Hongjoong communicated as if he had not just been holding his brother down on his knees with great pressure in his strong hands.

“Mhmm.” It was a lie, and when an innocent lie had once been difficult for Minjoong to speak to his brother, now it was easy. It was distorted by his idea that if he lied now, he could save his brother. That he could save everyone, he could save those in the city and those who lived outside of it; civilians, rebels, the hard workers and the lazy ones too. He could save Hongjoong and Beomhwa.

Minjoong would be a great leader one day, the thought crossed his mind as quickly as a blink. It shifted and morphed into other thoughts, but it was still there. The thought, a seed planted, deep in the back of his mind, but there, lingering, growing.

The day that this thought sprouted and became living, breathing green was the day Minjoong would liberate the world.

Chapter Text

It was hard to discern whether a day had passed or a week, though Yeosang reckoned it must have been a week since he had seen Captain Kim Hongjoong. A week, since he had fallen apart in front of the man, questioning him and the world that he lived in, the function that he provided for the world, the function anyone on the team provided. Those following days were silent, long, hot and drawn out. It had become almost insufferable, the silence. Yeosang started to come back to work, he filed paperwork and left the office at some bitterly ‘normal’ time just before the sun started to move beyond the horizon. The sun was always just a bleak silver light, even in the summer months though it was entirely too hot to bear for one reason or another. Yeosang feared that the sky was a simulation, like everything else in the city. It possessed no real form, it was nebulous. After all, he had seen the real sun time and time again in the desert, where the skies seemed piercingly blue and endless. The sun there was a bright orb, yellow, orange and fiery that cast powerful rays in every direction that made the vision swim.

The city's sun was just as limited as the people were.

The silence of his confrontation had grown into a tremor, a high-pitched sound in his ears at all times. It was paranoia, growing with every day that he woke up, woke up and found his apartment still empty, and the old man still needing help to get down the stairs to go for his walk. Every day there was not a knife to his throat, the clinking of shackles nearby, and every day Yeosang feared that the chances of such a thing were growing. His Captain was just as watched as anyone else, which meant his outburst was noted. If not by Hongjoong himself, then someone else who would report on everything that Yeosang had dared to say in that moment of weakness, in that unresolved moment of forbidden emotion, fueled by a feeling of loss and betrayal.

Today he woke up as he had before, sweating and ready to find a dagger against him. His eyelashes fluttered open, his head throbbing from a lack of sleep. He swallowed heavily, finding once again no weapon pressed against him, no relief of cool metal. This relief gave way to a new relief and Yeosang rolled over and shuffled to relieve himself before he dressed for work and went to the office.

A coward. Yeosang believed himself to be a coward because the very moment he had left Hongjoong’s office that day, he should have left the city. He should have taken a drone and a gun, and joined the rebellion forces. He should have exiled himself. But he could not bring himself to do so, he was stuck on the edge of knowing what he should do, and what he felt he had to do.

Yeosang could not leave behind Jongho, and a part of him was still pulled, no, woven to the fabric of the team’s tapestry. They were a team of eight, not seven. How could he ever leave them in the dark and dust the way that his mind considered for him to do? He couldn’t.

So he was a bitter coward, the most lecherous, the worst kind. Unable to do what was right, because it was far more complicated than he wanted it to be.

Even if he ran with Jongho, how far could they get before they were caught? How long could they survive? Would Jongho even agree to leaving?

These thoughts dotted and flooded Yeosang’s mind on a daily basis ever since his outburst, every day that he sat, encompassed by his cubicle and let himself be consumed. But inaction and fear kept him rooted at his desk, performing menial tasks that were offloaded onto him by his Captain, or someone else, because there were less government employees now and someone else had to pick up the slack. The entire team would inevitably return to the office, all of them incoherently droning about coffee, or their favorite water flavors in the dull recesses of Yeosang’s mind.

He left work when the sun was setting. It was darker than normal but something had held him up. A not so interesting report that he had to help amend for its mistakes. A debriefing provided to Yeosang from another team.

Yeosang’s head was hurting, the pounding of it intensified since he had woken up and made him want to crack his skull against a brick wall to relieve some of the pressure. It started at the base of his neck, the pain radiating to his shoulders and up to the crook of his cranium. He rubbed at the back of it in a desperate plea to make the radiation stop. It dripped into his eye, the one where his birthmark sat, something of beauty some had said, and others bid him to cover it up. The negative comments had often gotten to Yeosang who used a basic cream to distort the reddish pigment near his eye. He rubbed at it now as his temple pulsed, the cream smearing and revealing the gentle outline that Jongho has once called his heart beating in Yeosang’s mind. It had made Yeosang blush and pushed Jongho away, but Jongho had only given him a gummy and cheesy smile that felt like it should have been kept a secret.

Stupid, Yeosang thought now, though the memory was one he was incredibly fond of. It was a memory he treasured the most out of all the memories that he did have of himself and Jongho, because it was the only time that he felt like there could have been more - but there never was.

The pain was so much that Yeosang did not see the man pointing and shouting as he walked out into the main square where the trains arrive on a platform. He was in so much pain that he did not hear the shouting, or the domino effect of pointing, and then more shouting. It was as if the shouting was in another room, or in his imagination entirely. It was not here, it wa-

BOOM.

Yeosang was uncertain of where he was, uncertain of what was happening. His ears were ringing, his headache suddenly became an old friend when he hit his head against the ground and was finding his footing pathetically underneath him like a newborn animal, a deer whose legs were splayed on ice.

There was smoke, and rubble flying, a piece of concrete flicked past Yeosang’s cheek cutting into his face and now he felt the warmth of his own blood rushing freely down his face to his chin, down his neck.

Yeosang started to move, each step was agony as he was moving away from the initial explosion, a hand over his nose as he attempted to filter the air that had become unclear. His eyes squinted, he could not see most anything except the outlines of people running for their lives.

There was more shouting, and the shouting grew more intense. Yeosang was turning around just in time to see a line of ten men and women appearing through the burning grey and black. They were all uniformed and they were all holding weapons. Yeosang was quick to throw himself behind a nearby wall, his back curling as he braced for potential impact. He prayed that he had not been spotted, but his cough will likely give his location away.

His chest was contracting, and he knew that he could not keep breathing this air without a mask. He pressed his nose deeply into his shirt hoping to filter just enough so that he could have a chance to run.

No.

He was grabbed by the hair, by a mysterious hand, blackened and attached to nothing until a face lifted Yeosang to stand.

“We have a government boy over here!” The man called out, his teeth were crooked and yellow. He smelled of gunpowder and the slightest musk of sweat. Yeosang was tense, unable to fight currently, he knew better than to provoke in such a situation.

“Civilian type or?” Someone else shouted, but their form quickly became visible. A woman with broad shoulders, she appeared more like a pirate than a rebel that Yeosang had come to know and imagine in his mind’s eye when he did imagine rebels.

“Ah definitely civilian, no muscle on this one.” The man laughed, squeezing Yeosang’s bicep briefly and Yeosang pulled his arm away. He didn’t say a word, just coughed.

“Oh, feisty.” The woman snarked and looked behind herself through the smoke.

“Take him to base an-”

BOOM.

Another explosion shattered where they were standing and flung debris into the air, all three flying backwards. The man’s fingers were splayed from Yeosang’s hair releasing the soldier as he landed hard against the ground, rolling into a wall.

There was a strange dampness that spread over his body, his torso, his fingers, one hand entirely numb. Yeosang let out a soft groan, but this hurt, as if his throat was compromised. His chest was on fire, as if someone had lit it with kerosene. The soldier flinched as he tried to pull himself up. Sitting was almost an impossibility, his right arm was useless and bent at an incorrect angle, though the trauma of it had not yet settled into Yeosang’s mind. His chest was pierced, it was hard to tell what had pierced it - shrapnel it seemed to him the more he looked as his battered torso which was bleeding profusely. His lips were cracked from the impact and his ears were without function as the world was the swell of an ocean, and the piercing ring of a mosquito pinching itself into a warm and moist place.

Yeosang was stronger than this, or so he told himself as he got up onto one knee and immediately collapsed into a nearby wall. His good arm braced the fall, saving his head and neck from further injury but he remained laying there on that spot, his vision was flickering in and out and breathing was becoming more and more difficult.

“Fuck…”

It was all he could say, or so he thought. His mind was wandering, aimless as he bargained for his life.

No one would come to save him, nobody would know to save him now. He would bleed out here, he knew he would. He flinched painfully at the idea but did not try to fix it, he did not try to call out for anyone. Perhaps he could die a coward’s death before he had the chance to become a hero for himself.

But ‘fuck’ that was not the last word he wanted to have said, not the last word that he wanted to fall from his lips before the curtains drew and the audience started to file out from the theater of his life, his unusually boring, cowardly life.

It took everything, a ragged breath, and the pain like lava in his chest to overcome. A dirty finger nail scraped against the nearby wall, peeling back some of the crumbling concrete. It fell aside like clay, fragile as the sand.

“Jongho.”

That was the last word.

That was the last word he wanted the world to hear, for him to send those delicate vibrations out there, they would remain forever. Even if Jongho did not know and could never know, at least it was there. Perhaps Jongho would think of him, and think of all the times that he had said his name, called for the youngest on the team as fondly as he had now. Perhaps, perhaps not. Yeosang let go then, he let his mind enter a state of total euphoria, he surrendered to the embrace of death, completely.

It was warm, death. It was easy. The chaos of the world faded, the anxiety of his life disappeared. Nothing but bliss was left, and darkness. It was so easy to float in that darkness, and Yeosang thought nothing, he remembered nothing. There was no color, or absence of it. It was a feeling most eternal.

But soon, though he did not know how soon, thoughts started to flicker back in. They were just as anxious as the thoughts before. There was a distant droning sound, the sound of clinking, and footsteps, and the sound of people talking. They were talking about nothing, or at least Yeosang could not hear what it was they said or the topics they discussed. The shuffle of fabric, the strange cool sensation against his skin. Each sense slowly came back one after the next, but it was his vision that came last.

Yeosang believed he might have been in heaven at first, he was staring at an abysmally white ceiling. But he had not thought that heaven or something akin to it would have been so fluorescent, so unnatural. He had imagined something more, if he had imagined anything at all. In truth the thoughts were mostly adolescent, they had been stuffed into the back of his mind ever since he had entered school.

The sensation of his throat bobbing made him realize that he was alive. That this was not heaven, that this was a hospital. Yeosang groaned, but his groan sounded far away, his ears were in pain, still swallowed by that oceanic swell. There was a gentle beeping noise nearby which showed a monitor with all of his vitals, the spike of his heart rate as he came to being awake.

“Ugh.”

It was a disappointment to still be alive, he had already become so submissive to the thought of death that coming back to this moment was a sad thing for him to experience.

Yeosang wriggled, wanting to adjust, but he could not. He was firmly attached to the bed frame that he was in. Looking down he realized that he was heavily bandaged and his arm was in a strange sling.

“Perfect.” He whispered, his voice carrying every hint of sarcasm that it could muster in the moment. He continued to lay there, staring at the ceiling.

The feeling of paranoia was returning now, his stomach coiling into a tight spring. Tighter than it had been before now that he was totally immobile. Before, he could have at least fought back, but now he was completely vulnerable and this scared him more than anything else. His jaw gently tightened at the idea, but the pain along his jaw and neck dissuaded him from continuing. He forced himself to relax, and forced himself to lay there in a full state of relaxation while his mind created a storm, a tempest of possibilities.

Yeosang closed his eyes after a while and stared into the darkness that he had grown used to, but now it was just darkness and not the brush of death’s shoulder near him, death’s breath upon his neck. The darkness was a secondary relief to what he had felt when he had thought he finally passed away with only Jongho on his tongue.

The young man had not yet figured out which would be easier, to have passed away or to lay here and recover knowing that he would get to see Jongho again. Though that was presuming his injuries were not so atrocious that they would take him out of combat like Yunho had been for a while. Perhaps with his primary skillset the government would not be so cruel as to put him on an indefinite hiatus. Though, it was most certainly hard to tell.

Soft but certainly calloused fingertips brushed against fingertips. They created a gentle pattern, like raindrops or dew drops against skin on a rainy day. Yeosang dared to let a sigh pass his lips, as if relief moved through his body at the stimulation of movement that he was able to provide himself. It was strangely comforting, in this position that he found himself in - completely bound to the hospital bed, as if his injuries posed a greater threat than initially felt or believed.

The fingertips playing against fingertips were like petal drops and they superseded the growing footsteps that fell against the manicured hospital floor heavily. The volume grew until it ceased. The door opened soon after and a young nurse walked in. He was not much taller than Jongho, but he had a thin body. Not frail, in the way Yeosang expected him to be, but thin.

“Oh, you’re awake.” The nurse’s tone was positive, welcoming. As if he was aroused by the idea of Yeosang being awake.

“Was I not going to be?” Yeosang’s voice was foreign, it was strange, straining, croaking. It was not as powerful as he had thought it would be.

“You were found in the rubble, after the attack…”

“Right.”

“Do you remember anything?”

“They wanted to kidnap me.”

“Kidnap you?” The nurse was fiddling with something, but Yeosang couldn't see.

“The attackers I suppose, they grabbed me, I think they were going to take me.”

“Is there anything else you remember?”

Yeosang was hesitant, he felt as if anything he said could be recorded, and most certainly would be reported. There was reluctance as he shifted slightly, within the confines of the straps that had him bound down.

“Not really. I hit a wall, I kind of remember thinking I was going to die.”

“That’s understandable, you were not in a good position. There was a lot of residue in your lungs too that we had to siphon.”

Yeosang grimaced, the idea that his lungs were contaminated was not one that he wanted to hear.

“Can you lift me up?” Yeosang requested, his voice was as dim and rasping as it had been when the nurse walked in.

“Oh, yes. Just for now. You need more rest if you are going to recover. The amount of shrapnel we pulled out of your body… It’s a miracle you’re even talking to me. The doctor thought you had taken on quite permanent lung damage.”

Yeosang’s jaw tightened, but he was happy when the bed was angled on a pump, allowing him to see.
His fingers were still gently running over his own fingertips, what was stimulating moments ago was now a strange gesture of self-soothing.

“When will I be released?”

“Not s-”

The young nurse was cut off, and three individuals were filing into Yeosang’s room. However, they did not look like nurses or doctors. They wore glimmering white uniforms, with masks that completely concealed their faces. The nurse was not too happy, it was clear that he was just as unaware of who these people were as Yeosang was. What was worse, was that the nurse was a standing body now between Yeosang and the masked people. They loomed ominously, and it did not take long for anyone to realize that they possessed some sort of power, be it physical, mental, or literal.

“Sorry, you don’t have authorization to be here.” The nurse's voice was nervous, his body was nervous. He was a defensive, small and quivering thing.

Yeosang’s fingers had stopped moving, now balled into fists, pressing further into the palm of his hand with an infinite amount of power.

“Is that so?” The one in the center spoke. The voice was masculine but robotic, distorted. Not human.

“Please leave.”

“No.”

The nurse grew bolder and stepped forward trying to usher all three out of the door.

“Leave, now. Or I will have to call secu-” The boy crumpled to the ground before he could finish his sentence, a rag doll. The only thing that left his lips was a pathetic whimper that ended in an airy sigh.

Thud.

His body was resting now, and Yeosang maintained his position as one of the masked individuals retracted his hand.

“Don’t come near me.” Yeosang warned, though he knew that he could do nothing about any one of them approaching his bedside.

They did not move.

They remained perfectly steady, standing, their necks clearly turned to face towards Yeosang, the curved mask - like a fencing mask - was aggressively facing forward.

Yeosang gulped, the air in his lungs felt suddenly shallow.

“Kang Yeosang.”

“Don’t talk to me, y-you’re one of those.”

“One of those?”

“One of those, that follows my team around.”

A distorted, disgusting laugh followed. It felt hollow, and certainly wrong. It was an emotion unexpressed.

“No. We are not one of ‘those’,” The robotic being confirmed as it walked towards Yeosang’s bed, a singularity. The other two remained bolted to the ground where they had come in.

“It may be hard for you to process, Kang Yeosang, but you have been going against protocol.”

“What?”

“You have questioned your Captain Kim Hongjoong, questioned the motives of your great and fierce leadership. Your actions and mindset are moving against the grain of the world and its perfect order.”

Yeosang adjusted himself in the bed, but he could only barely do so as he stared up at the masked individual who had approached. The masked one stared down, not a single facial feature was visible. It was coated in darkness, prismatic by the way the jewels played off of the fluorescent lights of the hospital room. They were like opals and diamonds, they were as ironic as the neon lights that hung in the city streets.

“What shall we do with a dissenter, Kang Yeosang? Do you know what happens to dissenters?”

Yeosang swallowed again, his gaze careful in the way it travelled away from the masked one towards the young nurse laying on the ground, unconscious.

“Good. You understand. You are not stupid. Then you understand what we must also do to you.”

Yeosang’s body was tight now, not unlike a corpse going through its natural stages of being very much dead.

“No.”

“No?” The voice continued in its robotic fashion, its question rhetorical, condescending. It did not want a true answer, but it appeared curious of what Yeosang would grant it.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t, I don’t want to become like him.”

“A brave man, is he not? He put himself between us and his precious patient. How unfortunate that we were the wrong people to protect you against. Do you not wish to be brave, Kang Yeosang?”

“I do but-”

“But?”

“Bravery has no place in the society.”

“Mm, very good.” The mask nodded, the fabric shuffled heavily. “And why not?”

Yeosang felt like a schoolboy, being drilled by one of his teachers on the finer points of being a good citizen falling in line with the hierarchy. It was not an answer he wanted to give, because he was not sure he believed it, but the fear that he felt coiled in the pit of his stomach now was like the fear that he had felt when a particularly angry teacher had bent over him as a child and smacked him across the cheek for reciting something incorrectly. It was a powerless, ephemeral kind of fear. It was not grabbable, not tameable, it was a fear that struck one to the core and paralyzed. It was a snake’s venom, fast and strong.

“Bravery does not give us contentment.”

“How is contentment achieved?”

“If we brace ourselves, our mind’s against the free waves of emotions. Contentment is obtained through the eradication of feeling, contentment is achieved when one surrenders mind, body and all control to the government. To be empty, is to be content.”

The words echoed through the room, but their meaning was just as hollow as they had been when Yeosang had been in school. Back then, when the sun still seemed to filter through the school windows on occasion, Yeosang would be told to stand and recite. He would recite many lines, similar to this one. Some lines focused more heavily on emotion, other’s on serving the government. Still as a child Yeosang understood very little of it, and even now as he recited it, he only felt the hollow ring of fear.

There was no contentment in any of this, there could be no contentment if one lived life in fear. Yeosang realized just how much he wanted out, and the rebellion in his mind was louder than it had been even with all the fear that was washing over him. It was the fear that was driving him too, the fear that was reminding him that he wanted to feel alive, *alive* not to feel content. Contentment was nothingness, it was protection from everything negative, but it was also the restriction on anything positive. Everything that made life worth living.

Yeosang wriggled in his restraints. One of them was looser than before, but he was still unable to pull out completely.

“You see? You remember it all well, but I see in your eyes that you are not ready for the real world yet.”

Yeosang was a bird beating against the wiry cage that was keeping him locked in. He let out a cry.

“No, no.” The voice attempted to soothe, but it was failing as Yeosang’s muscles were bursting against the constraints.

“Do not do anything you will regret.” This was a warning, but Yeosang did not stop, not until the veins of his arms were bulging, and the wounds popped, becoming fountains of blood once more that soaked into the bandages around his chest.

“I need out, let me go! You must stop all of this! You must! You have all the power to make it all stop!” Yeosang was begging, pleading, at whatever shred of humanity was left that he could reach it in the individual that was still looming over him.

“This world can be better, if you just let people fly free!”

The cry was a step too far, the implication of freedom, of flight, the individual leaned away arms folded behind the torso.

“I fear you must be retrained, Kang Yeosang.” The words were bitter, and the sound of that bitterness fell through the grate of the mask, buried itself deep into Yeosang’s skin, like a creature born from hatred itself.

Yeosang thrashed against the restraints again, the bird's wings were battered and bruised. Tiny veins bursting at the seams pleading to be set free.

“Come.”

The word was one and simple, the two accompanying masked individuals in their identical outfits approached the bed and grabbed onto Yeosang’s limbs hard, so hard that he felt their bruising and inhuman grip in tandem with the pain of his thrashing.

“Let go!”

They held harder, they bid Yeosang to let go of his struggle, to become content with his caged existence even when the sky had finally revealed itself to him, blue and shining. It was a universe of stars all above him and he was relegated to the earth.

“LET GO!”

The cry brought the attention of another practitioner, a doctor, old and greying, walked in.

“What i-”

But the old and greying man stopped in his tracks when he saw the tears streaming down Yeosang’s face, his arms bulging and the blood pushing out from behind the bandages, soaking them through completely.

“Excuse me.” Was all the doctor said before disappearing, shutting the door behind himself as he stepped mindlessly over the nurse who had bravely put himself in opposition to the fiends that held Yeosang down now.

“It will be easier for you, Kang Yeosang.”

It felt like a drum beat was going off in Yeosang’s ears that began to intensify when gloved fingers clasp around his neck and forced him down against the bedding completely.

At first the sensation was hard, it was painful, it created fear and panic in his body. His body naturally protested against the feeling, the stimulation of suffocation. Fight. Thrash. Do anything to get away. But he could not.

Yeosang inhaled, he rasped for air, precious sweet air that he had never wanted so badly until this very moment. He knew that his flesh was turning pink, then bright red, and as he started to see stars blink into his eyelashes, he knew that he must be as pale as he had ever been.

By the time Yeosang turned blue and shades of purple, he knew nothing. He had collapsed not unlike the nurse on the ground, his body limp and without effort against those that had held him down. Yeosang was blood, sweat, and the slightest heartbeat that beat against his ribcage in spite of all the trauma that his body had suffered.

The darkness of his mind pleaded desperately to have one last chance to see Jongho, to speak his name, so it was the last thing on his lips, the last thing on his mind. But with the euphoria of swimming through the abyss, through nothingness, Jongho did not even come to mind. His mind was simply peppered with crystals that cropped up in different colors, and seemingly an infinite void.

Yeosang was unsure when he woke up again, and if he had woken up or not. When he felt his eyelashes flutter against his face, he saw nothing. There was darkness all around him, not even a sliver of light from a door poorly placed upon its hinges. There was a feeling on his body, weightless, as if he was floating. Yeosang’s muscles flinched, and when they did he felt electricity course through his veins.

A cry rumbled through his throat as his head collapsed into the air, held up by nothing but by whatever device separated his limbs into different directions, grasping him, holding wrists, ankles and torso up. The pain was unspeakable, and it sparked a strange after effect through his muscles that felt the static build up until they twitched again, and the electricity pulsed through him again.

“Kang Yeosang. Retraining status.” It was a strange discordant woman’s voice, she was a robotic announcer of his fate in this floating darkness that tempted him with begging for the end of it all.

Chapter Text

It was dark when Han became acutely aware of the way his legs and arms were tangled with Woosung’s limbs. Nighttime was signaled to them, but they had already been asleep. Woosung’s open wounds had mostly healed but his state, in spite of Youngho’s attempts to make him better, was deteriorating. Han could not leave Woosung’s side, and even when Woosung was damp with sweat, Han remained near him, tolerating the heat with a powerful resolution that can only be described as love.

Han found his nose pressed against Woosung’s hair, long and dark, and even now when it had thinned in places, it seemed so thick that it was difficult for Han to take a breath. His partner had a scent; it was sweet and sickly but through those main notes there was still the same Woosung, who smelled salty and sour. The blond one groaned gently, his lips mouthing desperately at Woosung’s neck. His tongue flicked across the clammy flesh, tasting him as he often did, because he was desperate to be one with Woosung every hour and minute that they were able to be together.

Though, frankly, Han realized that without any missions the group was able to constantly be together. He exploited this, he hardly ate breakfast or anything at all. He retrieved the meals that were brought to them and fed his fair share to Woosung by the spoonful, in hopes that Woosung would feel better on the back of nutrition.

“It tastes like shit.” Woosung murmured, honest with how he felt now, at least with Han. The rest of the group Woosung was too concerned to worry with his ailments, and every day he put on a small smile to Youngho, telling him that he felt better as a result of his care - even if he did not.

Han could tell if he felt better, he could tell the way his muscles coiled and relaxed beneath his touch. He could tell when his breathing had grown more shallow, and he could tell when the smile reached his eyes and pinched the corners of them, wrinkling them with genuine delight.

Beomhwa visited the room on a daily basis. He sat at the foot of the bed with Han and Woosung. He imparted stories to them, stories that he had made up to amuse Woosung above all else. Woosung did appear amused now and again, but when a coughing fit arrived as a result of his laughter Beomhwa apologized, offered a single strawberry and left.

Han knew they were supposed to be asleep, these were the hours that he imagined the real world was blanketed in darkness too. Sometimes, when he lay awake, he tried to access the memories of his natural. What was night time like when he was not in this particular body? He could only recall a canopy of velvety darkness and nothing more. Lights that flickered somewhere in the distance, noises, and an evening breeze that caressed the cheeks.

It was difficult to recall anything else, the memories were distant, and the feelings were repressed behind a wall. A wall that he had not yet broken through within himself.

Han found it difficult to sleep when he was so hot, and Woosung was so sweaty. He pulled his left leg and kicked at the blanket to try and pull it down. Woosung shivered and through the darkness Han can see him squinting in annoyance.

“Why? I’m cold.”

“You’re sweating.”

“But I’m cold.”

“It’s not healthy to sweat, Woosungie. Not like this.”

Woosung’s body shuddered again as if he were facing a blizzard and was not sweating at all. Han felt pity fall into his stomach and with a heaving swallow he pressed his body close to Woosung, offering an arm to wrap around him to hold him close and keep him warm. Woosung curled into Han’s larger form, his nose nuzzling into Han’s chest.

“There we go, I’ll be your blanket.” Han whispered, almost chuckling to himself as he pressed his own nose into Woosung’s hair.

“Why can’t I just use the regular blanket?”

“It doesn’t breathe, we need to get you dry first.”

There was a silence, the kind of silence that told Han that Woosung was not entirely convinced of what he had said, but he dared not challenge Han’s whim.

It was hard to tell the passage of time when the room was this dark, with no windows, no outside sounds. The clones lived in a suspended haven of nothingness. It was unnerving at times but Han could tell when Woosung had fallen back asleep by the sound of his breath. The way it slowed, the way it became less erratic and desperate for air. When Woosung was asleep his lungs did not plead with the world, they seemed to fall into a natural rhythm without any resistance.

But right now, Han knew that Woosung was not asleep. But Han did not know how long it had been since they had decided to lay there, refusing to sleep, holding onto one another, their fingers pressing into flesh, as if each time might be the last time.

Han did not trust that Woosung would get better, his heart had already mourned his loss when he had been taken away. He hoped for the best, but planned for the worst. He steeled his heart and mind, but he feared that no amount of preparation would have him ready for the inevitable. This inevitability that he believed to be the inherent truth.

Woosung would pass away, and they just did not know when. Woosung could pass away in a week, or tomorrow, or now as Han held him in his arms he could breathe his last breath. Which meant that every moment was precious with Woosung. As precious as a jewel.

Han breathed in Woosung’s scent again. These days he had been diligent in memorizing Woosung’s mannerisms, the way that he spoke and moved his hands, the way his face contorted to certain responses. Han traced his mind with Woosung, outlining him until he became a perfect memory that he could recall at any time. His scent was outlined too. He knew how the top of his head smelled, his neck, his chest, his groin, when he was sweating, aroused or after a shower. Han knew it all like the back of his own hand.

“I love you.” He whispered into Woosung’s hairline, though he hardly knew how much time had passed between now and when he had last spoken, wrapping his limbs all around Woosung as a makeshift blanket.

“I love you too.” Woosung murmured, proving to Han that he was still awake. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you love me?”

It was a question that Woosung asked often, ever since he had come back from his operation. When Han whispered the sweet phrase, Woosung returned it before asking why Han could possibly love the poor sick thing.

Han could not describe perfectly why he loved Woosung. The way he loved his dark hair, his eyes and the way they pinched when he laughed, the way his breath would rise and fall against his chest, the frantic gesture of his hands when he spoke, his heavy footfalls when he stepped out of bed and wobbled to the shower to brush his hair. His voice, his everything. How could infinity be described as the reason for one’s love?

Han breathed Woosung and chuckled into him, letting his lips vibrate against his skull.

“Because.”

It was not an answer, and he felt Woosung’s lips pout against his chest, as if irritated that Han would give him such a basic response.

“But *why*?”

“How can I describe every part of you as easily as you ask the question?”

Woosung was shuffling, his body was moving, the slightest part of his neck was craning upwards looking towards Han.

“What do you mean?”

“You ask why do I love you, and my answer is I don’t know how to describe every part of you as quickly as you ask the question.”

“You love everything about me?”

“Yes.”

“But what about me, in specific?”

Han was looking down at him now, their proximity was so close that he could smell the gentle staleness on Woosung’s breath from having slept. He didn’t flinch away from it, it was only another thing that he loved.

“Your eyes, your hair, your lips, the way your nose curves. Your neck. The little stars that dot your skin.”

“Stars?”

“The freckles.”

Woosung smiled, exhaled and pressed his entire face into Han’s chest with a bubbling giggle that flew like a bird past his lips into Han’s skin.

“Are you sure you love all of those things?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure sure?”

“Of course of course.” Han shook his head slightly and gently flipped himself onto his back so that his arm was free for Woosung to cuddle into.

“You’ll love me forever?”

Han’s heart hurt, he knew the question came from a place that was terrified of impermanence. Woosung knew as well as Han knew that in spite of all the attempts to make him better, he was not long here.

“Forever.”

The words ring true now. Han did not see a world where he did not love Woosung, this Woosung. Even if his heart broke in the future, as it was breaking now, he knew that he could not ever unlove him. Simply put, he could never forget him and as a result, never stop loving him.

“Good, because I don’t want you to ever not love me. I want us to love each other forever.”

Han let out a hollow laugh staring up at the ceiling, or what he could only assume was the ceiling.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know, you’re just so silly.” He didn’t really know why he was laughing, only that the laugh felt like the right thing to do. It came to him instinctively, naturally, even though his chest felt so empty just with the idea that Woosung may not be there. What was he supposed to do in the future? Lay here in this very bed and press against nothing? Was he supposed to remind himself of Woosung’s scent over and over again by laying in these very same sheets? Until the scent would inevitably go stale and become replaced with his own sweat and scent. It was why he had decided to commit all of these small things about Woosung to memory; it would be easier to commit them now while he was still here, than to try and cling to them later as passing ghosts.

“I’m not *that* silly,” Woosung retorted quietly, his body shoving into Han’s gently, playfully.

“I don’t know about that. I think you’re the silliest of us all.”

“I thought that was Minsu or Beomhwa.”

“No, it’s definitely you.”

“I bet Jonghui would be the silliest if he could talk.”

Han rolled his eyes, it was strange to hear Woosung talk with so much animation after all that time where he struggled to do so. Still the strain in his voice was particularly clear - he had a hard time speaking.

“Maybe. Why, because he’s the youngest aside from you?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that how it is? The younger you are, the sillier you are?”

“Does that mean I am the least silly?” Han posed the question, knowing well that when put in the right situation he was probably amongst the worst of troublemakers in the group. Just the same as Woosung had suggested Beomhwa who was also among the eldest was definitely a troublemaker, though he frequently tried those troublemaking tendencies with a stern face.

“No.” Woosung responded and his voice carried the indication that he might have realized there was a flaw in his logic. “I guess it has nothing to do with age then.”

“Guess not.”

They lay in silence for a while longer, Han listening to Woosung’s rattling breath, memorizing it and the small moments in between when Woosung’s breath was clear as it had once been when their relationship had only started to bud sweetly like flowers in the beginning of spring.

“Are you still cold?”

“No, less sweaty too.”

“Good.” Han could tell he was telling the truth as he ran his hand over Woosung’s shoulder down his arm which had dried since the last time he had allowed his fingers to dance across his skin.

The fabric of Woosung’s shirt was a barrier between Han and his desire to touch the perfect skin underneath. It was perfect in spite of any blemishes, perfect in spite of any scars, because those were simply perfect parts of Woosung, a part of the manuscript of his body. Han inhaled deeply, the air all around them was warm as the fans still had not yet turned on permanently, they ran mostly during the day before failing when the lights got turned off, leaving the clones with a particularly humid evening environment in which they were forced to sleep. He allowed the inhale to work its way through his system. He listened to his body, the way it gulped the air and wanted more with each exhale. The exhale always collapsed his stomach and his lungs inward, concave and empty before refilling him once more.

It was a push and pull, like a wave lapping at a sandy shore. Han had never seen a shore, but he thought he could recall the image of one somewhere in his mind - though he was not entirely certain from where, and whether it was something he had made up or his natural had once made up.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to be laying on the sand somewhere, relaxing? Just you and I?” Han suggested, smiling to himself in the darkness.

“With a picnic?”

“Yeah.”

“With lots of strawberries? And a barbeque? And rice?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

“It would be perfect. Except the sun would be so hot.”

“But there’s water nearby.” Han added to the fantasy, trying to paint a distant picture for Woosung to have in his own mind.

“Water?”

“Mhmm. Big water, it moves, like drinking from a cup, there are ripples and it tickles our toes as we run in and splash at each other.”

“Like a bath?”

“Kind of, bigger. Way bigger.”

“How big?”

“As far as you can see there is just water and sand, and the sun, and the blue sky.” Han was not a good story teller, but he hoped that it was enough to give Woosung something to cling to.

“That sounds amazing. It also doesn’t sound real.”

“It doesn’t, but I can see it. It’s just somewhere, far away.”

“You remember doing something like that?”

“Well, not me. But I have it in my head. Don’t you have memories from your natural?”

“Yeah, kind of. But his are all pretty boring. Nothing like endless water, sand and sun. That’s way more interesting. Tell me more?”

Woosung sunk into Han’s arms, more like a child wishing to be told a story than anything else. Han’s chest swelled, a feeling of endearment drowned him as he held his darling in his arms.

The truth was, was that his own natural’s memories were hazy. They were like rose-colored gauze, ephemeral and distant, just real enough for Han to swipe his fingers through the fabric of time but not quite present enough for Han to recall with a perfect recitation. A sweet lie was what Han decided on, somewhere between reality and illusion. His mind reeled in reverse, and he began to feel the warm sand against his feet. It was not hot, not sweltering, just warm, and he dug his childish toes into the grains. The clone let out a sigh of gentle pleasure.

“What?” Woosung cooed, he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in spite of the rings beneath his eyes.

“The sand is so warm, and there are… shells.”

“Shells?”

“The bodies of sea creatures that have passed on and left themselves for our taking. White and pink and peach colored.”

“Peach colored?”

“Mhmm. They’re round and soft, but there are some that have sharp edges. Other’s have perfect little openings where you can press your ear and listen to the water. The big water, it has this loud sound - it swells and-” Han expeled air through between his teeth, he mimicked the water that he saw, the waves that collapsed against the dark brown sand that had turned this color from the moisture it soaked up from the sea salt and water.

“Can you drink all the water?”

“It’s salty. It’s as salty as…”

“Salt?” Woosung chuckled and coughed a bit too.

Han held him to his chest for a moment to calm his fit and then chuckled too.

“Yes. As salty as salt. It stings your eyes when you get in it, and swim. You ride the waves and they spit you back out onto the sand like a big tongue that doesn’t like the food that it has been given.”

“I can get behind that.” Woosung jested, and Han knew that he meant that food was dry, bitter and paperlike on Woosung’s tongue nowadays. It was not at all pleasurable to partake in the motions of survival.

There was a pang of pain, but Han continued.

“If you step into the sand where it is wet from all the water, it leaves your perfect footprint there. Then the water washes it away. Sometimes, people sit where the water and sand meet and make big structures.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” This, Han realized was hazier than the other parts. The sand was heavy and sticky in those places, but the idea of being creative to create large buildings, his mind struggled to comprehend it to wrap itself around it. So he lay in silence for a while longer and shook his head.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Han finally revealed in gentle defeat. “Just know that you can make structures with the sand when it is not so dry.”

Woosung nodded, and Han knew that he was committing to his memory.

“What else?” Woosung begged, yearnful.

“Ah, Woosungie… It’s hard to remember everything. I just remember getting into the big water, and laying out on the sand. I remember the way that the sand stuck to my wet hair and how long it took to get it all out. I remember picking up shells and collecting the most interesting one’s.”

“Which one is the most interesting?”

Han searched his mind, desperate for an answer and then he nodded.

“It is pink that fades into peach, like a sunset out in the desert. It looks like a partially closed rose and you can hear that sound in it. I think I kept it for a long time.”

Woosung smiled, adjusting himself in the darkness and sighing to look up to the ceiling.

“I wish we could see all of it in person.” The younger one whispered with a deep and meaningful longing for somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn’t here.

Han swallowed and nodded, adjusting himself slightly for Woosung’s comfort as he also, now, more comfortably stared at the ceiling.

“Me too.”

“But what’s the point in wishing?”

“Maybe one day, once we have served our purpose we will be allowed to go out there and see the world.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe.” Han was not certain, but he wanted to give Woosung hope in his state of anguish and pain. Perhaps it was cruel to give him hope when he felt the way he did, but he wanted something positive, a glimmer of light in the dark. Their world was steady, boring; it dragged for hours or ran by in the blink of an eye. Months seemed like days and days seemed like months. Why not give Woosung just a glimmer of what it might be like out there, when all was said and done? When the government had finally had enough of their service, and would finally give them the status of human beings? Would their service one day grant them such a status?

Impossible to tell, so impossible that Han was certain that they would never truly see the light of day. But he could not tell Woosung this, he wanted him to hope, to have something to live for, to look forward to. It moved Han to tears, tears that pricked at his water line that he quickly bit down with a strict discipline.

“I hope you’re right. I want to see the big water, and the shells, and the sand and I want to see it with you.”

Han kissed Woosung’s forehead, gently damp against his lips. He exhaled slightly, blowing at the strands of hair still stuck to the younger clone’s forehead.

“I promise.” Han whispered. “I’ll make it happen.”

The words were strange, it did not feel right to say such a thing. It felt as if he were purposefully deceiving Woosung. But he wanted his deception to be something that Woosung could cling to. Han would find a way to keep his promise. He wasn’t sure how or when, but he wanted to keep the promise. Perhaps he could ask Minjoong to bring him a picture of something like what he had described to Woosung this night. In truth, there was no telling whether or not such pictures were even available, Han had no idea, but with all the things that Minjoong had brought them to make their space just a little more livable, he hoped that one little picture would be enough, would be a possibility.

“How long do you think we have been laying here?”

“Not sure. It’s hard to tell in these rooms.”

“Guess.”

“Mmm, four hours?”

“I was thinking three.”

The conversation was idle as if Woosung could tell the tempest that had grown inside of Han’s mind and was purposefully ripping him away from the thoughts that Han had built inside of himself.

“Want to play a game?” Woosung was not usually so energetic, and Han had no earthly clue what Woosung meant by said ‘game’ but he glanced to his partner in his arms and tilted his head with a slightly raised brow and signature pouty lips.

“What kind of game?” Han was cautious. Woosung was known for being a strange young man, and this was not stopped even by his ailment - even if he was more sluggish.

“Tickle game.”

It happened in a flash, as if a surge of energy had occurred inside of Woosung’s body. He mounted Han and started to grab like a cat with his fingers against Han’s abdominal flesh. He pawed, pinched and pressed his nails against Han’s stomach like hands kneading dough.

Han could not help but tense his entire stomach, he inhaled hard and resisted the urge to laugh between the strange sensation somewhere between pain and pleasure. It sat there on the edge between the two and deepened with each passing moment until finally Han could not take it and he was laughing hysterically, pushing Woosung away who was persistent in his action, remaining completely mounted on top of Han whose stomach turned visibly red even in the dark. The fingers moved up to his chest in time, pinching and playing still and Han was still laughing. He laughed until he was in pain from laughter, and this too elicited a feeling somewhere between pain and pleasure.

Han threw his head back, hitting it with fervor against the pillow, breathless and begging for Woosung to stop.

“No, no, not until you say the magic words!” Woosung called out.

But Han did not know the magic words, and his fingers continued to flail against Woosung to try and get him to cease the madness, the reddening of his body, battering it in play instead of water.

“I don’-” More laughter oozed from his throat and Woosung started to laugh too, he laughed so hard until his lungs contracted and his breathing shortened and his laughter turned to rapid coughing. Until he was covering his mouth with his hands instead of tickling Han.

Han was sitting up quickly, and wrapping himself around Woosung to protect him. To compress his entire body all around his convulsing form to create pressure to make him stop coughing. The fit continued until Han’s shoulder was wet with tears and Woosung’s fist that was pressed against his lips was covered in saliva that was tinged with blood.

“Sorry.” Woosung finally coughed out, the fit slowing to a crawl and stopping.

“It’s okay. It happens.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“I know. But it’s okay. I-I love you anyway.”

Woosung exhaled, relaxing into the sensation of not having to feel the painful cough wreck his lungs and body, he relaxed into Han easily and Han held him to his chest.

“Want to try again?” Han whispered, he wanted to bring the joy back into the moment.

“I can’t.”

“You can, why can’t you?”

“I’ll cough again.”

“Then I’ll hold you again.”

“You’ll get tired of it.”

“I will never. You can try as many times as you like, and if you cough I will hold you to me every time. I’ll never get tired of taking care of you.” The words almost felt too sweet coming from Han, he felt like a fraud saying such things. But it was true, this was how he felt, and it was only in these strange twilight moments where no one was around, and no one could bother them that he shared the words with Woosung. It was easy in this seclusion, this hidden away cove.

“You’ll get tired of me eventually.”

“Stop saying those things, never.”

Woosung buried himself further into Han, and Han held him a little tighter, and then a little lighter in consideration that he might be crushing the frailer clone.

They sit in silence for a while longer once more. Silence between them was common nowadays, because it had once been Woosung who started all the conversations, and Han would listen. But nowadays Woosung was too tired to start them all, so they simply remained in each other’s arms, steadfast, listening to the heartbeat of the other.

“Tell me more, about your memories?” Woosung was the one to break the silence - as he often was the one to do so.

“More?”

“Mhmm.”

“But I don’t know if I have anything interesting.”

“Anything is interesting.”

“I remember picking garlic on my parents rooftop, in the summers. They would grow something, and I would help to pick it. Young garlic, it tastes so sweet. There is nothing like it. It smells so good too.”

“Garlic of all things? Makes your breath smell bad.”

“But it’s different from regular garlic, the one that we get here with our meals.”

“I don’t believe you.” Han could tell that Woosung was grinning gently into his body, though his face was tucked away and his voice was muffled.

“Do you remember your parents?” Han asked, he felt brave in doing so.

Woosung shook his head.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t remember almost anything. Anything at all. There are moments. My mom’s face, my dad’s hands. But for the most part just outlines. As if it’s all buried and in the past.”

Han could tell by the shaking of Woosung’s voice that it was bringing something up, something negative and was quick to change the topic.

“Well, then let’s talk about my garlic.”

“It’s kind of squeaky, isn’t it?”

“The stalk of it is, it’s like rubber or something.” Han explained, barely remembering the sensation of a garlic leaf running between his childhood fingers. A time that he had never experienced himself, but could somehow remember. This was the dissonance that the clones had, their life eternal and unaging, their genetics taken from another, the experiences stolen. It was a scientific marvel and a curse all at the same time.

“I just remember all the green.” Han finally admitted. He remembered how much green his natural’s parents had on the rooftop of their home. It was everywhere, and it felt like an escape now as he sat here. It was an escape from the brown and grey of the city, the strange flickering neon lights that were all encompassing and suffocating. The green was an escape to the white and grey that the clones lived in too, and his mind ran to it but could never quite reach it for one reason or another. It was like a long corridor, but the goal kept moving further and further away.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the color green everywhere.”

“Neither have I.”

“Just in your head.”

“Yeah, just in my head.”

“Not the same, I guess. At least you can bring the memory back.”

“It’s taken some work.”

Woosung nodded into Han and Han let out a sigh still holding onto Woosung as he leaned his head down against Woosung’s shoulder, taking in the scent there as he had been before.

“You promise that we will get to see all of it in the future? The sand and the big water? Maybe all that green too? Do you really, really promise?”

Han sat there for a while, his mind wanting to tell him the truth. He didn’t want to lie, and didn't want to say that they would see it all without any shadow of a doubt. A guilty feeling built in the pit of his sore stomach as his lips distractedly mouthed Woosung’s neck.

“I really promise.” It slipped out before he could think a little more, before he could consider the promise. There was no consideration, his mind wanted to make sure that Woosung felt extraordinary happiness knowing that one day they would find themselves with bare feet standing in warm sand with the cool water tickling their toes. Them, together, holding hands in a world where Woosung did not have to worry about being sick, where he was just as he was - happy, and healthy and running down the eternal length of a beach, his laughter the song of life.

Chapter Text

Home life had become so difficult recently that Minjoong only ever returned to the apartment during hours that he knew that his brother would already be asleep - that is, if he returned at all. There were several days in the last few weeks that Minjoong had outright refused to return home. There was always something to do regardless, and the programs beckoned him to keep working on his inventions, hoping to come across something revolutionary, one day or another. Even then, there was a deep reluctance in his heart to stay at work. It was dangerous to some degree with all of the rebel activity nearby, Minjoong wondered if it would be easier to simply go home and face his brother’s huffing and puffing, or his occasional disinterest in looking at Minjoong entirely. These worries proved to be substantial for Minjoong when an explosion was set off not far from the main building that put most of the entrance into a state of construction.

When this explosion had happened the clones had been dispatched, their intervention was quick and exacting. The rebellion did not have time to damage the area even more, though Minjoong had palpitations the entire time as a result because Woosung was not well enough to go and was still sent out. It seemed from their mission debriefing that the team had kept Woosung to the back, refusing to put him on the front lines as he had once been. It was a relief. This also meant that Beomhwa had taken on extra damage and needed immediate shrapnel removal. His wounds healed quickly, as they often did, and the team was put back into the bunker to live their lives at a snail’s pace as was often the case.

Today was another day in which Minjoong had, against his aching body and heavy eyelids, decided to stay at the office. His mind idly alternating between writing notes, fulfilling irrelevant obligations to the government through formulas, and on rarer occasion switching to the cameras so that he could view the clones through the cameras.

It was late, so said the clock with its abysmally red numbers, but the light’s had not yet turned off in the bunker.

Han and Woosung were resting together, their mouths moving at separate intervals. They were talking to each other.

Sangwoo and Jonghui were in the main area, Sangwoo showing Jonghui a page of a coloring book that he had colored in - the book itself had been a gift from Minjoong and he was glad that it was being used and appreciated. Minjoong’s face could not help but twitch into a smile, it was a heartwarming sight to lay his eyes upon, especially with how difficult things had been with the clones recently. Woosung had been a great cause for worry and continued to be as such to this very moment.

Minsu and Youngho were in Youngho’s room. They were seated on the floor, cross-legged casually conversing about something. Minjoong did not turn on the microphone, he just watched them. At some point Youngho brought out the book on basic medical practices that Minjoong had given him for Woosung. Minsu gestured aggressively and Minjoong quickly flipped away. He couldn’t look any longer, in fear that the conversation might turn violent. He knew it wouldn’t, but it still hurt him to see any of the clones arguing - even if it was to be expected, they lived together in such close proximity to each other.

The camera flipped to a few empty rooms in their natural order before it landed on Beomhwa who was shirtless and laying on top of his bed, eyes closed. Minjoong thought he might be asleep and almost clicked away, but Beomhwa shifted and slipped beneath the blankets. Minjoong was compelled to stay, his curiosity compelling him to press the audio button. The end of a pen would rest in his lips, chewing on it, as he started to listen to the soft sighs come through the feed.

The sighs soon turned to gentle moans - Minjoong removed his finger from the audio button, panicked and he looked around to see if anyone was present. No one was, not a soul was even moving around outside of his office. A gentle precaution as he grabbed heavy headphones and plugged them in and pressed onto the audio button again after switching back to Beomhwa’s camera feed.

“Ahh, Minjoong-”

Minjoong’s brain stuttered, as if it were an old car engine sputtering from its cobweb covered exhaust. His fingers curled into the pen he held until the plastic bent, his teeth pressing into the end so hard that the cap popped off pushing small trails of black ink onto his tongue. He dropped the object immediately, sneering at his own idiocy when it plopped anti-climatically into the nearby bin.

“Minjoong…” The voice brought his attention back, it was softer than before, a reckless moan followed. Minjoong could not help but follow the movement of Beomhwa’s hand underneath the blanket that lay not so carefully on top of Beomhwa’s body. Up and down, it made Minjoong salivate, his mind a blank canvas as all he could think - suddenly - was his creation’s cock.

Minjoong tried to pull himself out of the daze, but the breathy moan would always bring him back.

So it was with trembling fingers that Minjoong acted, swiftly and with a hint of abandon that he had not yet felt for his own body to this point in his life. Inexperience and desire made an explosive cocktail of need that had him tampering with the tapes, looping actions that existed in the past. He just hoped that an hour would be enough, that he could pass it all off as a glitch, a strange cut from Beomhwa’s laying on his bed to Minjoong’s appearance and departure.

He listened for a moment and watched before something stupid and reckless switched on in his brain. He turned off the camera screens and rushed out of his office, his footsteps dull against the oppressive corridor flooring.

Minjoong’s white coat was left abandoned in his office. He was nothing more than slacks and a black turtleneck as he rushed to the bunker. His heart beating against his ribcage, threatening to kill him now. He entered the code to open the door, his eyes closed as he waited for the acceptance of his identification.

The main door opened for him as it often did, with a mechanical whirl and it closed behind him all the same. Minjoong was quickly moving to Beomhwa’s closed door and he stood there, facing it with a hint of fear in his chest.

And then, he defeated the fear and knocked on the door as if he did not have access to Beomhwa and all of the clones without a knock. But he had to knock, he knew what was happening beyond the door.

“Y-Yes.” Came the muffled and strained voice of Beomhwa. Minjoong was forced to take a deep breath and open the door.

There the clone was, awkwardly covered by a blanket, both hands grasping at it. One leg brought in closer to his groin, a sheen of sweat on his brow, with a blush on his cheeks. Minjoong’s eyes naturally travel to the outline that is straining between Beomhwa’s legs.

“Beomhwa, um…” Minjoong was tense, but he watched Beomhwa’s body relax slightly, the blanket dropping from his bare chest.

“Ah, um.” Beomhwa gulped, swallowing and Minjoong watched the apple of his throat bob gently. “Is-is everything alright?”

“I-” It was an incredibly awkward interaction. Minjoong had never felt this way around Beomhwa, like an awkward, tense schoolboy who had no idea what he was supposed to do next. For a moment, Minjoong’s gaze was desperate to find something else to look at - not just the outline of Beomhwa’s straining desire. He looked around the mostly barren space, but there was not a single speck of dust that he could fixate upon - Beomhwa always kept his room perfectly clean.

“It’s alright, I just…” How did he tell him? Would it be too strange to say? Minjoong stepped forward slightly and shut the door behind himself, the courage summoned in his throat before it was swallowed again.

“I heard you, Beomhwa.”

Immediately, Minjoong watched the color drain from Beomhwa’s already pale face, and then the color returned with a vengeance bright red in humiliation.

“And you came here?” Beomhwa questioned, his hands dropping entirely now no longer hiding his erection that showed itself beyond the blanket, beyond the thin fabric of his trousers. Minjoong’s gaze moved there, his jaw so tight he thought he might break his teeth.

“Yes…I-”

“Were you…” There was a long pause, estranged, disembodied, it curdled Minjoong’s already tight stomach. “Watching me?”

They had been dancing around a relationship for a while. They had kissed after all, but Minjoong did not know if everything he felt was returned. Minjoong tried to keep his distance, Beomhwa was supposed to be someone he cared for, someone he was a caretaker for, but no more. He couldn’t…

“You all need better blankets.” It was all he managed to cough up suddenly, still staring at the outline.

“I’m hot natured, I don’t mind.” Beomhwa responded, whispering, strong fingers curling into the thin blanket and pushing it off to the side. The man uncovered himself entirely without looking down, he was only looking at Minjoong - piercingly.

Minjoong’s breath hitched in his throat. He had thought that the outline was from behind both blanket and trousers, but no, the erection strained from just above the top hem of the pulled down trousers. If he had been desperate and salivating before, this uncorked something in his mind that he had not ever thought to be possible.

The silence dragged on for a moment, but only a moment before Beomhwa spoke again.

"Is that all you came here to tell me, or is there something else you'd like to say? Before I say what I want to say." The soft-spoken Beomhwa was calm, composed, his free hand moving to his cock pressing flesh against flesh. Minjoong watched it twitch from the attention, the hand stroking the flesh. It was a new sensation inside of Minjoong. He had only ever seen Beomhwa in a non-sexual way, his genitalia had only ever been a part of his body, a sterile part of his body. But as he stroked his cock, Minjoong had to find a wall to steady himself against it - his stomach tight.

"What do you want to say?" Minjoong eked out, still staring, almost nauseous with desire.

"I believe I have a problem, sir. I think I have become too attached to my caretaker. I think about him inappropriately."

Minjoong swallowed, it was as if Beomhwa wanted to be watched the way he let a long finger press against the tip of his cock, pressing it gently into the foreskin and dragging a wisp of clear fluid away. The movement had Beomhwa's stomach suck-in, a soft moan in tandem as he inhaled sharply.

"I think about his lips, his beautiful eyes, the smell of his shampoo, his taste when we kissed."

Minjoong was shell-shocked, or so it felt. He was as still as a rabbit, contemplating every word and movement of a snake. Then the rabbit desired to be the snake's prey, and he threw caution to the wind. It felt like he crossed the distance between the door and Beomhwa in only two steps, his body tense even though every part of him screamed to relax, to touch Beomhwa in the way that he was touching himself.

So he did, almost.

Once the distance was closed Minjoong's lips fastened themselves to Beomhwa's lips and they kissed feverishly, as if they had never kissed before. Minjoong's chest erupted with temptation, the need to moan and whimper into Beomhwa, a feeling that was rapidly incentivized when he felt Beomhwa's hand wrap around his waist, gentle, but firm. Minjoong could only stand to pull away when he needed air.

"And I fear I have become too attached to my experiment. I think about him too often to be just a caretaker."

"Then it sounds like both caretaker and experiment may need therapy or treatment to counteract the issue, sir." Beomhwa responded, murmuring against the outline of Minjoong's lips. The hand that was light as a feather on Minjoong's waist was now touching Minjoong's cheek and Minjoong's stomach was six feet underground.

"There is no treatment for this."

Whatever 'this' was, Minjoong knew that he had no cure for passion and unconditional love. There was no cure for emotion, there was no cure for any of this, this thing that he had cried at Hongjoong to understand. There was no curing two souls being so intertwined that they were meant to be - even when one soul was not meant to exist.

Minjoong could not say another word, instead he just leaned back into Beomhwa and kissed him again. Over and over, breathlessly. Beomhwa's hands happily roamed over Minjoong's body. Minjoong, blinded by the sultry heat, found himself leaning awkwardly over the bed, Beomhwa's cock in his right hand, as firmly as he could manage. Beomhwa's stomach tightened at the touch, he inhaled sharply as he had when touching himself. The biologist watched Beomhwa's eyes close, rolling into the back of his head, his fingers curling into the fabric of Minjoong's turtleneck before slipping beyond the bottom hem, underneath to touch bare skin.

"I never thought I'd see this day." Beomhwa moaned, pushing the turtleneck up until it was more messy fabric and less of a turtleneck. Beomhwa was forceful.

"Too much clothes." The clone whispered and forced the turtleneck up and over Minjoong's head until he was without a top. Minjoong was unable to resist, he did not want to resist. His body was small, not like the clones. There was no muscle, just a delicate softness that moved easily, pliable underneath Beomhwa's prying fingers. He was nothing like his brother when it came to his body, and this had once been a point of embarrassment and contention for Minjoong - but no more, not with the way Beomhwa looked at him now.

The difference between Beomhwa and Minjoong was stark. Beomhwa was broad, tall, his skin a hint darker. Minjoong was thin, pale and soft.

Minjoong was laying on top of Beomhwa now, his fingers still clasped around the erection. Beomhwa's arms were wrapped around his nude waist entirely. Minjoong could feel the electricity, the friction between them as they touched skin against skin for the first time. Beomhwa's lips found Minjoong's neck and he kissed him gently, but passionately.

"Tell me, Min-nie..." The word fumbled out of Beomhwa's mouth and Minjoong blushed at the nickname, burying his face into Beomhwa's neck for protection as he listened to the words continue into his ear - a distraction as he felt fingers fiddle with the clasp of his belt. "Did you think of me like this too?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"I-I don't know." And the truth was, was that Minjoong had no idea how many times he had given Beomhwa consideration like *this*. This electrified, sexual consideration. How many nights had he stayed up or laid awake, brushing his own stray hand over his stomach and chest, thinking about Beomhwa's palm pressed against him? He didn't know, but he knew he had.

The belt popped open and Beomhwa pulled it out from underneath Minjoong and threw it deftly to the floor, trousers and underwear came next - easily.

"Every night?" Beomhwa almost sounded hopeful.

"I-"

Minjoong wanted to say maybe, as if the thought had passed by his mind on more occasions that he had ever given consideration.

Minjoong was nude now, save for his socks, that he was currently pulling off of his feet one hooked toe at a time.

"Is that why you finally got the courage to come see me, like this?" Beomhwa asked, cooing, smiling softly at Minjoong who blushed fiercely. Beomhwa's mouth touched Minjoong's ear.

"I wonder if we think about the same things about each other."

And then Beomhwa's tongue was an intruder in Minjoong's mouth and Minjoong melted desperately into the feeling.

Minjoong felt as if he were a man longing for water in a long stretch of desert. A sensation that was pouring over him violently until he too was straining against Beomhwa's stomach, his hips hitching up against the rigid flat and smooth skin.

"Maybe." Minjoong choked, his mouth searching for more stimulation from Beomhwa. Their mouths were stuck in a fragile waltz, biting, licking, sucking, until both tongue and lips were puckered red like cherries and raw. Until they were both struggling to be bashful, their actions becoming more like the actions of beasts overcome with a hormonal longing, suppressed inside of them, now gushing, frothing like a volcano.

Beomhwa's palms were on Minjoong, gripping and pulling at the globes of his ass until the biologist was seated less awkwardly on top of Beomhwa with Beomhwa leaned back against a wall. The movement was natural, as if they had practiced this time and time again. Minjoong placed his pink bare knees against the bed, his arms draping loosely over Beomhwa's neck and shoulders as he continued to kiss him, his throat gurgling a pathetic whimper as he felt his cock brush against Beomhwa causing them both to twitch from the severe sensation.

Beomhwa's mouth slipped away from Minjoong and Minjoong searched for it, his neck craning forward. But Beomhwa was heated against Minjoong's neck, kissing and biting, words slipping out in between heated sighs and breaths that flared Beomhwa's nostrils, humid against Minjoong's dampening skin.

"I was thinking - about how - it would - feel - to hear you - try and - stifle your moans - while I fill you - full - of my cum... How p-pretty - your legs would be - in the air - like jelly..."

Minjoong jumped slightly, his entire body markedly tightening, the length of Beomhwa's fingers were touching, curious, searching, rubbing along the curve of Minjoong's ass, catching gently on his hole. Minjoong was blushing, his heart was beating in his head, it was deafening everything, all reason. All Minjoong could do now was fall into his desperation, into his want, no, need of Beomhwa. All he could do was whimper when he relaxed, and let a single finger push inside, his heart and lungs choking him in his throat. Soon the pressure of a second finger was presented and Minjoong braced against it, the tip of his cock leaking in a way that he had seldom seen before.

"It's so-" Beomhwa whispered, two fingers curling gently on the inside as he moaned into Minjoong's shoulder, a moan that was hot with lust.

"Minnie, would you let me? Let me use you during a check up, I can use my fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet." It was a heated offer ringing in Minjoong's ear, and Minjoong's body reacted with the twitch of his cock as he gently rutted his hips into Beomhwa's stomach.

"If we're alone-" It didn’t make any sense. Check-ups were never a solo activity, and yet his mind was in a land of pure fantasy. A place where he and Beomhwa were together and no one else was around. No one who could stop them, no one who could hurt Beomhwa or Minjoong.

"In your office, maybe?" Beomhwa continued, the two fingers pushing further into Minjoong's body. Beomhwa was shaking fiercely against Minjoong, as if he were mad, frenzied with the need for more. "Just lock the door."

Minjoong nodded, lost in the bitter, sour, sweet scent of their two bodies as one. It was easy to think of Beomhwa in his office, alone, during a check-up and Beomhwa leaning him over his own desk, pressing his cock against him, hard and wanting. Beomhwa taking him.

"Yes." Minjoong croaked like a toad more than a frog, slightly pitiful and squeaky.

Beomhwa removed the fingers suddenly and quickly, eliciting a complaint from Minjoong's lips. Beomhwa's hands were fierce, grabbing at Minjoong's hips, shifting him until the biologist was on all fours, his knees pressed firmly against the mattress and his palms flat against the white pillow. Before Minjoong could breathe, he felt Beomhwa's strained cock pressed against him, rubbing, stroking in wait.

"Is this what you think about?" Beomhwa asked, rubbing the tip of his cock against Minjoong's left cheek. He covered Minjoong with his broader body, his tongue tracing up his shoulder and neck stopping near Minjoong's ear.

"Ask for it."

Minjoong shuddered at the words, his toes curling immediately as he found himself instinctively lowering himself, pressing his face, cheek against the pillow, a now freed hand reaching down so that he could touch himself.

"Fuck-" A word he would never otherwise utter. "Please fuck me, Beomhwa."

Minjoong was unsure of what he was even asking for, he had only ever heard of it. The whisper of sin, undesirable actions between two men. Worse yet, a man and his creation. But Minjoong knew he wanted it, he knew because his body was screaming at him for it now. His body was relaxed, wanting, he did not mind the slick feeling, the warm feeling of saliva as it made its way from the clone's mouth to his entrance. He did not mind when the lights suddenly flickered off in the room, signaling nighttime and he was left only with sensation when Beomhwa pushed into him, his lips and nose pressed into Minjoong's neck, stifling his cries with pale skin. Similarly Minjoong's mouth was wrapped - teeth and lips around the pillow, biting as he whimpered and cried in response to the intrusion, as he pushed back into it until he was satisfied and full. It was everything he had ever imagined in the darkest crevices of his mind, everything and so much more.

Minjoong was without words when he felt Beomhwa's hips shift and finally begin to rock back and forth, sliding in and out, each time finding purchase inside of Minjoong - deeper and deeper. One of Beomhwa's arms wrapped around Minjoong to keep them both steady. He kept the biologist's hips up, his back arched so that he could keep moving. Beomhwa was quick, a rabbit without restraint, wanting to breed. Beomhwa struck at a quick pace.

"Y-You feel so good, gonna fill you - all the way." The clone stuttered into Minjoong's ear who remained as steady as he could, still biting into the pillow at the firm thrusts. His face was painted deeply red from the pain he felt at the pace. The sensation was too intense, Minjoong found his back curving back against Beomhwa out of instinct, out of self preservation. Beomhwa was larger, larger than he had ever seen on any man. Both of them were inexperienced, but Minjoong felt his skin push and pull in a way that he had never felt before. Pain was not his friend, there was a reason he had become a biologist and not a soldier like his brother. He had always shied away from pain, this was the bravest he had ever been and now he was tensing and grimacing at the pace.

"Sl-slower." He stuttered, his toes still curled.

Beomhwa was nothing if not obedient, his punishing pace reduced to a crawling speed almost immediately. Lost and drunk, Minjoong was at least glad that Beomhwa's ears were still connected to his mind.

"Sorry." Beomhwa apologized, and leaned away slightly to press his free hand into Minjoong's back, forcing his back to arch again. "Like that baby, it feels so good." He whispered and Minjoong could not help but oblige the gesture - his back was arched once more and the slow pace started to catch something inside of him, a bundle of nerves that served only to open him further to Beomhwa's deepening love.

Minjoong's fingers play with his own cock, stroking the skin, pulling on it gently, pinching slightly at the tip until he was a drooling and mindless mess.

"Gonna get spoiled," Beomhwa groaned somewhere behind Minjoong, somewhere far away. The feeling of this encounter deafened Minjoong's senses. In truth if someone walked in right now to pull them apart, he wasn't sure he would be able to hear them or know what was happening at all.

"Every - day - okay." Minjoong agreed, pushing back against Beomhwa's rhythmic thrusts using them to service himself with his hand that was soiled with precum.

At some point Beomhwa sunk his teeth into his shoulder and Minjoong cried, but he did not realize that he was doing so. He was so lost and drunk in all of this himself.

"Whenever we can, you can come anytime. Whenever you want." Beomhwa stuttered, panting, lower back arched into Minjoong. "Minnie, I-I'm-" Minjoong could hear Beomhwa's whining, his voice hitching in his throat like the whinny of a stallion in rut. His thrusts were speeding up again and Minjoong was too far gone to tell him to slow down, his own cock was desperate. There was a spool that wanted to be unwound in the lower half of him. A pressure that had built not from just today, but from years of repression, emotional and physical.

"Mhmm." It was a lilting confirmation, permission for his greatest creation to unwind inside of him. He even egged him on as he pushed back against the clone's cock, deeper, his muscles tightening. Minjoong was certain he was going to pass out, his mouth drooling pathetically into the pillow, his own hips pushing forward into his own hand until he suddenly and sporadically unwound into the sheets - Minjoong cried out at the feeling, his entire body convulsing and tensing into Beomhwa who was taken over the edge by the spasm of Minjoong's body.

It was a wave, a giant wave that sprung forth from inside of Beomhwa who leaned over and covered Minjoong entirely once more and held the smaller spasming body fast against his own. Minjoong was laying in his own mess held up only by a larger hand as hips bucked repeatedly inside, over and over again until he was completely empty.

Minjoong was brainless, but he could feel that warmth fill him up shot for shot. Their hips were flush and Minjoong's thighs shook as he tried to keep himself flush.

They remained in this moment for a long time, two lovers suspended in time, the world melting away from them. They were free of the world, united suddenly by physical and emotional liberation. There was nothing in the world that could separate them, and Minjoong felt the heat of the realization spread over him, a cowardice melting away, replaced by only one singular desire - to be with Beomhwa forever.

Skin to skin, forever. Free of the mandates in the world. Free... Free...

Beomhwa slipped out at some point and Minjoong's body collapsed fully into the bed, his body without conformation.

"I love you." Minjoong rasped, a heavy tongue and drooling lips.

Beomhwa laid next to Minjoong, pulling him to his chest to keep him warm and Minjoong curled into him, messy, but without a care in the world.

"I love you." Beomhwa whispered in return, his voice hitched as if he might cry. It was an intense feeling, one that was raw and necessary to feel as Minjoong got comfortable against Beomhwa's larger frame - his eyes were closing, he wanted to be engulfed.

"I-" But he didn’t know what else to say, he only had the desire to lay there and to be consumed.

"It's okay." Beomhwa pulled Minjoong tight to him and Minjoong felt the weight of the blanket on top of them soon enough. The gentle rustle of fabric. He could smell their love on that fabric, he could smell Beomhwa's arm, and his lips could taste it as he lowered himself comfortably into Beomhwa's arms fully. He could feel Beomhwa's nose against his hair.

How long could he afford to sleep? It was a question gently blistering in the back of his mind, an ember that he was putting out quietly, uncertain of whether it mattered or not. A singular glitch in the system, Minjoong thought in his rose-tinted mind, several hours of footage lost. They would never know, he convinced himself. They would accept the fact that their technology was not perfect, technology that was never perfect that they would inevitably have to improve. All they would see was Beomhwa laying in bed, and then suddenly it would be morning and that was all that they would need to know.

Over and over again these thoughts swirled in Minjoong’s mind as reality slowly started to come into focus, peeling back the frosted window pane of a winter evening. Slowly, so slowly that he found ways to talk himself into staying. Found ways to come up with an excuse if they were caught lying together. Minjoong was incapable of tearing himself away from Beomhwa and the strength of his arms, the warmth of his chest, the scent that radiated from his neck. There was nothing in the world, not even the government.

So there Minjoong lay, pressed against Beomhwa, never wanting to leave him again. In truth, he wished that he would be a clone too, so that he could stay with Beomhwa, so that he could be immortal too. And this thought, as it arose, struck him as particularly painful. Beomhwa would be this man forever, long after the death of his natural. But Minjoong? Minjoong would age, he would become gnarled by time, and he would be forced to his knees before the reaper who would take his soul. Then he would leave Beomhwa and all of the clones behind, and Beomhwa would be left to live an eternity with these moments only as memories.

Minjoong pressed himself further into Beomhwa then, subconsciously as if the mere thought might become real right then and there. He pressed himself until he knew that Beomhwa would not go anywhere, until he was certain that they would be together through the night and beyond. Until he was certain that these moments that would become memories, would be eternal.

Chapter Text

The wind swirled the smoke as Hongjoong arrived to work that day. The city was on fire it seemed, one attack after the next and Hongjoong felt entirely helpless to try and mitigate any of it. There was nothing he could do, only come to work dutifully every day and perform the duties that were assigned to him. It was a difficult thing to swallow, this constant grounding that would have sent any other warrior mad. Hongjoong had become restless, his anger blistering and red with how the superiors treated his team. As he walked in the makeshift front door of the building coughing, he had to focus on two things, and two things only - the fact that he would see Seonghwa today and most importantly that he would be calling a meeting with the team to update them.

Seonghwa's presence had been a gentle perk, he had been a reliable shoulder to lean on and his promotion had made the two closer. If not emotionally, then certainly they were physically closer to each other. Even if Hongjoong bitterly discounted any interaction between them as purely amicable, purely platonic, there was a small ember inside of him that hoped for something else. Though, he would never admit it out loud or risk not only his livelihood, but his entire life.

"Damn smoke," The Captain murmured with a biting countenance towards the grey ash that had collected near the front door of the building after the attack. The attack itself? Poorly planned, and had been dispatched quickly with minimal effort. It was hard for Hongjoong to swallow that this 'minimal effort' had not gone to his team, but rather to another team. A team that he had not even properly met but only had heard swirling rumors of. Those masked individuals that seemed to follow his team like shadows in the dark.

Hongjoong adjusted his tie and with the flare of his nostrils and the slightest sigh, he kept moving through the security checkpoint where he scanned his ID and then up to his office where he would inevitably collapse into his old chair with a grunt. Work, anymore, was an escape for Hongjoong, who had thrown himself headfirst into the deep end. Most often he would avoid going home anymore knowing that Minjoong would be there, their most recent encounter having not inspired any hope that his twin would soothe his soul and become an integrated part of the government.

It was unfortunate, and it hurt Hongjoong deeply. It was the kind of hurt that he hid, but also the kind that he struggled to process. His brother, his twin, was someone he had relied on his entire life. They had always been close in spite of their differences in interest, but nowadays... There was such a large rift growing between them, Hongjoong was left wondering at times if the government was the right place for Minjoong to be. Perhaps he would have been better off somewhere else. Where? That was difficult to pinpoint, but the thought had crossed Hongjoong's mind on more than one occasion. As the practical brother, it came to him easily that Minjoong was suffering under the regime.

Hongjoong booted up his computer and stared at the screen that flickered to a blue color first, his thoughts still swirling around Minjoong and his failing mind. Hongjoong blamed the science on it all, whatever the government had Minjoong doing was too much for how frail he was, mentally and physically. Smart? Yes. Resilient? Hongjoong sighed, Minjoong had never been resilient. He had always been the boy who caved in easily and this only further made Hongjoong think in his bubbling frustration and anger that something was going on with Minjoong that he was unaware of. Some moral dilemmas that Hongjoong could never fully comprehend, nor care to comprehend.

It was as the government said - contentment came from numbness. So why try to comprehend things out of his reach? It was not worth it. It was easier to simply focus one's mind on tasks that were brilliantly shining, and at hand.

Much easier. Something Minjoong did not understand, or did not want to. Not unlike Yeosang.

Yeosang was another fairly recent dilemma and would be the topic for the team's meeting today. Yeosang, screaming at the top of his lungs on his day off, so loudly that it made Hongjoong react in a manner that was most unbecoming of a Captain. But it was a reaction that had been necessary, without it he was not sure Yeosang would have left his office. Though the reality was that Hongjoong realized that in spite of the fact that he had shouted against one of the eldest on the team, there was little to no fruitful result. The superiors had clearly gotten a hold of the tapes from Hongjoong's office, had seen his dissent and now Yeosang was gone.

The letter had been clearly delivered to Hongjoong's desk not a few days ago.

Kang Yeosang had been a victim of the botched attack on the government building, and after spending a short amount of time in the hospital was transferred from the main hospital to another facility where he was being held for re-training.

Hongjoong knew that 're-training' in this case meant mental reprogramming, and physical torture. It was not a secret, they had all taken an oath to protect the government and its citizens and to follow the doctrine to a T. The rules were not a secret either, failing to do so was an act of treason and would have heavy repercussions. The very idea that Yeosang was somewhere, captured, kept, and being hurt made Hongjoong's shoulders tense. It made him twitch with paranoia looking over his own shoulders as if he were next for allowing it.

His jaw grew tense as the computer finally whirled into action and presented him with his endless files to click through. His shoulders only dropped slightly when he was fixated on his work.

Click, click, woosh.

A boring and endless series of actions before he switched his attention to physical paper that he needed to look through. Signatures, stamps, Hongjoong did it all and he did it with a bored wit and precision.

Hours would pass this way until finally a knock on the door came and Hongjoong's chest would rise gently. Though he always pretended to be slightly annoyed by Seonghwa's presence - after all it was 'taking him away from serious work' - but the reality was never so severe. Seonghwa's presence was light as a feather, it was sweet like summer rain. These were not descriptions that Hongjoong could frequently summon in his head but Seonghwa made him particularly poetic, almost too poetic. So, there was a shift in the way that he sat but he hoped it would not be noticed as he rolled his aching shoulders.

"Come in."

The door clicked open and there stood Park Seonghwa who with the slightest bow of his head crossed the threshold and shut the door behind himself.

"Sir."

"First Lieutenant." Hongjoong regarded the man who comfortably sat across from him at his desk, though not without the slightest bristle of pride that seemed to vibrate through his already proud shoulders. Seonghwa carried himself easily, proudly, and Seonghwa had mentioned to Hongjoong recently that much of his own posture had changed. Where Hongjoong had once been more inclined to be a shy Captain he was now very comfortable in his position and regarded the world with a stern severity that Seonghwa admired.

This was taken as a compliment, Hongjoong had to some degree worried that he would come off as a weak Captain, even after all of his training and study. It was good to know that he was respected, and especially respected by someone that he held in such high regard himself.

There were few men that Hongjoong held to such a high standard as he did Park Seonghwa. He trusted his team, but Seonghwa? There was something special between them, a bond that had formed in a relatively short amount of time. It was a bond that was slowly eating away at the bond he had with his brother, eating away at the bond he had with his family and the world. Seonghwa was, in truth, replacing everything around him as the primary relationship that he held close to his chest. This in itself would be an embarrassing thing to admit, but it was also the truth.

Now, Minjoong was still special, but it was different. Minjoong was different because he held a part of his DNA, a part of who he was. Seonghwa held a part of his soul.

"Finished for the day?" Hongjoong inquired, his tone even.

"Aside from the meeting you called, sir."

"Yes, of course."

"And yourself?"

"There is still much to be done, I fear my work day does not end until I have limited myself."

"The life of a Captain. Admirable but difficult."

"You could say that."

Hongjoong knew that most of the work was being placed on his shoulders because he was exacting and quick with the paperwork. Though he had to also admit that this was a heavy burden to bear and one that was quickly burning him out. An admittance that he would never say out loud. This was just another piece that he would hold close to his heart and bury.

"You know it has been hard recently, First Lieutenant. With all of the attacks, I am being forced to take over duties in other departments while the government scrambles to find replacements for those positions."

"Easier said than done, I fear. Those positions are not easily replaced."

"I know, which is why it has been so hard."

"If you need me to take on any of your work, please let me know, Captain. I would be glad to do so."

"Your support is always appreciated, I will be certain to find a few spots where I can lighten my own load."

Seonghwa nodded and Hongjoong nodded in return. They sat in a small amount of silence for a moment.

"What is the meeting about, sir? You do not usually call for team meetings out of the blue."

Hongjoong almost ripped a piece of paper as he signed it, his pen skipping across the thin material as if Hongjoong himself had stuttered at the question.

"It's... I would rather present the topic to the entire group."

"I understand, sir."

Hongjoong nodded again and he was glad that Seonghwa did not press the topic further, instead the man leaned back into the chair and crossed one leg over the other. Hongjoong found himself awkwardly catching Seonghwa's lingering gaze. Seonghwa was staring at him, and Hongjoong found that he was looking at parts of Seonghwa that he would not usually look at on a man, or anyone for that matter. Seonghwa's legs were strong but elegant. They held a perfect body, thin and noble. His cheekbones were placed high, and they reflected the light almost supernaturally. Seonghwa's eyes were piercing, dark, and siren-like. They seemed to always be peering down the bridge of his sharp, hooked nose. A nose that Hongjoong was severely in love with.

Love...

Hongjoong had promised himself that he would not love anyone, or anything. Promised himself this because this is what he had promised the government. But he loved his brother, loved Minjoong desperately and so he had already broken the promise. And in recent months more than ever before, he found himself staring, fully infatuated with Seonghwa's features, but especially his nose. He wanted to run a finger down its curve, wanting his fingertips to brush across his lips.

A sigh left the Captain then and Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, not unlike a confused dog.

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Seonghwa-ssi, just letting out my frustrations."

"Frustrations with?"

"Frustrations that are difficult to explain and are perhaps not appropriate for the work space."

"I understand, sir." Seonghwa once again did not press the topic further, leaving Hongjoong with a feeling of slight relief.

Though that relief was also installed with a tension in his stomach, because now without Seonghwa's attempt to pry further, Hongjoong felt that his chance to explain how he felt had passed on. Dead and buried like other feelings and attempts at open communication. One day, his feelings would bubble up as anger, or emboldened violence. One day, but not today and so he kept his lips sealed and buried the thought as he returned to his paperwork, dutifully. Perhaps a touch too dutifully, as he allowed an awkward silence to completely spread throughout his office.

It was unclear how much time went by until Hongjoong was taken out of his trance when a knock on the door came.

"Come in."

Seonghwa sat up a little bit, adjusting his suit jacket as he craned his neck to look at who was coming in. At the threshold stood Yunho, tall and well-built, with a naturally friendly face.

"Ah um, Captain, First Lieutenant! I'm not late?"

Hongjoong waved his hand for Yunho to come in, and he did quickly, hastily.

"No, you are not late. You are the first." Seonghwa assured Yunho, who bowed to Seonghwa and stood to the side, quietly, his hands behind his back.

Hongjoong glanced towards his computer to look at the time widget, and he found that it was almost time for the meeting. Only five minutes left, which was certainly unfortunate because he had not yet fully finished his work. He shuffled some paperwork off to the side, putting clipped paperwork and manila folders to the bottom of his piles, his intention was to reorganize and finish some of this work tomorrow. Perhaps he could even stay late, though he glanced at Seonghwa once and felt an inherent need to ask him for a ride home.

It was a strange feeling, a coil in the pit of his stomach, that Hongjoong wanted to have some privacy with Seonghwa. A short blink of an eye of alone time where he could just be himself.

Another knock came, Mingi and Wooyoung stood together and crossed the threshold with a few bows and nods. Mingi quickly found his spot near Yunho, almost clinging to him. Hongjoong knew they were friends, but there were days where he wondered if there was more. A ‘more’ he did not dare to pry about, because he knew the consequences of there being anything 'more'.

Jongho came after and San came last arriving exactly at the minute mark for when the meeting was supposed to start. San and Wooyoung stood next to each other as they always did, and Jongho awkwardly lingered by himself.

Hongjoong stood from his chair and wandered to the semi-circle that had been formed by the team in his office. This was not unlike the first day they had all met in this place. There was a tension, and it felt a bit like it could be cut easily with a very dull knife.

"Where's Yeosang?" Wooyoung chimed in first as Hongjoong offered Jongho a spot to stand to his left, all the while Seonghwa stood just outside of the circle to Hongjoong's right, a lingering powerful shadow. Hongjoong's right hand man, Hongjoong's partner, Hongjoong's protector.

"Yes, where is Yeosang-ssi?" Jongho added, and the Captain turned his head in slight surprise that Jongho would have voiced himself in this manner. Normally, Jongho was the quiet one, strangely tolerant of everything that happened around the team, willing to go with the orders without questioning anything. He was a stable member of the team, so stable that Hongjoong envied him for his abilities to stifle everything until he became an unreadable blank canvas. It was not something Hongjoong had yet mastered, and all of the events that had been happening recently, he wondered if he would ever master the ability to become unreadable when his anger and emotions were being tempted every single day.

"About Yeosang," Hongjoong would begin, his foundation shaken as he realized that it was now his turn to finally speak, that the conversation had finally begun, the meeting in his hands. "Unfortunately, he will not be joining us for a while longer. Several weeks, I imagine."

There was immediate protest that arose on Wooyoung's features, and Hongjoong spoke up again before the slinky fox boy could speak.

"He was caught in the explosion at the entrance."

"What?" Wooyoung leaned in. "And we're just NOW finding out about all of this?"

"I was given word of it yesterday, I called the meeting as soon as I knew." Hongjoong swallowed the fact that Yeosang was away, at least for now while Wooyoung's face was still presenting its intense irritation and shock. If Jongho had mastered the art of suppression, Wooyoung seemed to be working on the art of freedom and maximalism. It made everyone a touch uncomfortable, a touch tense as if they might be found guilty for Wooyoung's transgressions. Gentle pinches from San's fingers on no small occasion would be the only thing that would keep Wooyoung quiet and in line, remembering his place.

"You should have told us immediately, Captain!" Wooyoung continued.

"I could not."

"But-"

"Let the Captain speak, Wooyoung." Seonghwa cut-in, his voice a heavy bass that stepped in at any moment that things got heated enough that Hongjoong could not hold his own. If only every Captain had a First Lieutenant like Seonghwa.

"Please understand, everyone, that Yeosang was caught in the explosion. But he is alive, though he will not be joining us."

"Could I visit him in the hospital?" Jongho appeared briefly downtrodden and Hongjoong placed a hand on the youngest one's shoulder.

"I fear not. Yeosang is not in the hospital."

"Was he not taken there? Surely if he was caught up in the attack he would have been hurt to some degree?" A gentle non-prying question from San. San was a good soldier, but he had an often meek and submissive way of inquiring about certain topics.

"He was taken there, but he has already been removed."

"Then he is home?" San added on.

Hongjoong shook his head and looked down at the ground for a moment. He was uncertain of how to share the news. The news hung heavily, he could not speak of it outright, it would destroy the morale of his team. The reminder of surveillance made him look up at the ceiling. He had to share just enough to strike fear into the team, to remind them of their place, but not enough that they would run from their duty and from the team itself.

"This meeting is twofold." Hongjoong started, as if he had not begun at all. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes and then finally addressed the team entirely. His gaze flicked between each of the member's - Yunho, Mingi, San, Wooyoung and Jongho. They were all quiet, their breath held in their lungs, waiting for the pin to drop.

"I needed to let the team know of Yeosang, his fate is a dark one. The truth is that he came into my office and presented his dissent for what has been happening as of late. The words must have reached the ears of our superiors. I do not wish to sow distrust with all of you here - it was not me who reported." Though perhaps he should have, and he wondered and feared to some extent what it could mean for him, for not having reported on Yeosang's outburst.

"But something happened and Yeosang will not be joining us. I do not know for how long, but until he returns - and here is the second part of this meeting's intention, it is short - we must work hard. We must work hard for our government, our superiors, we must help maintain the order. Now, when things are in such disarray. The attacks are becoming more frequent and I do not foresee them stopping anytime soon, but our regular house visits, the arrests, the missions, it is our job as a team to keep going, to keep finding the rebels and taking them out and away."

The truth of the matter was that Yeosang had acted as a body of a rebel, and being part of the government he was given the most merciful response. Re-training. He was not like those individuals that were being captured in droves, imprisoned or killed. Hongjoong hoped that he would return to them with a better, safer mind that would not cause a stir again.

"Who will man the drones while Yeosang-ssi is out?" Mingi asked, his voice quiet. He appeared almost frightened to stir the pot at the moment.

"I will." Hongjoong volunteered himself and sighed. "Though I will be honest with you Mingi-ssi, I do not think we will be sent out on any missions anytime soon."

"No?"

"No. We are grounded for the foreseeable future. Our job is here, and the patrols that we are assigned on individually."

"That is not a very good use for the team, then, is it?" Wooyoung protested easily again, and Hongjoong felt a pang of envy for Wooyoung too. It seemed to come to him so easily, and yet he tiptoed the line, he was just careful enough that he didn't get captured for his own dissent.

"No. But you must understand that a lack of missions may be a punishment in itself, for us."

"A punishment?" Yunho's lips were downturned, his arms folded, his stance defensive.

"A reminder that we must all fall in line with the government's desires. Perhaps there are a few of us who are having second thoughts. I do not wish for any of us to have those second thoughts. We must walk the line we have been prescribed. If you must, please re-read your manuals and do your utmost to follow what has been written there."

Seonghwa was near Hongjoong then. Hongjoong could feel the warmth of his body radiating against him like sunlight.

"Does everyone understand the Captain?"

"Yes, sir." Everyone spoke in unison, an eerie unison that pierced the area and made it feel hollow from one end to the next. Hongjoong's throat was dry suddenly, and he looked down, his shoulders falling forward as if he were defeated.

"Everyone's dismissed. Unless you wish to speak with myself or the lieutenant."

Everyone started to file out then, breathless and silent. The door shut one final time behind Jongho leaving Hongjoong and Seonghwa alone in the room.

"Well, that was... cheery." Hongjoong spoke up with a saddened air as he moved to sit back down at his office chair. He was quiet in the way he moved the paperwork around, finishing up all the separate piles.

"Such a meeting is not meant to be cheery, sir."

"I suppose not."

"I did not think it would be Yeosang... In the attack and then, gone."

"I fear it may be the worst for him."

"Re-training?" Seonghwa gawked, showing a crack in the armor of his otherwise perfect unreadable demeanor.

"Yes."

"This is grave news."

"Yes."

"You did not tell them."

"I did not wish to tip the scales against the government's favor. If I told them, they would become wild. You saw Wooyoung, he was already unhappy with the news, and the fact that Yeosang was not around."

"I saw. I wish he would learn to hide himself better."

"I feel that he is teaching himself to do the opposite when he is home."

"Perhaps." Seonghwa stifled a laugh.

"San's presence is good for Wooyoung, I am glad that they spend so much time together." Hongjoong really did think this, San's presence tempered Wooyoung's emotions and his eternal wit that seemed to become flammable emotion and feeling.

"I agree. It is not unlike you and I."

"What do you mean?" Hongjoong was startled by the words, the proposition and he attempted to shuffle some more paperwork. Though, as he did so, he quickly realized that he had done too much shuffling and he had to place things back where they were.

"I mean that you and I are a complete duo, a team of our own."

"Oh, right, I see. Yes, yes I suppose that we are similar in this way." Hongjoong was hiding his face behind a manila folder hoping that the redness he felt creeping up would disappear. He willed it, forced it down and put the manila folder down with a gentle exhale.

"Shall I offer you a ride home?" Seonghwa asked gently, and relief washed over Hongjoong immediately. Relief, because now he did not have to ask Seonghwa for the car ride which would have made seem desperate.

"Yes, that would be nice, thank you."

Hongjoong spent ten minutes packing his things up and soon they were on the way out, though not before Hongjoong was certain his door was locked completely. An action that Seonghwa could not help but chuckle at because the doors naturally locked when their tenant was not present inside.

"Ah, so embarrassing." Hongjoong murmured as they stepped into the nearest elevator.

"It happens to all of us, once or twice."

"Do not attempt to make me feel better about my own foolishness, Seonghwa-ssi."

"You always act foolish when I am a cloud on your shoulder for the day."

"Then perhaps you should never come near me." Hongjoong joked. He knew that he could not go a day without seeing Seonghwa at least once.

"My apologies, sir, I will be certain to be rid of my presence promptly. You will not see even a freckle or suggestion of me for the rest of the week. Unless my Captain desires otherwise." Seonghwa performed for Hongjoong then, a deep and illustrious bow lacking any official flair. It was princely, and deep. A prince bowing to a princess before their first dance.

Hongjoong almost choked and waved his hand dismissively at Seonghwa as the elevator doors opened with a ding and they were given permission to leave.

"Seonghwa-ssi, do not be so... so..." Hongjoong could not find the words as he stumbled ineffectively out of the elevator, saved from a fall by Seonghwa's fingers wrapping quickly into his upper arm. "Well, I don't know. But don't do that."

"Apologies, again, Captain." Seonghwa re-iterated, something shifting in his gaze, a playful soul that Hongjoong denied was present immediately.

They exited the building through the makeshift doors, and Hongjoong was met with the scent of smoke again as he had this morning, a scent and sensation that he had all but forgotten to this point.

"I do want to see you, though." Hongjoong admitted with a solemn bow of his head, as if he were a child admitting defeat in a game of hide-and-seek.

"Is that right?"

"Yes."

"I enjoy our visits as well. It is a shame that we must be so careful with what we say. I wish it were possible to speak more freely."

Hongjoong frowned then, and was silent for the duration of their walk to Seonghwa's car, his shoulders slightly limp. The words that Seonghwa spoke, he understood, but did not want to admit. Hongjoong feared retaliation from the government, and he feared to become like his brother, the impractical scientist bound by love for something nebulous and strange. Something that was spurning him on to become this naysayer of the world they lived in.

"Maybe." Was all Hongjoong managed as he slid into the vehicle and closed the door with a heavy thud. Another sigh left him, so many sighs just for one day. It felt strange, but he let it happen as he leaned into the seat and put his seatbelt on.

"Maybe?" Seonghwa questioned. It was easier to be just a touch louder, a touch more imperfect driving a car.

"I don't know, Seonghwa," Hongjoong dropped the formality, but the feeling of distance grew anyway.

"Don't know what?"

"These ideas, not wanting to be careful. Wanting to be more free. Do we not already have all of our freedoms?"

"The freedom to live and go to work and to be content. Yes."

"Yes and those are great freedoms. No?"

"They are, but have you never given yourself some time to think why we choose these freedoms and not something else?"

"I have considered other options, but I always come back to this lifestyle. It's easier."

"Is it easier, or is it just the one that we were given? We don't know another way."

"We don't, but in that, that's where the ease comes from."

Hongjoong was not totally convinced, but a part of him shuddered, wavered, a leaf in the autumn wind - though it was balmy summer outside. Perhaps Seonghwa was right, perhaps Minjoong and Yeosang were right. Or, perhaps they were wrong. And this was the scariest part of it all. It was impossible to tell if someone was right or wrong because there was no way to measure morality and one's choice on the scale of morality objectively. So Hongjoong fell into darkness again, his vision obscured by the government and their teachings. Because with the government, he did not need to have morals, he did not have to think about what was right, or wrong. What was good, true, or bad and a lie.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Hongjoong finally said, watching the lights of the streets flicker by at a higher speed as Seonghwa drove him home.

"As you wish, Captain."

Hongjoong was left wondering in silence then, if he could just choose would he let his heart's desire win? Would he let his yearning hand find Seonghwa's thigh? Would he let his finger's press into the muscular skin there? Would he let his gaze wander freely across Seonghwa's body? Would Seonghwa let Hongjoong undress him? Would Seonghwa undress Hongjoong?

The thoughts were moot, because the choice was given to Hongjoong. The choice of celibacy, because it was easier to be celibate than to think of love in a way that repulsed him. So he let the government's choice take over, leaving Hongjoong only to bask in Seonghwa's presence, to feel his radiating body's warmth from a distance. To yearn, to want, to long for, but to never act upon and never let any of those thoughts *ever* come to light.

"Thanks for taking me home." Was all Hongjoong managed to say as Seonghwa's car pulled to a stop and he escaped the vehicle deftly.

Chapter Text

"Bah, work hard, follow the rules." Wooyoung threw his hands into the air as the door to their Captain's office shuts behind them all. The team had filed out and everyone had started to flow in their separate directions.

"Jongho-ssi!"

Jongho was walking alone, his head held high, but the curve of his shoulders told an entirely different story.

"Mm?" It was a deliberate grunt from the youngest who glanced gently over his shoulder towards Wooyoung's sunshine face.

"Sorry, you'll be alright, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Call if you need anything."

"Alright."

Wooyoung was not entirely convinced that Jongho would call. Jongho was more likely to go home, eat, and go to sleep to try and numb the pain. But Wooyoung put the offer out there anyway, and he hoped that Jongho knew that the team cared for him.

"Come on, Wooyoung." San spoke, not in the highest of spirits after the meeting. Though the truth was, none of them were.

Wooyoung and San made their way in relative silence to the elevators and out the makeshift door.

"When will you learn to keep your mouth shut inside of that building?" San asked, breathing a sigh of relief as they finally left. Wooyoung also felt stifled inside of the government building and he could feel the way San relaxed into the open smoggy air, though it was not much less oppressive out here either. The air was warm and humid, the neon lights blinked ecstatically but their blinks were as hollow as Wooyoung's chest felt now.

Exceptionally hollow.

"I can't help it. How can you keep a straight face when the Captain is talking like that? About Yeosang!"

"It's hard, but you know-" San swallowed and glanced around briefly, they both knew that even here they were being watched. It was never safe to converse freely except in the privacy of one's own home and even those spaces felt as if they were invaded by the superiors. "-You know we have to swallow whatever we feel down. I don't want something to happen to you."

"Like Yeosang?"

"Like Yeosang."

"Yeosang-ah broke the big rule."

"And what rule is that?"

"He went straight to the Captain's office and confronted him about everything. I would never do that."

San was not convinced and Wooyoung could not help but smirk slightly.

"Oh come on! You know I'm not going to do that!" Wooyoung protested at the way San looked at him, the raised eyebrow and the slightest squint of his dark eyes. Wooyoung liked it when San looked at him like this, and though he would never admit it, he did occasionally tease that expression out of San for his own amusement.

"I'm not so sure with the way you have been, recently." San grumbled in response.

They wandered to the garage, Wooyoung clinging like taffy to San's side.

"Drive me home?" Wooyoung teased.

"I'll drive you to my home."

"Oh?"

Wooyoung's own brows were now raised as he leaned up towards San.

"Sannie, I get to see your apartment after all of this time?"

The toe of San's shoe caught onto an uneven crack on the ground, the broader shouldered man almost tripping, held up only by Wooyoung's clinging arms.

"Aysh, don't call me that, Wooyoung." There was a prominent pout on San's features, another thing that Wooyoung loved without discretion.

"But you like it when I call you that."

"Not when I'm walking to my car."

"Alright, alright." Wooyoung could not help himself when he rolled his eyes in response to San's protest.

The vehicle was black and not particularly exciting in appearance, the same one from when they had gone on their rare dinner 'dates' if anyone could call those abysmal outings dates. Now, the car had a few scratches on it, dust and debris from the multiple attacks that were close in proximity left the vehicle damaged and San just a touch too poor to fix any of it. Then again from what San had shared with Wooyoung, he did not seem to care that his car had scuffs on it.

"Gives it character." San boasted not that long ago and Wooyoung scoffed at the confidence, waving his hand about dismissively as if to wipe the smug look off of San's features.

Wooyoung slipped inside, sat and brought down his seatbelt with a click.

"One day, you'll let me drive."

"I don't think so."

"What? I can drive a big military van, I can probably drive this hunk of junk."

"Don't call her that!"

It was here in the confinement of San's car that San's playful nature began to rear its head.

"Her? Oh it's a she?" Wooyoung exhaled, grinning like a cat from ear to ear fearlessly.

"I... Might have come up with that recently. I mean, I get bored when I'm alone so I ju-"

"You start giving machines humanity?"

"That's not exactly it."

"Don't tell me you're in a relationship with the car."

"Oh, no! No no!" San pulled them out of the parking space haphazardly, driving out into the main street and accelerating almost immediately.

"Not exactly convincing me there, Sannie."

San did not say a word in response, instead he continued to drive, pouting as he often did when he met his match of wits. Or, at the very least, Wooyoung believed that this was what it was - San having met his match. Whether that was true or not, that was not something Wooyoung cared to try and decipher.

The mood shifted and Wooyoung realized just how comfortable he was sitting there next to San. Even his hand dared to reach out and touch San's thigh which immediately tensed and retracted from his fingers.

"Don't."

"Sorry." Wooyoung chewed on his lower lip, his apology a garble from in between his teeth as he stared out onto the constantly passing streets, a blur of lights.

"How long do you think we will be grounded for?" San asked as he turned down a darker alley, a shortcut he insisted upon taking every time he drove Wooyoung around.

"Dunno. Not that long, right? I mean, we're one of the only teams that get sent out on the extra difficult missions. That I know of."

"That you know of." San shook his head and Wooyoung quietly agreed to the gesture. It was difficult to pinpoint, but recently there had been a feeling that there was something more. The last several months, their team was being pursued by a masked team performing tasks alongside them. Their identities were never revealed to them, their communication never crossing wires even though that meant a lack of ability to plan overall. Wooyoung thought it was strange, the entire team likely thought it was strange. No one said a word about it out of fear. There were only the most quiet suggestions, murmurs of what they truly thought of what has been happening as of late. With the exception of Yeosang, it seemed.

"Yeah, that I know of." Wooyoung shrugged, a pin in the conversation for now as San swerved out onto a major road clogged with smog, dust, and eternal shades of grey and brown. It was not unlike most of the city, patches of green, and parks were so abysmally rare and they too often carried the scent of dust and smog. Wooyoung was left craving for more, though he hardly knew of a better option in the world even with all of his yearning.

"I'm scared, Sannie."

"What are you scared about?"

"Yeosang. I'm scared about what's happened to him, or what is happening to him."

"I suppose that's only natural."

"Things have been so different, recently. The team, we aren't working like a well-oiled machine and I almost think it is by design."

"Maybe it is to push us to work harder. Whatever it is."

"But why not just motivate us? Why put us in dangerous situations? Or the way Yeosang was accusing the Lieutenant-" Lieutenant, Wooyoung had once called Seonghwa 'officer' but now he was a rank higher, and the timing of that promotion had felt particularly suspicious to Wooyoung. Something did not sit right, it could not sit right. But he was incapable of accusing anyone of anything. He had only stared at Yeosang who cried and pointed viciously at Seonghwa. Seonghwa who had shot at Jongho and Mingi, not some would-be rebel.

"Shh." San looked around them with paranoia, even though there was no one here in the confines of the car, not a camera, nothing. San was an obedient soldier of the state, there would be no reason to bug his vehicle for surveillance - so Wooyoung thought.

"Oh come on Sannie, nobody can hear us here."

"We shouldn't talk about it."

"But I need to, or else I'll explode."

"You need to learn how to put those things away, they aren't important thoughts. We-We have to focus on the tasks we have at hand."

"The tasks of paperwork and routine visits to citizen's homes, accusing them of being potential rebels?"

"Don't be like that, Wooyoung."

"I'll try not to be but just let me talk, amuse me, okay?"

Wooyoung was staring at San's profile, the outline of his sharp nose and jaw, the delicate pinch of his eyes as he drove them home. San did not say a word and Wooyoung relaxed, as if it were permission to keep talking.

"I just think something happened to Yeosang, that he was caught up in the explosion, it was just a happy accident. They were looking for a way to corner him."

"They?"

"The superiors. The government probably has him in a holding space. You know the oath we took. What if he's being tortured?"

"I don't want to think about it." San gurgled at the idea, his voice dead in his own throat as if he was choking on tears, the slip of his throat thick with saliva, the thought conjuring pain.

Wooyoung shied away immediately at the sight and sound of it. The last thing he wanted was to hurt San in any way, he knew that San and Yeosang were good friends. Wooyoung was being selfish and this conversation had a deliberate hurtful impact against San. So, Wooyoung made the decision to shut his mouth and sit quietly in the car.

It was not that Wooyoung wanted to go against the government, his mind was wired just like the rest to believe them wholeheartedly and to function one step after the next in the government's honor. But all the things that had been happening recently had made the already boisterous young soldier take pause. The leg injury that Yunho sustained during a training that could have been avoided, a potential betrayal that was planned between Seonghwa and their Captain Hongjoong shooting at Mingi and Jongho that put Jongho in the hospital. The masked team. The strange meeting this evening, in which Hongjoong tried to make them feel inspired again, ‘work hard’ to perform for the government. A reorientation, a reminder of their purpose in this lifetime. They hardly ever had meetings that were in essence 'pep talks' and aside from the update about Yeosang, the meeting could have been avoided entirely. Something was not right and Wooyoung worried that they had very limited time as a team, or even very limited time to live. Perhaps it was a test, but it was a test to see how strong they were, and the weakest of the team would be culled. Wooyoung felt his fingers coil into his trousers firmly. In terms of the government, he was among the weakest contributors to the team, not physically, but mentally. It was Wooyoung who was the most emotional, the most willing to voice his opinions against a higher regime. He would be culled first, this he knew, if it came to it.

Wooyoung groaned, the sound sustaining itself in his throat before bubbling out of his lips that vibrated against each other.

"What?" San glanced over to Wooyoung, who was slowly melting down his car seat.

"Just... Ugh. Nothing."

"You can tell me."

"No. No I can't."

Wooyoung watched as San's expression soured slightly. The car lurched as San turned it into an exit and they drove a while longer. There was a prolonged silence between the two of them now. Wooyoung could not speak his mind, fearful of hurting San even more than he already had this evening. It had been a stupid thing he had done, to speak so frankly, so freely about Yeosang's potential fate that neither of them knew of, but could only speculate upon. Wooyoung knew that he had conjured Yeosang's tortured body inside of San's mind, and for this could not forgive himself as he finally managed to sit himself straight up and stare out the windshield.

They pulled into a dark alley, and San twisted the keys to turn the car off. It sputtered and the engine silenced. The two of them sat in place for a while longer, neither one wanting to be the first to move or speak. It was, as always, Wooyoung who shifted first. His fingers pressed down to release himself from the seatbelt, and with an uncertain certainty he opened the passenger door and stepped out into the unlit alleyway.

"You coming?"

Wooyoung stared at San who was still sitting in the darkness of the car, the handsome outline of his features beaming through the darkness. Wooyoung thought of him as powerfully radiant, but he could not say the words. He wanted to, the words were on the tip of his tongue - always - but he did not. He kept the thoughts, the concepts a secret for now in this alleyway where his words could be heard.

After all that had happened, Wooyoung was not as brave to say 'I love you' in public anymore. He recalled the park and thought perhaps he was foolish to have confessed so openly. He recalled the restaurant and felt guilt for having made San confess so openly too.

San's door finally clicked open and he stepped out, shutting the door with a thud.

"Come on."

Wooyoung did not need to be told twice, he followed behind smoothly, like a black cat or a sly fox through the dark. As he moved, he realized just how ironic it was to voice his disdain for the government's actions against Yeosang, whilst simultaneously being terrified of voicing his feelings for San.

As if his love for San was a greater sin than his dissent. It was a paradox, two conflicting thoughts and concepts. His homosexuality could never be considered masculine, but his dissent could be turned into masculinity and it is for this reason that it was easier to be a voice of rebellion, than a voice of love.

It was not a long walk to San's apartment, an open door into a rundown welcoming area, and a few staircases to the third floor in a building with no elevator.

"I can't believe I haven't seen a roach around here."

"It's old, not disgusting."

Wooyoung shrugged, not fully convinced as they stopped short of San's apartment door and San fished awkwardly in his pocket for the key.

Wooyoung watched San from behind just over his shoulder, peering like a curious child. There was a natural shakiness to the way San moved; the way he pulled the keys out of his coat pocket and the way he slipped the key into its rightful place. The way he gave it two cranking turns before the door clicked, a mechanism inside released and San pushed on the door, opening it to reveal a humble living space.

It was an old space, dimly lit even when San switched on the light in the corridor, slipping out of his shoes and pulling on slippers - a second set of which he offered to Wooyoung who put them on with a bow of his head in gratitude. Wooyoung expected a gentle aroma of cleaner in the space, but this was not at all how the apartment smelled. It smelled of home cooking and homemaking, and Wooyoung's stomach immediately curled in despair. The apartment's entrance smelled of home.

Wooyoung straightened himself, slipping out of his coat and using a hanger to hang it up in the entrance closet before he moved further into the space.

There was a drawer set near where the corridor entrance opened into the humble unpresuming living space. The drawer set was littered with pieces of paper, receipts. It had a key holder where San had already deposited his car and house keys. The holder was made out of a fake crystal, carved carefully to represent a wealth that neither one of them had. To the back of this drawer set, but sitting pristinely on top were pictures of San's family - his parents, and himself as a small child.

Wooyoung leaned in, his curious mind wanting to see San as he had been in the past a little more intimately. The smallest version of San was smiling, not yet aware of the world that he would be pushed into or the parameters into which he would enter with pride. There was a freedom in the whimsy of his black hair, the crinkle in his brow, and the smear of dirt on his cheek. Wooyoung watched the picture as if he were watching a scene unfold in front of him.

Wooyoung's gaze lingered a while longer before he noticed the seashells decorating the drawer set. They were as numerous as the beach, and he could not help but reach out to grab one and pull it to his ear.

Inside, a small pocket of another dimension entirely, Wooyoung was taken away from this world that he stood in. For a moment, the soldier closed his eyes and let himself be cast adrift in the ocean. The swell of its sound, the imprinted memory of its very existence inside of the shell. He breathed it in, desperate for the sensation of sea spray against his face, the wind blowing against his clothes making him feel feather lighter. Wooyoung imagined himself in that world, immersed completely, his fingers grasping onto San's, woven together like delicate lace, them screaming at the ocean with ease and reverence, emotion leaving their ribcages, a bird bursting forward.

"Do you want tea?"

The dull buzzing of the light returned Wooyoung to the world that he stood in now, the shell slowly pulled away from his ear as he looked to San and nodded, placing the seashell down with a gentle longing sigh. They could be gone by this time tomorrow, or perhaps even with the break of dawn. No one would have to know where they went, they could just leave, now.

Wooyoung stood frozen in thought, staring into nothing though his eyes were clearly inspecting the material of San's worn couch. The couch a navy color with an imprint in the cushion of where San sat most often.

Then San came out of the kitchen carrying two steaming cups. One glass was a green stout design, the other purple and thin. San was methodical, careful as he placed the cups down onto makeshift coasters that appeared to have been stitched with thin fabric stacked one on top of the other.

"What kind of tea?" Wooyoung probed, approaching the coffee table and plopping down on the couch. He landed on the couch so unceremoniously that one might have thought that this was either his home or a home that he visited often, not for the first time.

"Green."

"Green? So late?"

"What's a few hours of sleep gone?"

"Heh, speaking my language I see."

"I have to try, sometimes." San responded with a touch of play in his tone, a glitter to his eye that Wooyoung had not yet been privy to.

"Which one's mine?"

"Whichever, want anything to eat with the tea?"

"Cookies?"

"Perfect."

San disappeared and reappeared quickly, carrying a tray of different biscuits. Round and long, sprinkles and not, some dipped in chocolate, and others with a strange jam in the center in a bright red color.

San was sitting down when Wooyoung's lungs burst like flowers in spring. He grabbed onto San with such intense desperation that it was as if he were suffocating.

"Let's run away. Let's..."

San was forced to yank himself away from Wooyoung, and Wooyoung could not stand the way San was staring at him now as if he had lost his mind, as if he were crazy.

"What are you talking about, Wooyoung?"

"Sannie... Let's go to the sea, the ocean!"

"What? You know that hardly exists anymore. I don't even know where to find an ocean."

The desert was now the majority of the surrounding landscape. Where there had once been large bodies of water, there was now barren sand. Wooyoung knew this, but he believed wholeheartedly that the sea was there, somewhere, just being obscured, hidden by the superiors, by the government.

"We don't know that."

"We don't, but I'm not going to get lost in the damn desert."

Wooyoung was silenced for a moment by the thought, he knew that what San said was true. There was an extremely large chance that they would get lost, and if they were lost then they could very well die. A fate that he did not necessarily want with a sober mind. Wooyoung shifted in his seat, discomfort pricking the back of his neck.

"Then let's just run away, anywhere."

San sighed, exasperated and Wooyoung sighed in return.

"You can't. I know. You don't have to say it." Wooyoung lamented finally, finding a pathetic grip on the ceramic tea cup that he started to sip at in spite of the heat that it was emitting.

"I want to say something, Wooyoung."

"You don't have to."

"But I want to, now."

Wooyoung was paying attention, his eyes locked in on San who had not had a moment to sit down yet after the way Wooyoung had clawed at him.

"I-I do love you, Wooyoung. But you are wilder, much wilder than I can ever hope to be again."

The tea was scalding, but it was a sensation that Wooyoung preferred now over the way San was speaking to him. The way San was trying to cut a tether that had kept them together for all of this time.

"You love me?" Wooyoung remembered the confession but he wanted to hear the words again.

San sat down.

"Yes. I love you."

"How much?"

Wooyoung was looking for an answer in San's eyes, but he couldn't find one immediately. San searched too, his eyes becoming gauzy and pink.

"A lot. Like I loved the waves when I was little, or the garden my mom cared for. I love you the way lungs love an inhale, or roots love the earth. I cannot imagine a world, a life without you."

The words brought tears to Wooyoung's eyes as they dripped, salty and free into the tea from the bridge of his nose. He sniffled only once before he swallowed the tears down thickly, blinking them from his eyes fiercely.

"Don't cry, Wooyoung." San's voice was broken, shattered into a million pieces. One lazy lackadaisical hand reached for the ceramic purple tea cup, picking it up by the curved handle, but lips did not touch the edge, did not attempt to drink. "Don't cry, or I will."

"And what? So what if you cry? Maybe I want you to cry. Maybe I want to see that you do feel something."

"You know I do. Didn't I just tell you all the ways I feel?"

"But how can I know if I don't see it?"

"Because I told you. I said the words."

Wooyoung's lip twitched once as he glanced down to his tea taking a few more sips, though it was ruined now, and so he set it aside with a resignation.

"Wooyoungie," The tonality was so tender that Wooyoung's heart almost slipped into his stomach to make a new home there. Wooyoung moaned lavishly, as if he were being caressed by stray fingers aloft on his skin. "I want to keep you safe, I want you to be with me, working, or not, for many more years. You understand? That means I can't let you act the way you want, or say the things you want when you want to."

Wooyoung could only keep staring down now, his stomach a battleground, tumultuous, a storm brewing. Wooyoung's fingers clasped together as if in prayer, holding onto himself, pretending that he might be able to keep himself attached to the earth without sinking into it, or flying away.

"That means we can't run away, that means that we have to stay here, we have to drink tea and we have to think realistically about the world that we live in. We have to, because we love each other and that is the only way to keep each other safe."

Wooyoung was biting his lower lip hard enough to bruise, hard enough to bleed if he applied any more pressure. His brows had knitted together in such a serious manner that Wooyoung was convinced they might walk off of his face if he shared the hollow feeling growing in his stomach anymore than he already had up to this very moment.

"Wooyoungie," San's voice was whining, tender, a hand made of pure light reaching out towards Wooyoung in a hopeless dark. "Wooyoungie, you understand?"

There was a long and unbroken silence then that grew between them, a rift in the darkness of a tendril like hand made of light and love. San's light continued to reach for Wooyoung, and Wooyoung was shut off in the darkness, his greed for more was keeping him bound to the ground. Wooyoung's jaw was tightened until he thought perhaps one of his teeth had cracked beneath the burden, his eyes closed, the abyss greeted him.

"I understand." Wooyoung echoed from across the rift and something between San and Wooyoung was broken. It was a glass that fell, a diamond that had finally met its match. Wooyoung's own light appeared and it reached to break San's light. The two tendrils touched and spilled forth brilliant gold.

Wooyoung's and San's hands are intertwined, holding onto one another in a blistering grip. They were placed delicately in the divot of the couch where San had made his rest most often. Their hands rested there, but San and Wooyoung did not look at each other.

Wooyoung was desperate to kiss, to touch, to do so much more. Everything that he had ever been denied in the world, it was there in the warmth that was radiating from San's palm. But San's words echoed through his mind, and he understood every single implication of their vibration. San was unwilling because he wanted to protect Wooyoung and Wooyoung to protect San should desire nothing.

Wooyoung's fingers were longer, and they gently caressed San's, his palm shifted to rub into San's palm.

"I understand, but I want you. I cannot imagine not-"

"I'm sorry, Wooyoungie."

"Sannie... What can I do?"

"There is nothing."

"Please?"

Wooyoung knew that even if he was given permission right now, that he would not be able to act. His body would freeze, his mind would go numb. He would recede into the crevices of his imagination, the lustful wanderings of an adolescent not yet ready for the real world, not yet ready to face reality.

"You know that I can't say 'yes' even if I want to." San whispered in the dim light and Wooyoung was left to look away, downtrodden, his fingers squeezing down onto San's hand.

"I know." And finally, finally the acknowledgement of his own knowledge, not the understanding of San's is what broke Wooyoung fully. His hand was still pressed against San's but it was his body that started to lean down towards San, their arms at an awkward angle as Wooyoung laid his head down on San's lap, tears bubbling uncontrollably from his eyes, fogging Wooyoung's vision without remorse or restraint.

Wooyoung cried as a child would, without consideration for anything in the world except the pain that he felt so viscerally striking him in his chest over and over again. The painful realization that there was nothing that either one of them could do, that even if they wanted to, all they could do was stare at each other pitifully, in yearning, in longing for the other's touch. Wooyoung had spent plenty of nights in guilty pleasure, his fingers roaming his body, pretending that it had been San touching him. But now as San stared down at him, there was nothing that either one of them could do about their predicament but look upon each other in love and a silent vow of celibacy.

That was all there was, Wooyoung realized that they had to be celibate and he knew San realized it too.

Not even a kiss could alleviate this pain, this pain of eternity. This stifled feeling that only death could bring relief to. Wooyoung watched as San's own eyes started to tear, though he bit them back, like a dog biting at a gushing hose, annoyed with the very existence of his own humanity.

"This is what we have been reduced to." Wooyoung croaked, reaching up to brush some droplets from San's cheeks. "Not even allowed to be human."

"We are human, we breathe, and eat and we fight..."

"If that is all it takes to be a human, then dogs are human too."

San smiled through the tears.

"I suppose you're right. Then I don't know what a human is at all."

"I don't either."

Wooyoung was at a loss, but he knew in his heart that what they were, and the life that they led was not one that was 'human' in any sense of the imagination. Perhaps they were human only in form, human in the way they walked, talked, their genetic and chromosomal makeup, but nothing else. They were soldiers for the governments to use as the government saw fit, they were meant to be humanoid, not genuinely human.

But God how Wooyoung wanted to feel the sea, sunlight and the world's breeze upon his face. The sweet drip of a peach down his wrist while San held him in his arms.

The want swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

An inquiry. A damn inquiry.

Some time had passed since Woosung's surgery, which had minimal positive effect on his overall health. Minjoong had seen the way the cancer was ravaging his body, in spite of Youngho's and Han's attempts at making 007 feel better. The blood had returned with a vengeance to Woosung's already suffocating cough, his fatigue too apparent in the way he carried himself. The scars had healed, but they were bright pink as if the flesh was struggling to seal completely. The last thing that Minjoong and Woosung needed was an inquiry about the state of his health.

A coffee cup was in Minjoong's hands, he was walking back and forth in his office from one wall to the next like a bouncing ball full of superfluous energy. A nervous energy had filled Minjoong to the brim, and the coffee was doing little to mitigate the feeling as he paced.

There were only two ways that this could all go - Minjoong could report on Woosung, tell the government the truth or he could lie.

The truth would result in Woosung being decommissioned, his health with no improvement would result in lost money for the government and a new 007 would be quickly in the works. It was not something that Minjoong wanted, his selfish mind wanted to delay the inevitable, and he wanted to delay it until it was impossible to delay.

How long though? Days? Weeks?

The eldest Kim twin knew that he did not have long, he did not have months to keep away what would become inevitable. But he wanted to keep Woosung alive, wanted him to have a chance of humanity, a chance for him to keep his integrity. Minjoong wanted for him to go when he was ready, when his body finally let go and he could no longer keep himself standing.

Minjoong thought that if he ever dared to reveal this to the other clones that they would call him selfish and cruel, that he would allow for Woosung's body to become ravaged to the point of death. That it would have been more merciful to let him go when he was not in pain. But Minjoong would argue that the pain was part of the human experience, that without it, he would be playing God. A God he did not want to play, this was not his role even if the government had given him the role of 'keeper' and 'caretaker'.

The coffee spilled onto his hand. Though the coffee was exceptionally lukewarm at this point and hardly elicited a reaction from the biologist aside from a slight wince and stop to his movement in an attempt to not spill anymore of the tan liquid. The liquid had been sufficiently stuffed with milk and sugar - as if the sweetness was the only thing that could properly take the edge off of his poorly day.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn't, Minjoong realized standing there watching the coffee swirl.

Minjoong was playing God regardless of what he did or did not do. Woosung's fate was in his hands, or at least in the hands of the cancer and the end of his life was in Minjoong's hands. He could die suffering, or he could die in peace. Minjoong could not think to rip Woosung out of Han's arms though, the thought soured his stomach.

Frustrated, the coffee was slammed against a desk, the liquid swinging around and spilling onto the surface. The watery particles stuck to one another like magnets and Minjoong stared at the mess for a while before pulling his hand away and shaking the droplets off.

The meeting would result in one thing, Woosung's death. It was in Minjoong's hands how that end would come, but he thoroughly hated that Woosung did not have the choice, that the government would choose and Minjoong was an extension of that government.

Minjoong glanced over his shoulder, paranoid. The feeling of being watched had become pervasive recently. Ever since his small altercation with Hongjoong, ever since he and Beomhwa had finally fallen into each other's arms the way he had imagined they would. Every day, Minjoong woke up and thought that perhaps a knife would be pressed to his throat, or he would be staring down the barrel of a gun.

It never came, but the feeling was eating at him. The feeling that someone would have found out about his looping video footage, or this momentary outburst of emotion when he slammed his cup against the table. A series of small incidents, building a case ready to topple into his lap. Minjoong was not a fighter, he knew that much. He knew that if someone showed up at his doorstep and beat him to a pulp that he would have a hard time fighting anyone. But the fire in the pit of his belly had grown, the feeling to fight was becoming more prominent. If not for Woosung, then certainly for every other clone that he had under his wing. Every single one of them.

Fighting, though, meant immediate insecurity. It meant being stranded in the desert - if he even made it that far - in search of resources and freedom and in the end, fighting more to keep a hold of those resources and that freedom. He knew that if he were to ever leave the confines of this office, of this city, that he would be fighting until the moment his life ended. The government would not topple so easily when and if he departed. They would search for him until he reached the end of the world and dropped himself off of that cliff into unknown waters.

Minjoong breathed an unsteady breath, a sigh that vibrated his entire body. His gaze moved to the clock in the office room and watched the seconds slip by, ten minutes, he had ten minutes left before he had to leave for that cursed meeting. An inquiry that was hanging upon his shoulders, pressing him down.

When Minjoong had taken on this position, as some extraordinary biologist right out of university, he had not for one moment thought that he would bear the burden of balancing someone's life in his very hands. The thought had not so much as reached his brain when he excitedly provided his well-researched serum that maintained DNA augmented individuals for an infinite amount of time. It had not occurred to him that the very serum he had created was him already holding the power in himself to balance someone's life in his hands. Minjoong knew now that he had been naive then, and he was paying for that naivety.

It was strange to have come in, believing in oneself as knowing everything. And now, standing here in this office, knowing that one knew nothing. Minjoong believed that he was naive and ignorant more than he had ever believed such a thing in his entire life. He had never been confident like Hongjoong had always been, but he was at least confident in the confines of his mind. Minjoong believed in himself, believed in his ability to create what no other person had ever created. He still believed in himself in this way, still knew that he was capable. But still, his mind ached, and trembled with insecurity at all the things that he did not know, the things that he could not do. Things that were simply out of reach, or unrealistic.

How much could Minjoong fight before he was put down?

Time slipped away and fear pooled like bile in Minjoong's mouth, the sour acrid taste on his damp lips as he forced his limbs to move. Minjoong proceeded out of the office space without taking the cup of coffee, he abandoned it with great haste as if he were looking to speed up the process of his potential doom.

The reality was that Minjoong did not think that he was marching to his doom, but he did feel in the pit of his stomach, in the hollowed out portions of his chest that things were reaching a penultimate moment. A pinnacle. The part of a road that crested before it fell into a valley. Everything was building to this moment and he felt a rush in his body that after this damned moment he would be born anew.

It was a foolish thought, a passing fragment of his imagination as he did his best to pin his shoulders back, walking, each step a heavy echo through the corridors of his own mind.

Minjoong let out a gentle sigh. It vibrated through his lips as he turned a corner, and then another. An elevator to an extra floor above and he was scanning himself into a boring, metal and plastic meeting room.

At the center there was a round table which reminded Minjoong - vaguely - of an egg. It was white or varnished with a white paint, though Minjoong could hardly tell the difference as he was no expert on tables or the craftsmanship of such objects. There were already many seated at the table. The surgeon that had worked on Woosung was there, and so was the dreaded Li Kihyun. The primary inquisitor - and thus Minjoong's executor - was the lead on the clone project, the man who was above Minjoong's head in every aspect.

Kim Minjoong had been a vital piece, the caretaker above all else, that had been his job. But this man? He was the one with all the paperwork, the man who spearheaded the idea itself. It had been his publications and work that Minjoong had followed so heavily throughout his university career. This was a man he had once admired, but now looked upon with a heavy heart. After all, it had been this very man who had tied the younger biologist up in this tragic series of events.

Though, perhaps Minjoong's path had already been laid out, long ago before he was even capable of differentiating between cucumbers and squash. Long before he knew his right from left, or how to even walk and talk. Perhaps everything Minjoong had ever done and the circumstances of his birth had led him to this very moment like the flutter of butterfly wings.

"Kim Minjoong, please sit." The head spoke motioning for Minjoong to sit down.

Minjoong was stiff in the shoulders but he obeyed the order, sitting in one of the only seats available, in this case right across from the man he had once admired, his lips pressed thin into a line.

"I hope you are doing well."

"Yes, sir."

There was a brief exchange of nods.

"This meeting should be quick and painless, simple."

Minjoong felt his toes curl in his dress shoes. Perhaps this man believed that it would be painless but he did not think so. He sat up slightly and cleared his throat, attempting to get lost in the greying beard hairs of the lead biologist speaking to him.

"We have already reviewed 007's prognosis from his surgery, and consulted the professional opinion of Li Kihyun."

"Without me?" Minjoong uttered, realizing that it sounded petulant quite quickly, and still he remained seated upright. For the first time, Minjoong did not feel like shying away from his own words in front of a large party like this. For the first time, he felt like he needed to be included in such conversations.

"Yes, you were not necessary in these initial discussions."

"Why not?"

"Li Kihyun has made it abundantly clear that you do have a certain bias towards the experiments. I understand, you have been their primary caretaker and you certainly had no small hand in their creation. We felt it would be more appropriate for you to be left out of the initial talks to avoid a potential bias."

Minjoong's right hand curled, the fingers pressing into the palm until his nails cut deep into his skin. His jaw grew taut and he knew that if he did not do these things he might lash out.

The man shifted and pulled out some paperwork. Simple, there was no pomp and circumstance about it. No projections onto a screen, just a simple manila folder that contained the file to Woosung, 007.

"It is believed that 007 will not survive much longer, what is your diagnosis of the situation? If I understand correctly, you have done your best to reduce inflammation. Would he be sound to attend a mission, for example?"

"A mission?"

"Yes, a mission."

Minjoong bit back the urge to show how he felt. Woosung was not ready for a mission, and he would never be. But he could not say this now, he could not show the reality of Woosung's condition on his face.

"It is possible, under the right circumstances."

"Explain better."

"It would be ideal that W-007," Minjoong caught himself slipping. "Not be sent on a mission that is too physically strenuous. He is still recovering from the surgery. The reality is that he is still struggling, but he seems to be in higher spirits."

"How long did you give him to live?" The biologist turned to the surgeon.

"Not long. I removed what I could of the growths, but they will grow back... I cannot imagine he has more than a month at this point."

"You see, Minjoong-ssi? It is hard for me to believe that he is well enough for a mission and for this reason we are wishing to move forward with a decommission."

Minjoong's stomach dropped and the familiar taste of bile returned.

"No!"

It was too bombastic, too extreme. He forced his muscles to react when he heralded the eyebrow raises of everyone around the table.

"Apologies... But I don't think he should be decommissioned now. As I said, he is in high spirits and appears to be recovering." It was a lie, a bold-faced one. He knew the surgeon knew it, and so did Li Kihyun who showed none of the emotion on his face.

The leader paused, glancing over the paper with a certain degree of judgment.

"Very well." But he did not seem convinced, it was as if the three primary players at this table were trying to catch Minjoong slipping up on his job. "Then we shall approve him for a mission, if you insist that he will do well as long as he is maintained in a low stress position. The team's orders will be simplified so that he can participate - a retrieval of paperwork from a found hideout of rebels, the superiors suspect this paperwork has the plans for the next attack on the city."

Minjoong sat, frozen in water. Had he doomed Woosung to a painful death instead of a far simpler one? Would he die on the battlefield, instead of quietly on a surgery table?

Minjoong swallowed, thickly, constantly forcing down a rising feeling of vomit.

"Yes, sir..." He echoed, his tone a vacant void to where feeling had once been. "Shall I deliver the news then?"

"That would be most appealing, yes. You see? Quick, painless. Everyone is dismissed."

Minjoong did not remember how he stood up and how he shuffled out of the room. He just remembered moving sluggishly through the corridors down into the basement to the clone's bunker, his mouth as dry as cotton and his cheeks wet with tears.

Chapter Text

Each tremor of the van had Woosung's lungs contracting, heaving with the insurmountable pressure of being upright and in heavy gear. The team was quiet, only their steady respiration could be heard. Han had pressed himself close to Woosung, and Woosung swam in the warmth of his partner's body, relishing the warmth as if it might be the last. Woosung closed his eyes as he leaned into Han. It occurred to him now that he was so very exhausted. His body ached as if he were gripped with a fever, and though he could still stand and move one foot in front of the other, everything was on fire. Woosung would have given anything to be in bed right now, resting. It was not a realization that had taken a great deal of time to come to - he was sicker than he had been, whatever was in his body was reaching its crescendo and how he wanted to spend that crescendo calmly, in the euphoria of Han's strong arms.

Woosung coughed, and he could feel all eyes pressing into him, the entire team staring with bated breath as if they expected something more from his bloodied coughs. As if they expected every rattle of the van to finally end Woosung.

Minjoong had arrived in the bunker just the other day, his eyes glazed and manic. There was a hitch to his breath as he arrived and Beomhwa held onto his forearms.

"What's wrong?" Beomhwa asked, holding Minjoong up.

Minjoong could not speak, his chest heaving to breathe as if he had rushed to the bunker to deliver some horrific news. Woosung was leaning pathetically against a wall when Minjoong had burst in, his hair wild.

"You have been assigned a mission."

"What? Now?" Beomhwa could not help but steer his glance towards Woosung, and Woosung knew that the worried gaze was for him and him alone.

"I'm fine." Woosung lied, and it was a lie that was pushed through his teeth that were stained with blood from all of his morning coughing.

"No you're not," Han chimed in, frowning as he stepped up near Woosung, a hand around his waist. "Minjoong-ssi, we can't have him go."

"I fear that the superiors are requesting the entire team." Minjoong whispered.

"But why? There is no time to prepare and Woosung needs rest. If he gets sent out now, who knows what will happen. He's not as quick as he used to be!" Han continued defending Woosung though Woosung was not certain he wanted to be defended. He wanted his life to play out the way it was meant to be played out. He did not wish to be babied, not now.

"I'm fine!" Woosung cut-in again, but as his voice echoed sternly, his lungs contracted and he started to cough aggressively. 007 held onto both his lips and chest as he tried to soothe himself, sliding down the wall to the ground as saliva and blood splattered over the palm of his hand in a thick despicable layer of mucus. Han was on his knees, holding onto Woosung as he coughed, and Woosung fell into Han then too. It was so easy to seek out warmth and comfort nowadays, when Woosung might have denied such gestures in the past out of some arbitrary defiance that he had conjured in his mind. Now it was so easy, it might as well have been sleeping.

"You're not fine..." Han whispered, his voice so quiet and gentle that Woosung almost wanted to cry. But he didn't, he just sat against the wall, his breath ragged, but still there.

"I want to try and fight, for as long as I can."

"But why? Why not just try to get better?"

Woosung smiled, weary in his delivery of the expression towards Han.

"I won't."

"You will."

Woosung shook his head. He had lost all hope, sometime ago he was still trying to fight, still wanting to do his best. But now, he was ready to go out with a big boom if he had to.

"One last battle for the government, if that's what they want."

"Why would you want to fight for them, after everything?"

"I don't know. For old time's sake."

So, there they were, in a rattling van. Woosung realized that his illness had reached its crescendo, and that there was no going back. It was a horrible thing to feel the way he did, knowing that he was driving towards what could very well be his last moments. There was a hint of fear in his body, even as he leaned into Han for comfort. It was difficult to reckon with his own mortality, after he had been told that he could live forever. It seemed that this was not true, apparently mortal illness could still take him even if he could not die from old age. It was an irony that he would feel so weak when he had been made to be stronger and faster than anyone else.

Woosung took one deep rattled breath and Han pressed a gloved palm against Woosung's tactically clothed thigh. Han's fingers grasped at the soft muscle there, what was left of it.

"You'll be okay." Han whispered, a shift in narrative from how he had been the day before when the news had been broken about the mission.

"Mhmm." Woosung was struggling to speak, to manage words, and so he just opted to just lean and feel Han's hand on his thigh. This was far easier to do than to speak. So he allowed his throat to hum in acknowledgement, and even with the hum he could taste the iron at the back of his throat, beating like a snake's tail against his tongue. The blood was ever present now, a constant reminder that Woosung's time was limited and that he should spend it well, on his own terms - best he could.

"We'll just get the paperwork." Beomhwa spoke up, trying to ease the tension in the van by Woosung's distant observation. "007 can stay back, we will avoid unnecessary stress."

Woosung nodded, but this was not his intention.

The truth of the matter was that he intended to poise himself to run from the team, and to strike out against potential enemies the best he could. It was not what had been agreed upon, but he did really think that it would be best if he just ran for it and attacked their opponents camp without any hesitation.

Foolish, Woosung thought, but so necessary. Otherwise, these last moments would chalk him up to being a coward.

Plus, he had a plan beyond just to run.

The van came to a not so screeching halt, the tires gripping the sand dunes with all their might. Woosung was throttled from his resting position against Han. The back doors were opened and the masked team was released. Woosung stumbled out last, following after Han with a sort of uncanny and non-human cadence. His arms held onto his issued rifle, but his arms did not feel like holding onto the weapon given. It felt for a moment as the hot sun beat down on the top of his head, that his plans were immediately falling apart the moment his boots hit the ground.

But, Woosung steeled himself, iron clad in his own decision and will as he started to move with a more smooth lope just behind Han. The blood rattled in his throat. A cold shudder ripped through his body as he jogged, his thighs tensing as he navigated the shifting sand beneath his feet. Even in this heat, Woosung realized just how cold he felt, but also just so very hot and feverish. It was a strange middle ground to find oneself in. Hot, sticky from the way the sun beat down against his covered skin. Cold, from the way he felt on the inside, shivers as powerful as earthquakes moving throughout his body from the tip of his nose to his toes.

It was Han who noticed that Woosung was lagging behind and Woosung was glad for it when the masked blond turned around and assisted him, not leaving him behind as the rest of the team - with their plan in mind - scouted ahead, ready to fight and retrieve the plans for the next attack on the city.

Woosung did not want to be left behind, however, and started to move a little faster. Though Han kept pulling on a strap along his back.

"Not so fast." Han murmured in a desperate attempt to make Woosung stop.

"I need to be part of this." Woosung was desperate to belong, and so he kept moving along with a weakened determination that could only be described as the mind and body in a ceaseless battle with one another.

Woosung's body, ravaged and decayed, could not keep up with the desires of his mind that possessed a clarity in his intentions. This made Woosung difficult to stop, but nonetheless slower than he might have normally been. Han's gloved fingers slipped from the strap, resolving instead to run alongside Woosung.

The team had set up along the outside perimeter of the hideout that was half buried by sand in spots, though the front door was unguarded and wide open.

"Could be a trap." Beomhwa's voice cut into the radio. Woosung felt a mild irritation ripple through him like a stone disturbing the surface of a placid lake. Something about the soundwaves of the radio aggravated his body and his mind. He kept moving, he moved out into the open.

"007! Retreat now!" Beomhwa commanded. "002 what are you doing! Grab him!"

Woosung was brashly moving towards the opened door, trap or not he kept moving and Han was reaching out to grab him by the strap again. Woosung knew that nobody had expected him to do this, and now panic would ensue.

Han did manage to grab and yank back, causing both of them to topple over into the hot sand.

"What are you doing?" The blond seethed and Woosung scrambled to his feet, his legs aching, screaming at him to stop.

"I need to do this."

"No. Listen to 003, we-we have to protect you, or else-!"

Woosung shook his head and turned to face the house. Everything was still, eerily quiet as if no one was there at all. This did not bode well for the team, or at least not in Woosung's opinion. This was the kind of quiet that one wanted to be extremely wary of; it was the kind of quiet that made the nerves hum with anticipation, trepidation of incoming attack. Woosung listened for a noise, the sound of a bullet flying, an explosion, the ticking of a timer, anything, something - his senses strained and all he could hear was the grumbling of Han getting back up onto his feet.

Woosung moved again, he could hear 003 shouting obscenities in his ear, but the world was so distant it was as if Woosung had become something else or someone else entirely. He didn’t know how quickly he was moving, didn’t know anything about the mission, only that he was going to complete it.

He entered the house without pomp and circumstance, stumbling in though his feet did not trigger any landmines or strings that could result in more suffering. The air inside was warm and old - even with the open door it seemed, some scents were difficult to remove from a space.

"It's clear, the door." Woosung wheezed into his radio and continued forward, his arms shaking as he continued to hold up the rifle. It was a precautionary item, it made him feel more confident as he moved forward. Though, Woosung knew that this was just a security of confidence, it was unlikely that his reaction speed would be good enough to actually defend himself.

Somewhere in the distance, in the distant buzzing of the radio, he could hear Beomhwa still shouting at him to return immediately. But there were no repercussions, nothing. What repercussions could a dead man possibly have?

The thought was liberating, and Woosung smiled to himself from behind the mask as he moved towards some stairs that went down. It was dark, but he moved on anyway, the visibility filter installed in his mask naturally adjusting to the low light to let Woosung see as he walked.

"Please, come back." Han's voice pleaded, but in spite of the pain that Woosung felt hearing Han's voice break in the way that it did, so intimately in his ear, he could not stop. He was already here, and he was going to finish the job.

The underground was not unlike the upstairs space. It was boring and possessed no decorations aside from an old rug, and a sizable table in the middle. Woosung walked forward towards the table, noticing that there were a lot of maps, papers, and folders littering the top of the table.

Woosung's lips pursed as he inspected everything that he saw. There they were, the plans that they had so carefully planned to retrieve. They were so easy to grab, no guards, no one around at all. One of Woosung's gloved hands ran over a map. It detailed the surrounding area. This he lifted folded until it was but a small square and pocketed. Woosung didn't know what he was doing or why, but he felt pulled to take this particular map.

The rest of the work on the table, he just stared at it, his lips drawn together into a thin line as he considered what he should do. The radio in his ear kept breaking through, but he was in a meditative trance, nothing could ruin his focus, his utmost concentration of what was going on, on the inside.

In a moment of buoyancy and extreme gall, Woosung activated the safety on his rifle and swung it onto his back - out of the way.

Once it was out of the way he reached out and started to pick up every piece of paper into his hands and without any hesitation - except perhaps one moment that he would never admit to - he started to rip into the pieces of paper as if they possessed no importance. The government wanted these, but the government would never have them.

"007! 007! Report! Your status 007!"

There was so much chaos, and yet not a single bullet had rung through the air. Woosung did not respond, he just allowed the sound of paper being torn in half and in half again to sound through the air of the basement that he stood in. He tore into the maps that were left, into the written plans. Whoever these rebels were, they could remember what they had discussed, but the superiors could not know what they did not possess.

Woosung was done with submission, he was done with bowing his head to mysterious individuals who treated him as less than human. Woosung was done, and the sound of the paper ripping was his rebellion. It had taken him all this time to rebel, to come upon death's door, but he was finally ready and without a care in the world.

Over and over again, he tore deftly into the paper until it was nothing more than shreds, and when they had become nothing his fingers would find more to lift and grab and tear.

"007!" The world was spinning out of control as the words echoed through far further trenches of his mind. His number, his name, his identity was nothing. Then the sensation of being wrapped, compressed, the muscle of a familiar man came down upon Woosung.

"Stop! 007! Stop! What are you doing?" The ragged exhale of Han's voice was right there, piercing the stale air next to Woosung's eardrum.

Woosung was struggling to move once he was grabbed, Han pulling him with a heave away from the table.

"The mission..." Han struggled as Woosung flailed, he flailed as if he had all the energy in the world even though his body was failing him and he was coughing now as his lungs compressed down upon him, blood pooled in his mouth and started to ooze from his lips, coating his tongue and teeth until saliva became secondary. "The mission..-!" Another heave as Woosung screamed, more blood escaped his mouth it formed an ocean in his mask, it smeared on his chin, his cheeks, it matted into his hair.

"The mission, you're compromising it!" Han finally managed to push Woosung against the stairs of where they had both entered the room and Woosung lunged in some uncanny feat of strength.

"I need assistance! Someone come, now!" Han cried out, as he pushed Woosung back against the stairs. Woosung knew that Han would not fight him, not in the way that he wanted. He would use every tender touch he had left in him before he would truly hurt him. Woosung would use that tenderness against Han, because he knew he had nothing left to lose.

His limbs were collapsing, his muscles fatigued as he was pushed against the stairs again and he fell back, his back hitting an edge of stairs that caused him to cough again. The coughing intensified, enough that Woosung was forced to turn around, forced to grab at the tip of his mask and pull it back until the blood started to drool from it. It dripped, and became a waterfall. It triggered his nausea reflex and his diaphragm seized.

Over and over again until the coughing was the only sound in the entire building, even when the boots of a second arrived at the top of the stairs and paused anti-climatically. Han was knelt over Woosung now. Woosung could feel the warmth of his hand lingering over him, touching him as his back curled, hunched like an old mountain and Woosung kept coughing.

"Y-you should put your mask back on..." Han whispered gingerly, trying to tip the mask back onto Woosung's face. Woosung kept coughing.

"I can't-" He wheezed and it was all he could do. Even when he took a ragged breath to speak, it was shuddering, and impossible to fully push the words out of his body. Woosung's muscles weakened, the fatigue set-in like an all encompassing fever, like being submerged in flame. He felt his body burning up into nothingness.

The coughing turned to gasping for breath, and gasping for breath turned into clawing at his lungs and throat with desperate fingers, and clawing with desperate fingers turned into his face turning white then blue then purple, and his face turning purple turned into euphoria and euphoria turned into darkness.

---

"007...! 007...!" Han placed his hand down firmly onto the collapsed body of his beloved, his jaw tightened behind his mask. The blond looked up to see Minsu standing at the top of the stairs.

"Retrieve the paperwork... Wh-Whatever is left of it."

"Is he breathing?" Minsu asked, but he looked terrified, enough that the clone's deep voice was shaking.

"I think." Han touched gently along Woosung's body. It was hard to tell through the tactical vest and so he lifted his head and shifted the mask just enough to test his breath. A pool of blood slipped out from underneath like a human organ, plopping with a visceral sound. Woosung's entire face was smeared with blood, but his nostrils were still flaring. Just barely. But still there was breath, even if it was pathetically shallow.

"Yes, he's still breathing." Han confirmed as Minsu stepped past them both on the stairs and entered the room.

"Should I collect everything?"

"Wo- He tore most everything, I don't know what came over him."

Minsu shrugged.

"Just take what is available to us, the superiors will take anything." Han commanded, motioning with his hand, accidentally flicking blood from his gloved fingers onto the nearby walls.

Minsu nodded and turned to do his work.

Han turned to Woosung and started to lift his limp body up into his arms.

"Why do you have to be like this, baby... You didn't have to do all of that... You didn't..." Han whispered as he hoisted, carrying Woosung gingerly as if his body was made of glass. The most fragile glass in the entire world. They had promised to protect him, and now... Now he was worried that there might be nothing left to protect after all was said and done. Han closed his eyes for a moment and then with a heavy sigh started to make his way up the stairs, Woosung's masked face pressed close to his neck so that he could at least feel him, feel his body's warmth. That was all that mattered.

"007 is down, the mission might be compromised... 006 is retrieving what is leftover of the primary target."

"Was the target located?"

"007 located it, on his own... But he also destroyed much of what was located."

"Shit, what about 007? Was he intercepted?" 004 whispered into the radio.

"No. 007 is down from over-exertion, he is still breathing, but not certain about future status."

"Then we must get this done quickly."

"006 what is the situation?"

"006 in, collecting what is left of the paperwork. There is not much left that is not destroyed."

"Pick up anything and everything, we may need it to salvage." 003 called into the radio, though by the sound of his tone it was clear that he was not particularly content with what had occurred.

Han made his way out of the building and back out into the sun, the lenses on his mask adjusting to the light to protect his face from the powerful desert rays. For a moment he dared glance at where he and Woosung had their small tussle before Woosung tore away from him and ran into the building.

He should have run in sooner, he realized now, but he had been concerned that if he had run in then the entire mission would be destroyed. After all, the danger of coming across individuals in that building had been particularly high. In fact, the lack of a trap and the easy path to the layouts, maps and plans had been a little too easy. Easy enough that it had worried Han that if they took much longer they would be found out by a returning party of rebels that would not be too happy to see that their place had been looted.

Han made it out to where the rest of the team had made their 'base' and laid Woosung down into the sand heavily protected by an arching wall. It was not protocol, but Han removed Woosung's mask so that it would be much easier for Woosung to breathe.

"Are you sure he's breathing?" Youngho asked, worried and Han nodded as he placed the mask to the side, half-burying it into the dune as he started to remove Woosung's vest.

"You shouldn't." Youngho put a hand over Han's working hands.

"Why?"

"We may yet face an attack, he needs this protection."

"But he needs to breathe."

Youngho frowned and shook his head.

"Better a shallow breath than a pierced lung."

Han was not certain, he understood the logic, but he wondered how many breaths his Woosung had left and this worried him. They needed to get back home, back to the bunker, so that someone could help Woosung. Perhaps Minjoong could find a way to clear out his airways. Han was searching for ways to bring Woosung back to consciousness.

Minsu was coming out of the house in some five minutes, his arms full of rolled up parchment. Maps, paper, some torn and damaged but salvageable.

"006, are you alright?"

"Yes, no issues. How is 007?"

"We need to retr-"

A gun shot was fired and it flew overhead, easily piercing the air. It smacked Minsu directly in the back of the head causing the clone to fall into the sand, plans and maps fluttering in the blustering hot wind of the desert.

"Move in!" 003 jumped on the occasion quickly.

The air would smell immediately of gun fire as 003 charged forward, grabbing onto the very large body of Minsu, grabbing what did not fly away in the wind of the paperwork.

"Take the paperwork from me 005! 004, cover me!"

More gun shots, as Beomhwa finally passed on all the gathered papers to Sangwoo and lifted Minsu onto his back.

"Retreat! Retreat now back to the van!"

The entire group booked it.

005 ran with the prized possession of the mission, a hand gun his only protection. 004 with 008 covered the rest of them the best that they could as 003 carried 006 on his back and 002 carried 007.

Han found that the sand was especially difficult and slippery to deal with when there was an extra weight on his body but adrenaline carried him through all the way back to the van. Han slipped into the van and pulled Woosung up onto the floor of it, and helped Beomhwa pull Minsu to lay near Woosung on the ground.

The rest of the group piled in, Jonghui and Youngho pulled the back doors of the van closed and 003 knocked hard against the front of the space they were in to signal that they needed to go - and fast.

"FUCK!" It was Han who let out his scream of fear and frustration, ice cold despair and hot anger poured from his mouth. It was like lightning that zapped his entire body. His fist landed squarely into the back of the van repeatedly as he punched it over and over again.

"002, calm down..." 003 whispered, but his voice was not fully convinced of his own words and Han could feel that uncertainty as he kept punching.

Youngho had knelt down, not caring much for how cramped the space was suddenly as he removed 006's mask, checking him.

"He's bleeding." Youngho announced, worriedly just in time for Han to stop punching the van wall repeatedly, leaving a dent.

"He just took a bullet to the back of his head, of course he's fucking bleeding." Han seethed.

"002 - CALM, down." Beomhwa repeated this time he stood and placed a firm hand against Han's body, forcing the blond to sit. Han sat, stiffly, glaring through his mask at Beomhwa and his demand.

The rest of the ride back was silent, so silent that one could hear a pin drop. All Han could do was stare at Woosung's exposed face, and the brown smears all along his face, the way he had fought to the end and was now laying here motionless.

Wake up, was what Han wanted to say. He wanted to shake Woosung and sob uncontrollably, but he couldn't. He had to sit and wait, and wait until someone else told him of Woosung's fate. There was nothing he could do, and he felt so pitifully helpless. In almost every situation, he thought he could help, he could do more. He could protect Woosung. He had promised Woosung... He had *promised* him that he would protect him. But now he couldn't, how could he protect his body from what was happening on the inside?

Woosung's chest heaved at some point. It rose more prominently and Han sat forward, but aside from this the clone remained motionless.

The van squalled to a stop, tires stopping like rust being aggravated from its slumber. The back doors opened and the clones were ushered out, one by one back into the locker room.

"007 and 006 need medical attention." 003 spoke to one of the masked men that walked them to their changing base. There was no response, no acknowledgement but everyone knew that it had been heard, because 006 and 007 were not joining them to change back into their regular uniforms.

Blinded, gagged, deprived of their senses, the clones were taken back to their bunker. Their common room felt much colder than the outside in spite of the warmth that it did maintain in these hotter months.

Once inside, Beomhwa let out a sigh and looked over the team that seemed to be too sluggish to move much.

"We must not lose hope. Minsu fell into the sand, he will be fine."

"How can we not lose hope in this situation?" Han responded breathlessly. "Woosung-"

"We all know of Woosung's situation, this was too much for him, physically... Mentally... I am certain that Minjoong-ssi will be able to help."

"How can you be so sure?" Han had become numb, where there had been anger and despair was now such intense defeat that he was certain that he himself was becoming death. Even his fingertips, he could not quite feel them as the feeling of nothingness washed over him. It was such a powerful feeling too that for a moment Han had to swallow down nausea that came along with the apathy.

"I have to believe in Minjoong, or else there may be nothing left to believe in."

Han turned away from Beomhwa and the rest of the group. There was nothing to believe in - truly nothing and in this Beomhwa was right. How could they believe in Minjoong, who stood as a coward under the boot of the government? He worked for *them* the very same people who kept them here, in these conditions that could only be compared to that of an animal in a cage. Minjoong was complacent and Han did not know if he could defend Minjoong for that very reason - even if Beomhwa had a deep fondness for him.

"I don't know, Beomhwa..." Han whispered, defeated, suppressed by the numbness as he disappeared into Woosung's bedroom and collapsed into his bed. All that was left for Han now was to curl deeply into the blankets and disappear in the smell of Woosung's body. He needed that comfort now as the world all around him disappeared, and became hopeless. A world that Han no longer really believed in.

Chapter Text

Minjoong was all limbs, half of his body was hanging off of his chair when the phone started to ring. Its shrill voice was like that of a siren, it could stir anyone from slumber. Minjoong was under the impression that it could stir the dead from their graves. Minjoong had fallen asleep at his desk, concerned about the mission that he knew the clones had been sent out on. So concerned, in fact, that he had not gone home to get a proper rest. So there he was, sniffling in a most pretentious manner as he fumbled to grab onto the receiver.

"Mhmm?" Pink lips grumbled, with half-lidded eyes as Minjoong did his best to rub the sand and sleep from his gaze.

"Kim Minjoong?"

"Mhmm..."

"Your assistance is requested."

The words were like a gong, going off fiercely in Minjoong's ear as he sat up just a little more, his shoulders crowding up to his ears.

"What?"

"Your assistance is requested for the-"

"The mission." The world was rushing back to Minjoong now. It was like a powerful wind, a vacuum that scooped his chest up and out through his throat. A pain formed in his chest, fearing the inevitable.

"The mission was... Successful. But 007, you must come now."

The mission's success sounded dubious at best. But this was not the issue that Minjoong found himself focusing on. Instead it was Woosung's fate that had cropped itself up in his stomach, like thick, sour battery acid. The ultimate display of Minjoong's inadequacy as a caretaker. The extreme extent of his playing God with the life of one he had considered to be his equal, but did not act with equity towards.

Minjoong dropped the receiver as he felt the blood rush from his face, his stomach turbulent like a storm as he turned his entire body. The feeling of inadequacy and deep sorrow built within him until it became the sour bile in his mouth; until what was in his stomach became a flavor and texture in his mouth.

The biologist dropped pathetically out of his seat and crawled towards a nearby trash bin, tilting his head into it as his entire body heaved and he retched. A feeling that he had only ever had once in his life from expired fish that he had consumed. This? This was far worse than any spoiled fish. This was a grief that completely extinguished his mind, and forced him to think of nothing but Woosung and all that he had done to bring him to this point. The bin sloshed with bile and bits of undigested rice as Minjoong willed himself to stand, wiping his lips by his white lab sleeve.

"God..." It was a perilous exhale that tasted as hideous as he felt.

Minjoong forced himself to breathe, to take breaths as he normally would as he lifted his ID card from his desk and forced himself just as much to walk to where they would be keeping his Woosung.

It was a long walk, or perhaps it was not, but Minjoong felt as if it were longer than normal. Dazed, he carried himself with a hypnotized stooper as if he had been drinking all night and all day. Minjoong had never really had a drink in his life, but this moment had made him want to be completely abnormal and indecent, so that he could handle the swinging gallows that he was slowly getting closer to.

The door slid open with its typical mechanical whirl upon Minjoong's ID card touching a scanning plate nearby. Inside were people that he recognized, though some he did not.

"Ah, there you are-" Li Kihyun exhaled as if he had been waiting for Minjoong to arrive. There was a gentle air about him, but Minjoong could see the smug sparkle in his eyes - like crystals had scattered there within the brown of his gaze, full of mirthful childish delight at the news that Minjoong knew he was about to receive.

The surgeon was present, and a few other biologists of Minjoong's ilk.

In the center lay Woosung.

Woosung was attached to a respiratory machine, an oxygen mask on his face. There were defibrillator pads on his chest, one of which had slid off slightly. Though there was no defibrillator nearby Woosung himself, Minjoong knew they were precautionary, to keep him within the land of the living only for the sake of the government, not for the sake of his own benefit.

"I apologize for my tardiness, my stomach did not sit well with something I ate." Minjoong lied, though he knew that the vomiting was likely caught on camera somewhere and that if someone wanted to check that he had in fact puked, they would be able to do so quite easily.

"It is alright." Kihyun responded, though it was clear that it was not 'alright' by the way he sneered at the idea of Minjoong vomiting somewhere within the building.

"So, the mission went well, but not for 007." Minjoong approached the side of the gurney, a warm hand on Woosung's cold body, clammy as it clung to what little life it had left.

"He collapsed. 002 retrieved his body. It certainly almost compromised the results. Perhaps your belief in 007 was ill-founded, Minjoong-ssi?"

"I do not like such allegations against my integrity. I said what I believed, there is little else to reflect upon."

"It would have been easier to put him down, then, before the mission."

"Perhaps, but I did not believe that to be the case at the last meeting."

"In the future, we should do well to heed what the physicians say, hm?" Kihyun continued on in his way. His tone was sharp, exacting, and it possessed little remorse. Minjoong kept staring into Woosung's pale delicate face, the way he laid there and grimaced even now in his slumber, and he could not imagine how or why that the doctor could speak of the clones with such a calloused tone.

"I am no less educated, at least in the matters of these individuals. Why would I lie?"

"To extend their life for your own selfish emotions, no?"

"I do not feel emotions."

Kihyun paused, the entire room paused. It was an impossibly quiet moment that even Minjoong felt himself shaken to the bone. He knew it wasn't true - everyone in this room felt emotions, but it was perhaps Minjoong himself who felt the most in spite of all of his attempts to hide reality. Kihyun knew this, and Minjoong knew that Kihyun knew, and so there everyone stood - waiting for something or someone to give.

"Now, Minjoong-seonsaengnim," A slight shift in honorifics, Minjoong looked over towards Kihyun, almost baffled. "Don't say such things. We all do our best for the government in such a way. But it is understandably difficult for a creator and caretaker to distance himself from his creations. Some might even rely on physical touch, no?"

Minjoong's blood ran ice cold suddenly. Did Kihyun know of his relationship with Beomhwa? His stomach felt pinched again, as if a stone had dropped there and wasn't capable of digesting or being broken down. But soon he realized that this was not at all what Kihyun was talking about, rather he was speaking of the way he was touching and holding onto Woosung now, and slowly, he ripped his gentle fingers away from the clone.

"He is still alive, why was he kept this way if the decision is already made?" Minjoong remained rooted nearby Woosung. He felt as if he were a wall between Woosung and the rest of the world - there was no one else who could protect the playful impish young man he had created and maintained.

"Oh no, the decision has not yet been made. That would have been against protocol to not have you. This is why he still has the mask on his face so that he can be supplied with oxygen."

"By force."

"Yes, correct. His lungs are too infested. We ran several tests, he has severe growths that are blocking his lungs from properly expanding when he breathes. It is possible to perform a surgery again, but the cancer will grow back. No less, it has already traveled elsewhere. It is an uphill and most certainly a losing battle."

"So you have kept him alive, all because of protocol?"

Minjoong felt nausea rise in his chest again - they were keeping him alive like an animal, he was probably in terrible pain.

"Yes, of course."

The biologist's jaw tightened and he glanced at Woosung, turning around, his back against the world as he created some imaginary forcefield between himself, Woosung and the rest of the room. All he wanted to do was place the clone's forehead against his own, and to tell him that everything would be okay. That he would see Han again, and the rest of the team too. But he wouldn't hear him, he was already gone from the world except for the pain his body felt, the pain his body continued to insurmountably create and stack upon itself.

"That is cruel."

"Tsk, Minjoong-seonsaengnim it is not cruel, it is how we must function. Within the rules. Have you forgotten that we must follow the law and rules that are set before us?"

"I have not forgotten. But I do not agree with it, at all."

"You would be wise to start agreeing with the government sooner than later, it is dangerous to be in your place."

"Which place is that?"

"The place of the rebel."

Another long stretch of silence as Minjoong's fingers roam to find Woosung's fingers, lacing them together to press their palms against one another. The gesture was solid, definitive. He felt a strong pull to rebel now, and he knew the silence was because he had been accused of something that was worthy of a death penalty. Something that he did not wish to be accused of, even though he had already fallen for the mentality of a rebel a long time ago. Long before Woosung's diagnosis, long before he allowed Beomhwa to touch him as tenderly and destructively as he had. Minjoong was born with the mind of a rebel, and now it had bloomed into a flower that spread its scent for all to be inspired by. His bloom was dangerous, this he knew.

"Do not accuse me of such things, Kihyun," Minjoong was sharp, his tongue lashing out against the doctor. His eyes darkened with the weight of the accusation. "It is unwise."

"Then perhaps you will act more wisely, in the future."

"When it comes to the care of the clones? I can only do my best, but do not accuse me of being a rebel or any other such title. I serve the government as any other in this room." Minjoong lied, he felt inauthentic speaking in this manner but he allowed the words to leave him regardless. Inauthentic as they were, he knew that it was what he needed to say to get them off of his back. For now.

Minjoong exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly. His lips moved but no sound came from them as he wished Woosung a final farewell. There was a chance that he could still hear him, though he doubted it. He laid his relaxed arm back onto the table, carefully and then he stepped away. He could see how steeled his gaze had become in the reflection of a one-way window.

"The decision is made then, no?"

"The decision?" Kihyun echoed.

Minjoong motioned gently towards the gurney.

"It is time for him to be decommissioned, we have no choice. His cancer is spreading constantly, it has spread to other parts of his body. Surgery would only once more delay the inevitable. It would be wrong of this party to keep him in a suspended state of existence knowing that he cannot perform his primary task."

The primary task - act as a violent extension of the government, an arm that enacted justice in the way that the superiors deemed fit. Woosung was no longer fit to serve that purpose and would need to be put out of his misery for this reason.

"Does everyone in this party agree? If so, say 'aye' and raise your hand." Minjoong knew that he had limited authority except for when it came to the clones and so he slowly would raise his hand along with everyone else in the room, uttering a half-hearted and reluctant 'aye' that did not wish to leave him.

"It appears that you will have a busy next few weeks, Minjoong-seonsaengnim."

Minjoong nodded with a sigh. He knew that the death of Woosung meant that he would be hard at work creating a new one for the team. Hopefully, this one would be less genetically unsound, though he had no way of promising anything. Each time a clone was made, the science team worked hard to create the best specimen possible. Certain things were impossible to foresee - cancer, an underdeveloped voice box, or personality defects. Either way, perfect replications of the DNA samples were not desired by the government as these individuals were meant to be better, superior to the originals. Something that was impossible with a perfect replication, which meant deviations must be had, and in those deviations - imperfections of another nature.

There was a part of Minjoong that felt relief knowing that he would be working on another Woosung, but he realized that the next Woosung could not replace the Woosung that lay here now as a few physician assistants started to crowd the gurney to administer this one a shot that would stop his heart from beating and end his life.

It was so strange, how easily life was taken away when life was so difficult to create. One chemical cocktail, one bullet, it was enough to kill someone. Yet it was millions to create this life, or months and the burdened labor of a woman's body to create another kind of life. Minjoong was baited to frown as he stared on at the gurney, watching in silence as the work was done and the cocktail was administered. Minjoong watched, though he felt himself almost floating above the entire room, as Woosung's body stopped breathing and continued to lay there. Though there was no outward change that was immediately noticeable, it was the knowledge that there had been a change that was enough for tears to bubble at Minjoong's water line. Tears that he bit down again and again until he was dismissed from the room.

The walk back to his office was quicker and easier this time. In fact it was almost too easy, it was as if he had teleported from where Woosung's body was to his office. Everything felt fake, as if he had not actually experienced any of this, as if it were a nightmare.

"Enough..." Minjoong whispered to himself as he packed up his work for the day, his shoulders hunched forward still as he haphazardly dumped any unfinished paperwork into his briefcase so that he could make an attempt to work on it at home - even though he knew that he would do no such thing.

Minjoong rushed away from the cursed government building he worked in, and as he did he felt the swift feeling of guilt make its way through him like poison. It was a seed, planted inside of him from when he was a child. This was not how he was supposed to act, the guilt whispered in his ear quietly, as the wings of a moth beating against a window searching for a source of light. He was not supposed to hate the government, hate the place he worked in, hate everything that he had ever wanted to be. Yet, he hated, and he cursed, and he rushed through the rubble still being cleaned up towards the nearest market. Everything he did nowadays was with a staunch but quiet desire to be an antithesis to the government. He knew that one day it would boil over, milk in a screaming pot, and his antithesis would ignite a fire that would very well result in his death.

It was a thought that had become a permanent fixture in Minjoong's mind, his own death. Though, for one reason or another - he had yet to figure out why - this did not deter him from acting. He continued forward, marching, a soldier of the mind. He did his best to resist the government in ways that he could, he complied where it made sense, but he knew that he was no longer complying enough that all of this would arrive at some kind of amiable crossroads…

Mingjoong was not certain of which road he would be staring down the barrel of in due time. A road of full resistance where he granted the clones humanity; or a road of resistance where he finally fully embraced his relationship with Beomhwa; or would the road come that allowed his anger to boil over? Where he would become the image that he feared most, the image he associated himself with in total secrecy - a guerrilla fighter in the desert. His fears were prominent of being caught, and still he continued, knowing that he would be caught. It was an illness, an addiction that swept the rug from under the guilt that he felt. A push and pull on his beating heart.

In his guilty, rushed state Minjoong ended up at an open air market that was open even in the evening hours. There he quietly and hastily purchased fruit - an amount that was only adequate for a large group of people. It was not an amount that even he was used to purchasing, his gifts were often small and financially feasible. Now, he had thrown caution to the wind, the money he earned as a biologist was only an extension of the government and he was more than happy to part with it so that he could create some pathetic gift for his clones. A gift that was an apology, and something that they could use to process their grief over all in one. Perhaps the money that he used now at the market will be put to better use by one of the merchants, who could feed more people, or who can finally save up enough money to buy something special for their own family.

Minjoong hoped that was the case as his purchasing spree took the form of a rebellion in his mind.

When Minjoong finally departed from the market his arms were bursting with every variety of fruit that he could think of. There were more strawberries than one could ever hope to eat in one day, peaches, apricots, oranges and apples were balancing tediously as he wandered his way home, extra careful to not knock anything out of his own arms. Each little bit of fruit was delicate and precious, Minjoong treated them as if they were jewels and not simply food to be consumed.

Minjoong imagined in his mind's eye that the fruit would be something that the team could bond over, that they could sit and eat and forget about their sorrow. Though he knew it was just an imagined scene, because the scene was empty without Woosung, and he knew in the pit of his empty, anxious stomach that they would not be so easily fooled or led astray.

Reluctant to return to the cursed government building, he returned home and arranged the fruit carefully in a bag with the apples and oranges at the bottom the peaches carefully stacked on top, and the apricots on top of them with only the berries - strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries littered gently on top of everything else. Once he was content with what he had created, Minjoong fell asleep.

Sleep was an inadequate thing as he kept waking up in a cold sweat. At one point - though he was not certain when - he noticed that Hongjoong had returned home and fallen asleep on the floor for one reason or another, grains of rice peppering his cheeks as if he were a small child that had needed to be fed.

Minjoong put away Hongjoong's food, haphazardly stumbling over a wire and only barely catching himself from causing a ruckus as he put everything away and returned to sleeping himself. The distant sound of city birds would be what he woke up to and the slightly closer sound of the vehicles in the city groaning to life would be what got him out of bed. Tired, stumbling, he barely remembered to brush his teeth - though he did notice that Hongjoong had already gone for the day.

Minjoong stepped out of the apartment door only to remember the fruit in their bag, so he peered inside to grab the bag he had arranged and left once more.

The trip was a boring one as it was often prone to being.

Minjoong did not go to his office and instead made a point to go straight to the basement. He had already delayed delivering the horrid news long enough - horrid news that even a night's sleep did not improve the sensation that he had bubbled inside of him, that horrible stretch of guilt for what he felt he had directly done to Woosung. The way he had played God and was now appealing to the clone's senses by giving them a pathetic groveling apology of a gift in the form of unwashed fruit and berries.

The gates of hell opened. The basement was cooler than it had been, leading Minjoong to believe that someone had finally fixed the air conditioning unit that had circulated cool air into this area before all of the attacks.

Slowly the biologist stepped inside and walked down the long corridor, once again he felt as if he were stepping outside of his own body. As if it were his own spirit following his displaced body. The bag of fruit felt heavy in his arms as he stepped into the common room where the clones had already collected.

"Minjoong-ah!" Beomhwa exhaled, a gentle, light quality to his voice. "Glad you're here."

Minjoong walked forward until he came to the small kitchen island. He placed the full bag on the table with a slight 'thunk' as he sighed heavily.

"What's all that?" Minsu murmured, confused.

"Fruit." Minjoong responded, he watched the bag tilt over, some of the strawberries and blueberries rolled out immediately, dotting the counter.

"What for?" Minsu followed up.

"Just... because..." Minjoong did not feel as if he could lie very well to this group of individuals.

"It's Woosung, isn't it?" Beomhwa asked, his voice suddenly straining.

Minjoong could only nod.

The entire room was silent.

"Woosung loved strawberries..." Youngho whispered, plucking one of the fruit from the table and holding it by its small green stem - though he did not eat it.

"I heard someone come in..." Han's voice echoed from behind the group. He was a toddling child coming into the common room. His hair was sticking up in the air, almost plastic in the way it appeared. His voice groggy, his eyelids still trying to peel themselves open.

"It's Minjoong." Beomhwa pointed and Minjoong turned to face Han, his heart almost stopping in his chest.

"Minjoong... How's Woosung?" Han asked, though his voice was meek, almost hopeless.

"Han, I..." Minjoong chewed on his lower lip. "I did everything-" But did he? He was not so certain as he stood there. Was he telling Han the truth? Had he done everything that he could to make sure that Woosung was healthy and alive? Probably not, but he knew that in the end there was absolutely nothing more that he could do. That Woosung's departure from the world was the most merciful option for him, even if it was or would become the most painful option for others.

"I'm sorry." Was Minjoong resolved to say, though he did not turn away from Han. He kept standing there, watching the blond clone process the information.

At first, Han had that endearing sleepy look to him. This look slowly morphed, transformed into apathy, and then Minjoong watched despair appear in the blue flecks of Han's eyes as his mouth opened. It opened to cry, to scream, but nothing came. It was as if everything, every desire to do anything died in Han's throat.

The clone collapsed beneath buckling knees to the ground with such a powerful thud that Minjoong for a moment thought that Han had broken his knees. Han's forehead placed itself against the ground, his arms wrapped around his torso as he held onto his stomach and rocked back and forth. It was a showing of pain and grief so great that Minjoong had to look away, the vulnerability that Han displayed was too much for him to look at - as if he were peering into a window, watching someone undress, watching someone bear their soul to the entire universe.

Minjoong looked back towards the strawberries, the scattered blueberries and let tears well up and finally spill over his own cheeks too. He let Woosung's loss impact him, he let Han's loss take over him. He listened to the gurgling weeping sound that would finally escape Han's lips, yearning and full of anguish. It was the kind of anguish that could not be described, Minjoong realized. It was the kind of anguish that one could only experience in this exact moment, under these exact circumstances. It could not be told to an audience, not unless that audience knew what it was to love one person and lose that person without any way to bring them back.

Perhaps Han knew that another Woosung, another 007 model could and would be made - as the others had been rebuilt in the past - but that would never replace Woosung as the individual he had been, and it would never replace the feeling that Han had for that particular Woosung. Minjoong knew that, he knew that as he found himself staring at Beomhwa and realizing that he would feel entirely the same if he lost him. How that reality could come to fruition, that each time he let Beomhwa and the team take on a mission, that he risked losing Beomhwa forever.

The tears came with less restraint now, large globules like rain drops in a torrential downpour. The white of his eyes turned red, and his nose became entirely clogged with snot that he kept trying to wipe away pathetically against the white sleeve of his coat, already soiled from the vomit of the day before.

The tears came, and yet Minjoong was not entirely certain that he was allowed to cry them. What right did he have in the moment to feel the way that Han felt for a hypothetical situation that he had imagined in his mind about Beomhwa, that Han was feeling, now, that Han was living?

Minjoong tried to stop the tears, but they kept on, and he noticed that every single person in the room was crying. All of them, all seven sobbed in silence. Only the occasional sniffle would break that silence as each clone lamented about a lost friend and comrade openly. They let the pain of loss wash over them, and they processed it together.

Then, Sangwoo and after him Beomhwa would kneel down near Han. Hands gentle against his back, physically supporting him as they all cried. In time, all of them grouped up around Han and leaned against him until he lifted his head covered in snot, tears and mucus, his lips carved downwards as he sought their warmth.

Minjoong stood by and watched. The gesture was not something he had ever thought he would see. He had convinced himself at some point that these clones were just as human as humans got. That they felt and experienced things in all the same ways, but he realized now that he had not fully believed it.

Now... Now he saw this completely organic moment of grief, this collective moment. They did not speak to each other, they just acted. They held onto each other like brothers would, or a family would in a time where the world felt like it was falling apart. They supported Han and for the first time Minjoong saw their humanity. Not just the idea of it, but the reality of it.

This humanity that he had said he would defend, that he had lied about defending, that he had been a coward about defending. This humanity was worth defending more than anything else in the world. Minjoong turned away again, wiping away his tears, and as he found himself face-to-face with the strawberries and blueberries that were littering the countertop. His soul sung anew with the decision that he would protect the clones with his life. That he would do anything for them, absolutely anything, and that he would hold true to that, this time...

This time he would not let his guilt or any alleged training that he had received take over, to make him a zombie and a servant of the government.

Once his cheeks were patted dry, he dared to approach the pile of clones and kneel down just in front of them. There were no words that he could get himself to speak, but he did stare at them. It was Beomhwa that noticed Minjoong's presence and slowly invited him into their hold of Han who had relaxed his body into the frame of the circle that had been created around him.

"I miss him, I want him so bad..." Han whispered with a hiccup that denoted his despair, as his tears had started to dry already, he had very few left to give now.

Nobody spoke, but continued to hold onto him.

The cameras, the footage of what this all looked like did cross Minjoong's mind, but he buried that thought away. For the first time he did not care about looping footage, he did not care to hide what all of this was in front of the government. For the first time, he felt free to show them exactly how he felt for his most dear creations, and the importance of their humanity in the tapestry of their lives.

Minjoong, for the first time, did not care about anything but the safety of these young men - that were neither his nor the governments to own and manipulate.

Chapter Text

The first day after Minjoong had broken the news of Woosung's death had been an agonizing one. Once the team detached from Han, he somehow managed to find the strength to take himself back to Woosung's room and lay there. It was a pitifully empty feeling, to lay there, to smell Woosung, but to know that he could not feel him the way he wanted to feel him. At some point, his back ached and he turned over onto his side until his shoulder went numb so he switched to the other. There was a gurgling in his stomach that heightened when the scent of dinner wafted into the room, but Han's mind was in such a state that he could not manage to stand up. It was as if everything in his body was made of fatigued fabric, loose, drooping, with little spring. He found himself with his nose buried in Woosung's pillow, just breathing the remnants of Woosung's sweat, the sickly sweet smell that had become him in those last few weeks since the surgery.

There Han was in a semi-comatose state. He heard the door open at some point, the gentle shuffle of fabric and silverware and then the door closed. He didn't look over - he knew it had been Beomhwa leaving him dinner 'just in case' in the way Beomhwa would. The team's leader, he had two sides to him - a ruthless killer, exacting in his role or a gentle parental figure that cooed and whispered with a butterfly soft confidence that all would be alright.

But now, Han did not feel as if anything would be alright. He wanted to kill their primary physician, and he wanted to scream at the world for taking his Woosung away from him.

This state of bitter anger pursued him and his mind for the days to follow. He finally had the energy to pick up the food that was left for him, and finally could stomach some breakfast. It pursued him like a predator in the desert running after him. What had been a state of denial was replaced by morbid anger, so ravenous that Han almost felt a sense of guilt ripple through him when he threw a butter knife at Sangwoo's head when he visited him.

It made a dull 'thunk' sound before it fell to the ground with a clatter and Sangwoo stood there, frozen for a moment as if he had done something wrong. Han's jaw tightened and softened, tightened and softened. His nostrils flared, his eyes creased at the corners like crumpled autumn leaves, and then he collapsed back into Woosung's bed, pulling the blanket over his head with a definitive feeling of guilt.

The anger continued to pour through him, it was like a storm that billowed through him.

"GET OUT!" He screamed one evening at Beomhwa who was leaving him yet another meal.

Beomhwa frowned at the tone, at the way Han spewed his hate on him. Not because Han hated Beomhwa, but because Han hated everything in the moment. Han saw nothing good in the world because the world was a dark place without the one person he had placed all of his light in.

"There is nothing..." He whispered to himself and turned over as another day did with him.

By the fourth day Han noticed the smell on Woosung's bed was no longer sickly, nor sweet. It was the slightly garlic-tinted sweat of his own body. Woosung was gone from the bed by his own doing. He had killed Woosung's physical memory and this was the only realization that had made him finally stand and wander to the bathrooms.

There, Han brushed his teeth, letting the bristles of his toothbrush run along his teeth and gums until the water ran pink with his blood with each time he spat. After he was certain that his teeth were clean, he yanked his clothes off of his body, leaving him nude. Han stared at himself in the mirror for a long while, barefoot on the cool ashen bathroom tile divided by white grout. He turned on one of the showers and let the water run over him - cold at first, but then blistering and hot. The heat brought feeling back into his body as he stood there and did nothing for a long while. Moving his limbs was once again extremely difficult, though inevitably his fingers did find the bar of soap that would run smoothly over his shoulders, the scars all along his chest and abdomen. Han was delicate with his groin, pulling at the skin there in such a manner that one might have thought he was a lover for himself.

Washing himself in this way was reverent, it was a twisted way of remembering Woosung, the way he had touched Han. The way he whined when Han did not care for himself in the way Woosung wanted to see Han care for himself.

Han regretted not caring for himself, regretted how he had not been his very best self for Woosung, because he had never seen a point. They would always live here, always in this cell block, in this prison built for them by the very people who had created them. Perhaps they had a right to keep them here because it was them who had given them all life. But Han, for that reason, did not think it was worth caring for himself...

Now he stood, washing himself, in irony of it all - in the way Woosung would have wanted Han to wash himself. Every movement, every touch was just the way Woosung would have wanted things to be. A deep sigh pulled through Han's chest in the heat of the shower, he felt it rise and fall heavily against the trickling water.

As he stood there, and he washed, and he touched himself in the way that Woosung did his anger started to bleed. It bled into the shower drain, swirling, circling, disappearing into the darkness of wherever used water went.

For all of the things that Woosung did, all of the whining, shouting, laughing, and every other endearing poetic thing that he did, Woosung was perfect in Han's eyes. Every imperfection that was deemed to be an imperfection by the government, was a gentle perfection to Han. Each laugh was an angel's kiss, each whine and shout a proud assertion of Woosung's life and presence in the world. Woosung was the best example of life of them all, he was bursting with it, even at the end.

Han stepped out of the shower, turning the knobs to turn the water running off. A rough terry cloth towel was used to wipe himself down and then wrap around his waist. He left his clothes in an undefined heap on the ground as he wandered into the common room and quickly located the bright reddish color of an apple that had been arranged in a bowl - more than likely by Beomhwa - and walked towards the island kitchen counter to grab onto the apple and begin to nibble on it.

The flavor of the apple burst in Han's mouth. It trickled sweetly down his throat, and he savored it. The apple too was bursting with life, and this reminded him of Woosung. This young life that had not lived a year yet was bounding, bursting, ready to be exactly as he was in spite of the government, in spite of everything the clone's experienced - the torture, the insidious behavior towards their bodies now mutilated from all of the expectations placed on them early on.

It was this apple, on this fourth day, that made Han cry again. He let the tears pour from his eyes down his sun-bathed cheeks, pink with his mourning of a love lost. Though, Han felt foul, crying when he knew that Woosung would not have wanted it. It did not feel authentic to cry, knowing the man he cried for would have wanted him to remember him with laughter and love. But he could not help himself...

Not worthy.

The words came to his mind, they slipped with the ease of an iridescent serpent.

Han as he chewed on the apple, felt that it was perhaps he who was not worthy to live, that it was him that should have passed away - not his love. He would give anything to have Woosung come back exactly the way he had been before he had become ill. He would fall to his knees now if he knew that some being would bring back Woosung, unchanged, and beaming at him with that wolfish smile.

The tears came faster. His heart was breaking now, but it was he himself who was breaking his own heart. Han sniffled once, twice, and bit into the apple, leaving a large chunk of white flesh that was slowly turning brown in his awkwardly fashioned fingers around the sturdy skin of the fruit.

For a moment, Han thought that he would sacrifice his entire team just to have Woosung back, but then he took the thought back. As if he were scared to curse the team to be doomed in their next mission, especially if he gave the idea anymore weight. But there was no credence to such a thought - after all, what spiteful deity would smite the team down just to leave him desolate, and entirely alone in the world?

Another bite, and this missing piece of the apple that was now being humbly digested in his mouth reminded him of Woosung's teeth. Not just the smile, but the biting, or the threats to bite. The tears grew a little more, but Han smiled. It really was true, Woosung was the one who should have stayed walking with the rest, and it should have been Han who should have passed away. The team would, could have taken his loss.

"They wouldn't miss me..." Han whispered so quietly that he knew only the stray fly - that had somehow made it into their dwelling - might have been able to hear what he had said. If only his life had been the one that was taken, not Woosung's... Everyone missed Woosung, not a single soul would miss him. Not with how he screamed at Beomhwa, not with the way he threw knives at Sangwoo and leered at them both.

The anger dripped like venom at the back of his throat, or perhaps it was just sinus fluid from how much he was crying, and Han realized that the inkling of anger was back. That the warmth of the shower was wearing off, that he was becoming a terrible monster in his mind's eye again.

But it was all the more reason to firmly believe that it was he who should have been ended, decommissioned as the government said.

Him and not Woosung.

The apple was just the core now, and he could see its heart. The little brown nodules were not unlike what Han imagined Woosung's illness to be like inside of him. The horrible thing that had taken him away. Unable, or more so not willing to look at the core of the apple anymore he tossed it into the trash. It disappeared into the darkness there and Han started to walk back towards the corridor, the entire time, he could feel eyes on him. Eyes, because he had just realized that Jonghui, Sangwoo and Minsu were all sitting on the couch together and had been talking amongst one another when Han had shuffled in and silenced the entire room with his presence.

They did not even want to speak to him, his mind wrapped around the flesh of the thought. This hateful thought that the entire team wanted him gone, that they were whispering, hoping for Woosung to be back.

It was too bad that they did not realize that Han wanted to be gone right now more than they wanted him gone. He wanted Woosung back in this world, more than they would ever want Han gone from this world.

Han returned to his room, not Woosung's, but rather his own. The bed was made, he hardly remembered the last time he had laid in it. It did not have a single crease, Han had a suspicion that it had been Beomhwa who had made his bed sometime ago. It would not have been unlike Beomhwa, who had a particular affinity for ensuring that everything around them was clean. Han would lay down and stare at the ceiling for a long while, so long that he did not realize that the lights had turned off at some point, signaling nighttime - or whatever the government wanted them to perceive as nighttime.

The fifth day came with an ambling slowness, like a tortoise inching on stubby legs across a table trying to get to a bowl of napa cabbage. Han barely opened his eyes, and immediately he felt a sadness dip into his stomach. That sadness and emptiness hollowed him out completely. It was a perfect totality that made his body unwilling to move, or to act. The fluorescent light overhead induced a new feeling that Han had scarcely had before with this level of impunity - a headache that felt not unlike a pick being shoved repeatedly into the back side of his left eyeball. Han groaned in pain, and just barely managed to turn over so that he could place his face into his pillow. Sweet darkness eased the pain, though only the most marginal amount.

As Han found some form of rest, he kept thinking about all of Woosung. He clung desperately to his memory, having convinced himself that he would start forgetting him the moment he no longer had him in front of him, standing and laughing.

The details of Woosung were as such - Han told himself - he was muscular, but slim built for speed not strength. His eyes were wide, and his skin had a glow to it, autumn stamped. Woosung's ears looked as if they had been pulled to the heaven's, a continuation of his persistent jawline. His lips were neither plump nor thin, but somewhere in-between, perfectly medium, and pursed if not parted with joy. His nose was among the best parts, flared and curved. Overall, Woosung did not look like anything else than a fiendish and mischievous fox - which only made him more attractive to Han. So much so, that for a moment Han conjured Woosung's body in his mind with a fox tail that flicked and danced just behind him. Han smiled into the pillow as he considered Woosung's hands and feet. The gentle peach fuzz along his body, the curvature of his knees that was perfect too. Han breathed in the image, as his mind ambled now towards forgetting Woosung again.

A knock came at his door, but Han did not move; there was a distinct fatigue in his muscles. More distinct than it had been some days before. It was as if he could not move anything, as if he were gripped by paralysis.

"Han? Do you want another apple?"

Han knew that it was Minsu who was speaking simply by the slip and slide of his dark, deep voice. Han didn't move, he couldn't move. He heard Minsu's footsteps as he tried to delicately lumber over to Han's bed.

"Han?"

A hand on Han's shoulder and Han was shaken side to side. All he could do was groan, or whine - it was difficult to differentiate.

"Oh, you're asleep..? Sorry."

Minsu retreated from the room, and Han felt a bit of relief come over him when Minsu left. Not because he did not want his presence, but because he did not want to speak to anyone. It was not Minsu's fault, it was just the way things had unfolded - in this horrible, treacherous way.

Han breathed in the downy fabric of the pillow, the plush material against his face.

He tried to conjure up the thought of Woosung again, tried to think of him as an angel with wings - whatever that meant - but then the thought slipped away from him, and was replaced with thoughts of his own death, and bringing Woosung back by force. Or, perhaps the government or someone allowing him to see Woosung's body one last time so that he could make amends.

Han, in all of these thoughts, got lost somewhere in there. His mind was unable to focus or concentrate on any one thing as if he were a child that was being overstimulated and abandoned all at once. But he was a grown man, in his room with his face pressed firmly into his pillow. There was no reason for these thoughts to drift so lazily in his mind, and for him to drift between the thoughts all the same. It was hard to define why he was this way. This fatigue, this lack of desire to be around anyone, his fixation on Woosung... It was grief, certainly, this Han was able to discern. But Han had thought that grief was nothing more than sadness, and like every emotion it would be easy to drown out. All the other feelings he had ever had, they came with a button that when pressed they were suffocated, drowned and put out of their misery. Han had never struggled - or so he believed - to compartmentalize, to put away his emotions when they did not belong.

But this? This he could not sequester, this he could not drown. It was something that was so prominent, so intense, that it yawned over his entire body, imprinted with the humid warmth of a breath over his soul. And this is what Han had never reckoned with, had never wrestled with as he had wrestled with a dirty rebel in sandy dunes. He had never had to fight a feeling or emotion so strong that it paralyzed him, that it uncorked his being and forced everything to the surface so fiercely that he was unable to bottle it all back up.

His mind was a pandora's box, and so was his body.

It was in this particular way that the days slipped by. Han laying in bed, Han standing up to grab an apple, Han realizing that he stunk and showering in hot water and staring at himself in the mirror to notice in brief snapshot moments that he was losing some of the muscle that he had built on his body. The days came and went like the fluttering of an eyelash, the blink of an eye. In those days that slipped by, Han oscillated between the feelings of fatigue, sadness and hopelessness; sometimes he would reach back towards anger and swaddle himself in its blanket. But the anger always melted off of his shoulders, like tension that was allowed to run free. It would turn into bargaining for his soul, for Woosung's life.

Days turned into weeks, and enough time passed that Han managed to eat a meal with the team though none of the food tasted particularly good in his mouth. Rice, meat, that he would always top off with a bit of fruit, relishing the sweetness, tender and tart as it was. It was that sweet taste that kept him alive and focused - without the fruit he found his mind entirely distorted, regressing or progressing, rapidly running, towards some strange image of Woosung that he was not even certain was Woosung even more.

"Do you want to play cards with us?" Youngho asked one evening after supper and Han reluctant at first nodded, sitting on the ground between Sangwoo and Youngho as Youngho dealt cards.

"How do you play?" Han spoke but his voice felt foreign to him. He had not heard it in days, weeks, now. Only in his own mind where he imagined what he sounded like, not the genuine texture of the way his tongue, lips and throat spat out sound in some amalgamation of comprehensible speech.

"Just have to get to twenty-one, but not more... Or have the highest number that isn't above twenty-one."

Han didn't understand, but he watched everyone play and soon caught on. An hour into the game - after Jonghui had won two rounds ruthlessly against the rest of the group - Han looked around, his gaze landing on Beomhwa who was looking back at Han with a strangely haunted look in his eyes.

"Erm..." Han cleared his throat, awkward, as if he were speaking to perfect strangers. "How did we get the cards?"

"Minjoong-ah, brought them early on after..." Beomhwa responded, his voice low and quiet, comforting in a way. Han felt as if he could lean into Beomhwa's voice; there was something reliable about its gentle texture.

"Right. Got it." Han didn't want to hear more, he just nodded and they went back to the game.

It was a wonder how long one could entertain oneself with a group of people that were all counting up to the number twenty-one. In truth, from the outside it would likely seem like a boring activity, but this was the first time in weeks that Han felt his mind light up. He joked, he laughed, he pouted, and slapped the ground when he finally had his first real win. He even got in Beomhwa's face about it, and Beomhwa shoved him away with a scoff and a chuckle of his own. Joy bloomed in Han's chest for the first time, after those weeks where he had not allowed himself to feel anything but that grief. And as he sat back and Youngho dealt another round, Han looked at the two cards being given to him and he frowned.

Was it right to laugh, to feel joy? Would it not have been more appropriate to return to his room after dinner and continue on the way he had been? His jaw tightened as he looked at the numbers on his cards, and Jonghui asked to be given another card - busting immediately when the numbers totaled to twenty-four.

"Han, Han it's your turn."

Han stared at his cards a little longer, considered the numbers, but did not react.

Youngho's hand made it to Han's knee and applied some pressure.

"Han?"

"Hmm?"

"You know it's alright to let yourself be happy."

"It's too early." Han responded, rasping.

"It's never too early." Sangwoo added on, shaking his head.

"I feel like it's too early."

"But Woosung would have wanted you to be happy, not to put yourself away like a prisoner." Beomhwa chimed in too and Han closed his eyes for a moment as if he were fighting off an incoming headache.

"I know what he would have wanted. I know. But I just," Han sighed. He knew what the team was saying was true, he knew. He knew that they all agreed too, that they all had discussed it before now. He could tell by the way Jonghui looked at him with those large puppy-dog eyes, the way Minsu retreated into his shell as if he were going to be blown-up on if he agreed with the rest of the group. It was painfully obvious and Han leaned forward for a moment, his face finding his hands or his hands finding his face as he palmed his cheeks and covered his eyes. Tears came flooding again, and he felt vulnerable and pathetic.

"Sorry... I'm sorry."

Youngho and Sangwoo were closest and so their hands, warm and kind, touched Han's body first. They rubbed along his back and Beomhwa's hand touched his knee, rubbing along the side.

"It's alright."

"It's okay."

"Don't worry."

They all whispered, until every single clone's hand was on Han's body in reassurance.

When Han felt his stomach soothe, he sat up, determined to finish a few more rounds of the card game, and finally they would be relinquished to sleep when the lights flickered off in the common room. The cards were packed away into their container and everyone retreated back into their rooms to sleep.

It was easy to sleep that night, his body not fatigued but just genuinely exhausted allowed him to collapse and sleep with ease for the first time in weeks.

Another week came and went, and Han felt like his actions had more purpose. He spent more time with the team, who did their absolute best to distract him - he could tell. He ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with them. Though there were days that were harder than others. He found that an apple was easier to stomach for dinner than an entire plate of food. The team worried, but they did not stop him. It was progress enough, it seemed, that he had already come out of his room to sit and enjoy time with them.

Han found that it was difficult to talk about his feelings, though it had never been a promoted activity by the government so this was not exactly a surprise. So, he did not. He pushed them down as he had before, but as the weeks went on, his grief was a little easier to process, a little easier to swallow, a little easier to suffocate and suppress until it was in a pocket of his mind that he could not ever reference again.

Youngho had asked him to play a game of cards one morning. Unusual, but Han obliged.

"I'll win, you know." Han declared with an unusual exuberance.

"Yeah, right." Youngho scoffed as he pulled out the pack of now well-worn cards and started to deal them between the two of them.

That was when the mechanical whirl came from down the hall, and all of them paused. It was unusual for anyone to come into the space at this time of day. It was not long after breakfast, so lunch would not be arriving for several more hours. They still had plenty of fruit, so it was unlikely to be Minjoong.

Until it was.

There Minjoong was, standing delicately upon the threshold of the common room and the corridor. His hair was slicked back nicely, and his coat appeared pressed and pristine.

"Everyone..." Minjoong addressed the group and everyone indeed went silent. So silent that it was possible to hear Minjoong breathe. "So sorry to disturb your day."

"It's not a disturbance." Beomhwa interjected, though Han could not help but roll his eyes. Han had always felt that their relationship was an odd one. After all, Minjoong was one with the government and for that very reason Han could not fully trust Minjoong, in spite of all of his good deeds.

"I have someone I would like to introduce to you." Minjoong stepped aside, allowing a wispy boy to step into the room.

Han's stomach dropped.

There, in the flesh, was Woosung. Except he did not have the wild energy that he knew Woosung to have. This Woosung was smaller, with a delicate and gentle countenance. He was almost curling into himself. He was the same height as Minjoong, whereas before he had been taller.

"Um, hi everyone." Woosung whispered.

No one responded, and Woosung, like a clinging terrified child, looked over to Minjoong for reassurance.

"It's alright, Woosung, they're just shocked."

"Shocked?"

Minjoong nodded, but did not explain further.

The new clone looked back to the group.

"I'm 007." Woosung tried again and Han stepped forward.

"We know, come..." It felt inorganic, strange, as if he were touching a ghost, but Han touched this new Woosung, took him by his delicate nymph-like hand and pulled him forward towards his card game with Youngho.

"I apologize for not warning you all, I have been cooped up in the office and laboratory for weeks now."

"It's alright." Beomhwa assured, Han glanced over his shoulder to watch the interaction but only briefly as he was pulled to look back at Woosung.

"Do you want to be called 007?" Han asked, almost whispering.

"No. I like Woosung... Minjoong-ssi said that's my name. But the other one said it was 007."

"Don't listen to the 'other one'," Han bit back immediately, causing Woosung's shoulders to rise slightly. "That man isn't worth listening to. You can be Woosung, that's a real name. Not a number."

But this too felt strange and inorganic - how could he call this young one Woosung when he only shared his face, but none of the personality and zest? Han frowned to himself, looking down at the half-abandoned card game that he was not sure that he and Youngho could even begin to attempt to pick up where they had left off.

"Okay!" Woosung smiled gently, like a soft rain and Han's soul lifted for a moment. The dark cloud that had been lingering over him for so many weeks seemed to soften around the edges. Maybe it would be easier with this Woosung around, even if he was not exactly the same...

"I'll have to catch you up on everything you've missed, Woosung." Han remarked and Woosung nodded, that delicate countenance seemed highlighted now as he gestured to the cards.

"What's all this?"

"A game." Han did not realize how exciting something so simple could be for someone so fresh to life. "Want to play?"

"Sure."

And it was with this that Han and Youngho pulled all the cards back into one pile and started to explain the game that they were playing to Woosung. It was difficult at first, not unlike teaching a young foal how to stand, but after about an hour Woosung's mind seemed to click with what was happening, his comprehension growing with every passing minute as if he were moving past locked doors and windows in his own head.

Han recalled how it had been when he had first come to life, how sentience had caressed him and how difficult it had been to adjust. For this reason, he was graceful with Woosung, even when frustration bubbled and he felt those bits of anger in all of his grief re-appear. He would swallow the desires to lash out like hot iron. The rainfall of Woosung's voice sizzled and distorted the heat of Han's iron.

The older clone knew that it would take time, he knew that he had not yet fully accepted what had happened - and in truth, he was not sure he would ever fully accept it - but now he had a new responsibility, far greater than his own feelings. He would dig his heels into that responsibility to make sure that Woosung never experienced the pain and torture that the Woosung of the past had to endure.

Chapter Text

A rift, a chasm, a maw had opened between Hongjoong and Minjoong. They spoke to each other with less frequency, they visited their parents together with less frequency. Their mother noticed the odd visitation hours that the twins had almost planned to be separate. Dinner was often long and drawn out - like the bitter cold of a winter day striking in a still warm autumn day.

The sparse city trees had started to turn colors, they heralded the end of summer and the arrival of autumn. The days were becoming increasingly colder in the evenings. An occasional blustering wind moaned and prowled through the crevices in their apartment, leaking cold air.

Hongjoong had steeled his mind, or at least he tried. He had witnessed himself how Minjoong shifted and changed, becoming a creature that he was all too unfamiliar with. This was not the boy he had grown up with, not the brother that he had called into his arms when they were children and Minjoong had scuffed his knee.

Minjoong might have been the older of the two twins, but it had been Hongjoong who had taken on the role of the protector in those days. But no longer. Minjoong had become his own iron clad force, his soft impish features undistorted by emotions ever since he had screamed and pleaded with Hongjoong that one fateful night.

Hongjoong braced himself against the storm of Minjoong. When one of them returned from work every day, it would either be a typhoon or silence that created distance between them. Hongjoong was angry, Minjoong was angry, they were both wrestling with something. Hongjoong had no earthly clue what Minjoong was dealing with, but he no longer teased his brother like he had once upon a time, and he did not share his own work. These frustrations and lack of commonality continued to pull them further apart.

Hongjoong's frustrations were the culmination of something very specific. He wrestled on a daily basis with the fact that he held a deep-seated affection for Park Seonghwa. This created a swirling nauseating guilt in his stomach that lingered upon his pink stomach lining, forcing ulcers into the fragile acidic flesh. The anxiety was constant, it was eating him from the inside out. A long time ago he might have trusted his brother, might have trusted his hyung to listen to him, for him to keep a secret to the grave. But now? Minjoong was a spirit in flight against the chains that bound him to the ground, kept him safe and content. Now, Hongjoong did not know that he could tell Minjoong anything even in the most hushed tone, without Minjoong sharing the breadth of it with someone Hongjoong did not know.

Another piece that crippled him was the removal of Kang Yeosang from the team. It was not a permanent removal - as he had come to find out - but it was a removal long enough that it had made him concerned. The world was at the end of one season, the beginning of another and yet Yeosang was still gone. It created a feather light ripple of worry inside of him, this worry interfered with the feelings that he was fighting about Seonghwa. This left Hongjoong with only one option, to continue suppressing the feelings that he had until he felt like exploding.

These explosions, myopic as they were, allowed him to feel better almost immediately. It was as if anger had become the only thing that he could firmly rely on with Minjoong.

This was their newly invented language.

It reminded Hongjoong of the time the two of them as youths had created their own language, where they had forced all the vowels in any given word to the beginning of the word, in the order that those vowels originally appeared in the word.

Hongjoong became Ooohngjng and Minjoong became Ioomnjng, which in retrospect was about as ridiculous sounding as it had looked when they had written it down on paper. At some point it had become more like a cryptic writing language, difficult to decipher. With the kids that they played with on the street that they lived on, it was a calling card for who they were - twins, brothers, bound in blood and tongue until the very end of days.

It seemed that blood could be broken far easier than Hongjoong had ever anticipated. Hongjoong's unwavering loyalty to the government - no matter how guilt-riddled he was - was what displaced his relationship with Minjoong so severely that not even blood could continue to bind them together.

And they were twins...

If twins could have such a vicious separation, he wondered how other siblings fell apart during disagreements. After all, science had all but proven that Minjoong and Hongjoong were meant to have a relationship closer than any other.

How incorrect science was. The thought slipped through Hongjoong's brain casually. It had been so easy to hate science, it had been science that had liberated his brother's mind so thoroughly. It had been science that forced a wedge between the two of them. If there was nothing else in the world that Hongjoong could come to hate, then he would choose science and all of its branches to despise.

After all, Hongjoong could never bring himself to truly hate Minjoong. In spite of their differences, and the lashings that they gave each other with cruel words on a weekly basis, he could never *hate* Minjoong. He could never even summon the courage to create that feeling, that emotion and direct it at the one he had once loved most.

"Good news." Hongjoong whispered almost to himself, were it not for the fact that Seonghwa was sitting across from him at his desk, in his office, as Seonghwa had been doing for what felt like months now after he himself had finished his work for the day. Though, there were days - Seonghwa admitted - that he showed up with his own work to do, and the two collaborated in silence.

"Hm?" Seonghwa hummed, though he had been staring at Hongjoong the entire time - and Hongjoong knew it.

"It seems that Yeosang-ssi will be returned to us in a week."

"A week, really?"

"It has been a long time since he has been around the team."

"Indeed it has. I can only imagine what he has been through."

"His transgressions..." Hongjoong swallowed, he did not enjoy discussing these things, but he knew it was a part of his being at the head of his team. At least he did not have to discuss it with the rest of the team, just the one he leaned on for support. "I fear he will not be the same when he does return to us."

"The same is not what the superiors want, or are looking for."

"I know, but there was a dynamic we all had, no?"

"That is true, but if it is not a dynamic that the superiors want then we must oblige."

"I did not interfere with Yeosang-ssi being taken. Though I feel I could have done something if they had only come to me about it."

"Did he not almost assault you?"

"Assault? No. He was upset, shouting accusations and such. I do not think I was a very good leader then."

Seonghwa nodded briefly in acknowledgment, though by the way he looked, it was not in agreement.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Hongjoong whispered, his words as soft as the beating of a moth's wings.

"You are never NOT a good leader. You have always done what is right by the team, by us, by me."

Heat would immediately rise from Hongjoong's back up his neck and onto his cheeks.

"Don't say that."

"It's true. So please, do not speak poorly of yourself."

In spite of the fact that Hongjoong had become a more confident, forward facing leader, there were still many doubts that swirled around in his mind. Anxiety was what lead Hongjoong by the hand, his constant desire to be perfect. It was something that he knew Seonghwa chided him for regularly, reminded him that it was impossible to be perfect, just to do his best. But Hongjoong saw no other way but to fulfill 'his best' than to be perfect.

Sweet Seonghwa, Hongjoong's mind always reflected, the slicked back dark thick hair, the ash colored dark eyelashes, the pink bow of his lips, the sun soaked tan of his skin. He was a desire that burned in Hongjoong's stomach, fiercely burning like an eternal fire. What was he supposed to do with those dark siren eyes that threatened to drown him? What was he supposed to do with the pearly white teeth that could bite pieces out of his flesh, forcing him into submission? Hongjoong wanted to submit, the thought had crossed his mind with guilt many times. Them like nesting dolls against one another, with Seonghwa the larger, finding warm purchase along Hongjoong's body. Guilt... Guilt... Horrible guilt. It was as if he were imagining these things with a man who had not a single clue that he was thinking all of this. With a man that would be disgusted - so Hongjoong thoroughly believed - if he were to ever find out about Hongjoong's muse. Hongjoong's desire to not be Captain all the time, but to be the smaller and weaker man, so that he could let go, so that he could unwind the cork that had built inside of him.

It was moments such as these where he stared with such pure affection at Seonghwa, that he realized he was staring too long, lingering on the rounds of his face for blistering seconds where his humiliating affection would be noticed. So he forced himself to look away, and he found himself envious of his brother too. These moments, where his brother had liberated his mind, allowed him to feel and act freely - as freely as Hongjoong believed him to act - whereas Hongjoong was forced to live with longing and guilt that he had built inside of himself until it became shortsighted displays of fury and resentment.

It would have been easier to have never been born, perhaps his cell would have been better off never forming next to Minjoong's. Perhaps Minjoong should have formed, and he alone would have carried the burden of existence.

"It is difficult, Lieutenant. I strive to be the best for the team, but I fear that I have failed. I have at the very least failed Yeosang from a fate we both know is gruesome."

"It is a fate that he created himself, a whirlwind. If he had only suppressed his thoughts, and allowed what was meant to be played out, play out, then he would not be returning to us in a week. He would be here with us, a subject of mundane paperwork and endless meetings."

Seonghwa was right, of course. Hongjoong knew he was right, because Seonghwa - frankly - was always right. Not for any specific reason, but Hongjoong had found love and brotherhood in Seonghwa. Though this brotherhood was legions different from the one he had once had with Minjoong. This one was based not just in brotherhood, the ties of blood, but something much stronger. Or perhaps Hongjoong had fallen ill and so deeply in love with Seonghwa that he believed it to be stronger when it was not. Seonghwa, his brother, his love. His desperate need that caused his body to ache until he was little more than fumes and reckless desire for a man that he had known for what was less than a year, but certainly felt like a lifetime.

"I suppose." Hongjoong murmured, sifting a piece of paper from one pile to the next, not unlike sand. Languid and tired. Yeosang would be back in a week, but what would happen then was still in the air. A meeting, certainly, but what else? Jongho would be glad to see Yeosang back but what would Hongjoong tell Yeosang? Would anything be appropriate?

"Do not worry about it so much, Captain."

Do not worry. Seonghwa said this a lot, in strange and stolen away moments when it was just the two of them. Unfortunately, Hongjoong was simply incapable of not worrying. Anxiety came as easily as breathing to Hongjoong, who had throughout his life constructed an almost perfect image of who he was supposed to be, who he was seen as by the general populace. Hongjoong was a strong young man, who withheld emotions without great effort. But with Seonghwa, around Seonghwa, every positive trait that he had cultivated seemed to fall apart. They were like crumpled pieces of paper thrown in a nearby bin, to be forgotten and disposed of.

Seonghwa's presence was looming and powerful, intimidating to most, but not to Hongjoong who had discovered that he could be just a touch softer around the Lieutenant - though never at work. This fragility, Hongjoong knew was something that he could not display to the government, but it was something he secretly yearned to display in front of Seonghwa. It was one of his deepest, darkest desires.

He couldn't. He knew, but he wanted to, so much so that it was burning him up from the inside like a fever. Seonghwa would not approve, but to be himself when the world screamed at him to be anything but himself it was liberating in its own way.

This, however, only circled back to Minjoong and his own liberation. The liberation that Hongjoong was both decisively angry about and jealous of. Hongjoong believed that Minjoong was being unnecessarily reckless, too loose about his own life. The constant thought that something *might* happen hung heavily upon Hongjoong's brow. He knew that if Minjoong continued on this path then it was a 'when' not an 'if' and this worried Hongjoong no matter how many angry words they exchanged.

A sigh left the Captain as he shuffled around a bit more paperwork and looked up quietly towards Seonghwa.

"You say to not worry, but you know that this is easier said than done. How can I not have concern when it is someone who is on my team that is the target of this particular procedure?"

"It is fair, Captain. But you cannot allow this to eat you from the inside. You will have no way to focus on your job."

"This is my job. Yeosang's welfare, your welfare..."

"But not to the extent of allowing your every thought to be taken up by it."

"No, and it's not. Other things are in here too." Hongjoong tapped his temple, almost smiling.

"Oh, is that right?" Seonghwa spoke lowly, raising a brow in an almost condescending voice that edged out gently in being more playful than malicious.

"Yes. How else do I get all of this done?"

"Pure luck?"

Hongjoong huffed, his nostrils flaring as he leaned back into his chair.

"Rude, I don't say such things to you."

"No, sir. But if you said such a thing to me, I would simply oblige with your words."

"Wouldn't even fight back?"

"I do not think I would be quick witted enough."

"Tsk, you are plenty quick enough."

"Now..."

Hongjoong was forced to stifle a laugh, gentle in his throat before being defeated by the strength of his mind. There was a double meaning to Seonghwa's alleged speed, though one of those meanings he did not dare bring up - an insult to manhood, and certainly an inappropriate topic to discuss within the confines of work. Hongjoong quickly chose to let the topic slide, returning to the endless piles of mundane paperwork.

"I wish I could open a window in here." Hongjoong sighed, glancing to the wall of windows in his office, diffused light cut seamlessly through the shuttered blinds. The primary source of light were always the fluorescent lights overhead, though there were days that Hongjoong felt they were overwhelming and would shut them off through a series of complicated switches that the government did not necessarily want their employees using - though there was no punishment for turning the lights off either, and so Hongjoong relished in this small freedom.

"The smog would get in, it would smell awful. I prefer the filtered air." Seonghwa responded, and in the case of smog, Hongjoong had to agree. They were high up enough that the queer air in the city would waft in. The higher the building, the more smog. Even looking out into the city from this vantage point was almost always slightly obscured by the grey of the world. It was almost always grey, except for the occasional summer or spring day where the natural blue of the sky seemed to peek through. The smog and clouded sky dappled grim starlight. It was a wonder that anyone was able to grow anything on their rooftops with how grey it was most days. Combined with the poor quality of the air? It was nothing short of a miracle.

Hongjoong thought of it more as a nightmare. Breathing fresh air was a privilege that the team got only outside of the city - ironic as most of the time, outside of the city the air was heavy with heat. Though Hongjoong had more than seen the maps of the nation, he knew that the majority of said nation was a plundered and endless dune. So to see trees, one had to visit the smog laden city, an even worse irony.

There were murmurs, rumors of a sea somewhere. San had insisted that he had gone when he had been a child, or so he said. Hongjoong had little proof to believe in such a claim. The maps only detailed land masses, and mysteriously left off any bodies of water - big or small, enclosing or enclosed. He wondered what it would have been like to visit a beach, run barefoot through the water and collapse into it when a large wave tripped and tangled delicate ankles. He had seen it, in videos, in movies that the government carefully curated for their populace to see.

"Ever thought about going to the beach?" Hongjoong whispered to Seonghwa who had started to pace back and forth from one side to the other in his office.

"Beach?"

"You know, like a lake or a sea."

"I suppose it has crossed my mind... Aren't you done?"

Hongjoong looked down, realizing that in his daydreaming he was by some technicality finished with work for the day.

"Ah, um - yes." He cleared his throat and started to stand to pack up.

"Want me to drive you home?"

"I won't say no."

Seonghwa nodded and waited patiently as Hongjoong finished packing for the two to depart.

"But, about the beach." In the car, driving.

"What about it? You really want to go find some water, huh? Are you thirsty?" Seonghwa teased, a touch more playful now that they were solidly, alone.

"I just think, maybe it would be fun-?" That sounded wrong. 'Fun' was not something that was supposed to cross his mind, he realized.

"My Captain is thinking about fun? Who has replaced you?"

"Oh, please, don't act like I've never talked about these sorts of things."

"Well, let's delay the topic a little more."

Hongjoong sighed heavily as he realized that the car was slowing and stopping at the regular drop-off point that Seonghwa had grown used to.

"Thank you, as always." Hongjoong gave a bow to Seonghwa once he had pulled himself - awkwardly - out of the car.

"No problem. I'll see you..."

"Mhmm."

Hongjoong shut the door and watched the vehicle tear away from the curb, joining the lights of the city beyond where he could follow with his eyes alone. A loneliness spread through Hongjoong as he watched Seonghwa leave. It was a pitiful, pathetic loneliness. He hated the feeling, so full of yearning and longing. The Captain frowned to himself and with a heavy heart turned to make his way up to his apartment. In truth, he hoped that Minjoong was not home yet, or would not be home at all for the evening. It would have allowed Hongjoong more time to be with himself, to console his strange and mostly unwanted feelings for Seonghwa.

"Idiot." Hongjoong grumbled definitively as he unlocked the front door and entered, slipping out of his shoes. "I'm home!" He announced, quickly realizing that Minjoong was in fact home and his plans to console himself would have to be put on the backburner. Briefcase laid down carefully on the ground, he loosened the knot of his black tie, turning his neck side to side as he did.

"What are you cooking?" Hongjoong asked, a pale and pitiable attempt to be cordial. It was the food that had let him know that Minjoong was home first, before he had caught sight of his twin.

"Stew."

"With?"

"Pork, obviously."

This was something that the twins could agree on - both of them did not have a great love for vegetables. Kimchi was not a regular staple in the household, but it did have a place in stew, though not as the main star but rather a flavoring component. Hongjoong leaned against the bar of the kitchen, peering in on his brother cooking. The stew was gently simmering in its pot, though it was apparent he had not yet thrown in the meat.

"Can I have some?" A strange gesture of closeness, though Hongjoong felt the words were like ash on his tongue. It was an attempt, and little more. He knew that his brother would sneer at the idea anymore, even if he would not deny him some stew at the end of the day.

"I suppose." Minjoong grumbled in response, sipping at the simmering liquid to see if it was to his liking. "But the kimchi is more sour than normal, might not like it."

"I'll live, I probably should eat something 'green'," Hongjoong was reluctant to accept any vegetable into his life, or his mouth. In this case, the kimchi was so fermented that it hardly resembled a vegetable and the stew in question was far from green. In fact, nothing truly green touched this signature stew, instead it was a bright red color and spots of orange or yellowish oil floated at the top in the form of a foam that frothed with a sort of primal and beautiful decadence.

The very thought of tasting the soup in question made Hongjoong's mouth water and he let out a sigh as his stomach grumbled.

"I made some rice too, are we sharing everything tonight?"

"Yeah, can't have jjigae without rice." Hongjoong could stomach rice, it was not a vegetable, and it was not green. It was white, or it possessed a purple color. Purple was likely the healthier option, but it was more expensive. The government had rations on black rice - which turned a beautiful amethyst purple when cooked properly - but white rice was cheap and plentiful. The twins most often purchased the white variety, splurging on occasion on black and savoring every bite.

"How was work?" Minjoong asked, and Hongjoong could tell that his brother was being cordial - as expected - but distant. There was no real investment in how Hongjoong's day had been, or how work had been. None at all, his voice was void of this and it almost made Hongjoong crawl out of his skin.

"Mm, it's been busy but today was not very special. One of my colleagues is returning after a long break."

"Break?" Minjoong continued to feign interest and Hongjoong's jaw tightened for a moment, as if he were resisting the urge to say something - which he was - nasty to Minjoong's forceful distance between them. Though Hongjoong did not dare say a word, he knew that he would be the same if he were the one cooking. It was not just Minjoong who had created the rift, after all, it was a concerted effort created by both of them.

"Mhmm. Couldn't handle the heat, had to be put on leave for a while. So next week, we will see him again. I think at least one other on the team will be quite glad that he will be back. I maintain some concern about his return."

"I see."

"Ugh, why do you ask if you don't even care?" Hongjoong grumbled, a snap to his tone like a rubber band as he lost the touch of patience that he had thought he had built up in his head.

"I do care."

"No you don't, hyung. Stop pretending."

"Why would you say that? I wouldn't ask if I didn't care."

"Let's not act like things haven't been, different, between us ever since you had a meltdown."

"They have been, but you're my brother, should I not at least try to speak to you? If not like a brother, then at least as some colleague."

"Some colleague..." Hongjoong chewed on the words, he and Seonghwa were colleagues and he felt closer to Seonghwa than he did Minjoong. So what did that say overall about the status of colleagues? Hongjoong wasn't sure. There were simply more questions than answers that cropped up in his mind and he settled for answering none of them. "I suppose I find it strange to speak to my twin brother as a colleague, though with recent developments, I understand why you would want to keep it that way."

"You must admit that we cannot go on ignoring each other and live together. Even mom has noticed that something is off."

"Yes, she told me last I went over there."

"She wants to see us together, but I will admit, between our two schedules... Even if we did not have the issues that we do with one another, it would be hard to coordinate anymore."

"Would have to ask for a day off."

"Which is a headache more than I want to deal with." Minjoong shook his head.

Hongjoong agreed, asking for a day off while being a government employee was an impossible feat. It was a feat of strength and true mental and emotional power. Only the best and most diligent received 'days off' when requested, and even then there was a careful and almost too domineering vetting process of who was the most worthy of such a 'treat'. In Hongjoong's mind, with all of the things that Minjoong spoke of, he likely did not qualify. Hongjoong felt that he would but, Minjoong? That would be a hard sell. Inevitably, their mother would have to deal with their odd visitations that almost never seemed to coincide. He preferred to go over there without Minjoong anyway, to avoid long mentally strenuous discussions of biology and chemistry. When he was with his parents, he preferred simple bordering on vapid conversations - something to allow his brain to fully relax and enjoy a home cooked childhood meal.

"Stew's done, make your own bowl." Minjoong wandered out of the kitchen then, leaving Hongjoong to his own devices.

Hongjoong stepped around the bar and into the small kitchen area. He ladled some of the stew into a bowl that - in spite of Minjoong's protestations - Minjoong had left out for him. Not bothering with a second bowl, Hongjoong simply plopped a helping of rice into the middle of the stew, letting the sun red liquid soak into the ivory and become some monstrous amalgamation of gluten, liquid and meat. Monstrous, but delicious.

They both sat on the couch and ate, they did not speak to one another. Instead, their hums and slurps filled the space as they bathed and relished in the warm glow of a spicy hot meal that seemed to mend aching bones when eaten. Hongjoong was particularly taken to his brother's cooking - something Minjoong had done a great deal better than Hongjoong, because Minjoong had always been interested and invested in the art of cooking. He said it was not unlike a science, remembering formulas was not too different from remembering recipes. Tweaking them, adjusting, listening to their mother until he became a valiant home cook. Minjoong's cooking was a droplet, a sample of their mother's cooking and Hongjoong loved it. He rarely got to eat Minjoong's cooking anymore, and so this was a moment that gently healed his soul. Though he knew that the wounds would return soon, once the meal was finished.

A slurp coincided with a knock on the door, and when neither of them heard the knock, a more conclusive knock came. Hongjoong blinked, but with being the slightly younger brother, stood placing his half-finished bowl on the brown old coffee table in front of him.

It was unusual to receive a visit at this time of day, and he slowly peeled the door open, looking at who it was through a crack, a bolt and chain kept the door slightly ajar but not enough for a human to fit through.

"Y-" Hongjoong did not finish his greeting, his gaze met with three masked individuals in white to grey outfits.

"Kim Minjoong?"

"No. Not me."

"We want Kim Minjoong."

Hongjoong closed the door and looked at his brother, who looked simultaneously fearful and confused.

"I don't know..." Hongjoong whispered but Minjoong bravely obliged - so bravely that it surprised Hongjoong to see his brother put down his bowl and rice. He unbolted the door and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Hongjoong pressed his ear to the door, his breath heavy, his heart beating in his ears as a high-pitched sound squealed in his left ear as if he were listening to a mosquito play a constant, forever tune.

Hongjoong could only hear muffled conversation - 'unacceptable' 'action' 'deceiving' - these were some of the words he could make out more clearly. Until there was a sudden stop to the conversation and a loud thud vibrated the door. Hongjoong fell back and swallowed heartily. Another thud, and another...

There was silence after, and it stretched for what felt like eternity. Hongjoong's hands felt hot, extremely damp - he blamed it on the heat of the stew, though he knew why he actually felt this way.

He still cared for Minjoong, in a deep, palpable way that dug down into his soul.

The door opened and Minjoong stumbled in, but he was not the same. His lip was bloody, his cheek swollen and his neck slightly redder than it had been when he had walked out.

"Don't suppose we have an ice pack?" Minjoong croaked and Hongjoong scrambled from the floor to try and rummage through the freezer.

"God... God I told you... I told you, hyung. I told you." Hongjoong whispered as he searched, pleading with the air it seemed, shaken at his brother's stamp of fate.

Chapter Text

The stay in the hospital was brief, though the back of Jongho's head continued to ache despite being discharged. The youngest did not complain. This was not who he was, and ever since the injury, the mission that he had decided he had failed *for* the team, he had been increasingly more quiet, more obedient. The silver stardust thoughts of rebellion that had peppered his mind had been dimmed to such a distant glow that they might as well have not ever existed. Jongho convinced himself with every day that the sun would rise - and it did always rise - that he was to be a loyal soldier, nothing more or less to the government, his team, or his Captain.

The battle had shaken him more than any other battle before. Perhaps it was because of the injury that he had sustained from bullets that he could not identify. More than likely, it was the way that woman had talked - she was passionate about her cause, but Jongho figured that she was in a mass grave somewhere now. Passion was pain, it was death. When the thought slipped through the cracks in his mind, he quickly battered it into a corner with furious fists.

'If the government was so great, why did it have such passionate opposition' had been a thought, a question that he had, that floated around in his mind prior to the attack. But no more. These were too dangerous of thoughts, too dangerous of questions to consider. It was not something he could ever ask anyone on his team, not something he could safely inquire about with anyone he knew. It was a decision made for Jongho, rather than by Jongho - safer to simply follow orders and not think at all.

This new belief of safety solidified into steel when Yeosang was taken from the hospital and disappeared. The Captain had assured the team that all would be alright, but Jongho had returned to his home that evening, hiding in his room as he wept. At least underneath the threadbare blankets there were no cameras and no prying eyes that would see him shed the pain that had built up inside of him. It was a cataclysmic feeling, world-ending, glass-shattering, explosive.

Sweet Wooyoung had asked him if he would be alright, and though Jongho nodded and made his way home that night, he knew that he would not be. Wooyoung would never know the feeling. San was an obedient doll, a puppet. Wooyoung would never feel the pain that spread like a virus through Jongho's chest.

Wooyoung was lucky, Jongho thought as he sniffled and brushed his tears away by burying his face into his mostly flat pillow. He knew he needed to buy a new one, but his wages were not good enough for extra amenities. Jongho had enough to live, to survive, to be content, but not to purchase too much extra. The government did believe that 'extra' usually led to poor decisions. Restrictions were freedom for the soul, though in this case, it was also a tension in the neck.

"You know what the Captain told me?" Wooyoung nudged Jongho one day, many days after they had been given the news of Yeosang's being on leave.

Jongho, never easily amused, would glance at Wooyoung with a steadfast and overly stern look. There was the slightest raise of the brow, and an internal bracing for bad news.

"Yeosang-ssi is coming back."

A sparkle of powdered snow exploded in Jongho's chest. He stared at Wooyoung in disbelief.

"What? Really?"

"Yeah, next week. Or something..."

"Why would he tell you of all people?" Jongho inquired then suspiciously. Wooyoung was hardly one of the ones at the top of the pecking order on the team.

"Okay the Captain didn't tell me," Wooyoung sighed out, exasperated that he had been caught acting more important than he was. "Yunho-ssi told me."

"That I believe." Jongho murmured, shaking his head. He glanced around the office space, a mostly barren and horribly boring space that possessed as much character as everywhere else in the building. The youngest stood and wandered over to the coffee machine, leaning against the wall as he asked it to dispense him coffee, and after a quick finger scan the machine started to churn.

"Where is Yunho-ssi?"

"Maybe he's having a meeting, you know everyone's been in a lot of meetings recently."

"Not me." Jongho admitted. With the holes in the workforce, he was mostly relegated to grunt work. Boring paper pushing that he knew he did not sign up for when he had joined the honorable ranks of the military.

"Well maybe you're just not important enough," Wooyoung teased, grinning as he often did. It made Jongho uncomfortable with how openly he showed expressions on his face. It was almost crippling to his own mental state.

"Then what are you doing?" Jongho spat out dryly, returning Wooyoung's teasing remark.

"Ugh, of course I am supervising you. Very important job."

"Mhmm..." Jongho remained unconvinced as he pulled the paper cup of coffee out of the machine and glanced inside. It did not steam, in fact it was cold and had a touch of milk in it. This was what the machine decided he needed today. He sat down at his desk and placed the cup down without taking a sip, beginning to work on some paperwork.

Wooyoung would on occasion pop up and look over at Jongho's working hands.

"What is it, Wooyoung-ssi?"

"I'm supervising you."

"No you're not. You're stuck doing the same work I am."

"Now, now, don't insult my very important task of watching you."

Jongho shook his head. It was a fairly common point of discussion that Jongho acted the oldest, though he was the youngest. So much so that there were days that Jongho acted older than even Seonghwa. This discussion was often presented as a jest, but Jongho knew the truth of it - he really did act older.

Though Jongho did not act this way for any specific reason. It was not with purpose or forced attempt that he did act older. It came rather naturally, growing up with a younger sibling that he had taken on the role of protecting from an early age. It was a responsibility he shouldered well and carried over accidentally into his daily life. Though, in truth, Jongho did value and secretly desire to be the youngest brother. He wanted to be cared for, in the way that he so often cared for others around him - even if he maintained a distant and emotionless facade. It was a prescribed facade, surely - he thought - everyone understood this.

"Are you copying my work?" Jongho looked up towards Wooyoung's looming features. With the way he was positioned just overhead allowed for the light to be slightly diminished in its harsh concentration.

"We have different work, so certainly not."

"How can I be certain of that?"

"You don't believe me, Jongho?"

"No."

"I'm wounded. You don't trust your own teammate to tell you the truth?"

"I trust my teammate, but not when it comes to this topic of paperwork."

"I can show you that it is different."

"Okay, show me."

Jongho waited, Wooyoung disappeared for a moment into his own cubicle partition before he popped back up with a stack of paperwork. Jongho looked between the papers presented and then at Wooyoung.

"It looks mostly the same."

"Yes, but the topic is different."

"Topic?"

"Well, not topic. Subject? It's the same stuff, but I have to fill out different names."

"You have not exactly convinced me that you are not trying to copy what I am writing down."

"Oh come on~" Wooyoung whined, dropping the paperwork back onto his desk before he himself slid away and slumped into his squeaky chair.

Jongho could not help but roll his eyes, out of the way of where anyone could see. Wooyoung had a flair for the dramatics, a flair that might have been better served as a waiter at a restaurant or some sort of strange government sanctioned entertainer, not a fierce government employee, a soldier, a fighter.

"You're dry as sand, Jongho."

"I aim to be."

"Well, I aim to be wet as water."

"What kind of image is that supposed to conjure for me?"

"That you're dry and boring and I'm wet and fun?"

"I don't like the idea of you being 'wet and fun'. Plus, why are you trying to be 'fun' at work? Is this not some trait you should cultivate during your off hours?"

"I aim to be wet and fun at all hours of my days."

"Let us hope you do not end up like Yeosang-ssi, then." Jongho responded bitterly. Wooyoung's desire to be fun, fancy and free was a large point of contention in the group. It was not any of their business what Wooyoung did, or how he spoke, but at work it always seemed a touch too far. As if Wooyoung was rebelling and fighting against the government, without ever saying a word against them directly - a fact which seemed to keep him safe for now. Still, Jongho and the other's worried that one day some protest would slip from his lips and he would end up where he did not desire to be. Where none of them desired him to be.

"Don't say things like that, Jongho." Wooyoung's voice had dried up then. He did not say a word after, he remained totally silent. Only the occasional scribble of a signature, or the wet thump of a stamp could be heard in the room as they worked on their respective paperwork.

At some point, Jongho sought to relieve himself and left to go to the restroom where he thoroughly washed and sanitized his hands before returning to work.

Work was endless, mundane, and in that Jongho found some solace and safety. His mind did not wander too often on things that were simply out of his control. His mind did not wander to what was happening to Yeosang at any given moment. No, these thoughts were left to when he would return home in the evening and weep again.

It had become an evening ritual. Be completely without feeling throughout the day, and distraught beneath the blankets, the safety of his room. The last several weeks, Jongho would admit that he was not waking up very well rested, as his tears were what lulled him to sleep. As a result he often woke up with a crying headache that pounded at the forefront of his skull all the way down into the back of his eyes.

The only thing that would relieve him of the pounding force would be water and some pills that he was half-certain were expired, but he had kept on taking anyway - too lazy to check if they were expired or not.

This was the pattern that Jongho experienced, day-in and day-out. He would walk to work, and then walk home. He lived closer than most to the building, close enough to walk, though it was a thirty minute walk.

That thirty minute walk allowed him to clear his head of the work day and prepare him for supper. Most days supper was chicken and rice, without a single side-dish. Jongho was not a good cook, not by any stretch of the imagination. He knew how to prepare rice - this was simple - and he could throw pieces of meat on a skillet with some oil, this too was simple. Fermenting vegetables, making soups or stews, and other more decadent bowls of food fell outside of the realm of his capabilities. For this reason Jongho refused to invite anyone over to his home, in gentle fear of a cooking disaster.

Yeosang had come over once, but after seeing Jongho's depressing refrigerator, they left Jongho's apartment to go to Yeosang's where Yeosang prepared a far more substantial meal for them both. Delicious, but a humiliating moment for Jongho nonetheless.

The week slipped by slowly, as if time itself were mocking Jongho for being overly excited to see Yeosang again. He wanted to speak to Yeosang, to tell him that he should be careful in the future. That he should not allow himself to become too emotive the way he had - that had no doubt led him to this very predicament of having been taken away from the team and grounded with more force.

Wooyoung had shared with Jongho, at some point in passing, that Yeosang had shouted and accused Seonghwa of shooting Jongho down - that had resulted in Jongho's head pains. Jongho had denied that such a thing could be possible. Why would his own teammate, knowingly and willingly shoot him down with the intention of potentially killing him? After all, the bullet had struck Jongho hard enough that he had hit his head and bled profusely. It was enough for Jongho to blame his crying and morning headaches on the injury itself - though it had more or less healed up at this point.

Wooyoung insisted that Yeosang had complained, and while Jongho eventually did believe him, he did not like to believe. Especially with the way Wooyoung's eyes lit up when he spoke of it. Wooyoung was almost excited at the idea that Yeosang had stood up against their elders and superiors. But they were supposed to be a team, Jongho thought, and the idea that someone would maim a teammate for some greater but unknown purpose did not sit right with him... Unless it was for the government to weed out those who were truly loyal, and those who were not.

They tested Seonghwa by having him shoot two teammates down, to see if he would without hesitation. They tested Yeosang's ability to see and remain silent on the matter. They tested the team's reaction, to see if Wooyoung would respond with excitement or if he would mute that excitement in exchange for silent obedience for the government. They had Mingi shot down because he was an easy target that could cause Yunho to lose his mind. They shot Jongho down... Well, Jongho was not certain why but perhaps they could read his thoughts. Perhaps when he stepped into the government building there was some sort of radio wave that pierced his skull and was able to determine what he was thinking and feeling at any given moment.

This unsettled Jongho, and the reality was that the very thought of being perceived by his superiors started to eat at him to the point of complete and total silence and obedience. He didn't dare think of rebellion or the passion that he had seen from the opposition. He preferred to work silently, to occasionally talk to Wooyoung, or one of his teammates with as little proximity as possible. All of this, while he waited for Yeosang's return.

Yeosang's return was the only thing that kept him moving along, it was hard not to have him consume his mind - even in the dreaded building that Jongho had started to believe could read his mind.

If the government could only see how fondly Jongho felt for Yeosang, then they would send challenges down upon him that would be equivalent to being smited down by a not-so-benevolent deity. Jongho did not believe in deities, fortunately, but he did thoroughly believe in the government. He believed in his superiors, believed that they were watching, believed that they would act against him if he only desired to step his foot out of line. So, Jongho worked, and Jongho waited.

Yeosang arrived at work as if he had never been gone. He floated into the office and sat in his cubicle, and the entire team held their breath. The room palpably wanted to share its excitement, everyone was super charged to do so, but not even Wooyoung allowed for his feelings to overflow. They all sat, tense at their desks, staring into their unblinking computer screens, not breathing.

Jongho felt a prickle run along his spine. It was a good feeling to have Yeosang nearby again.

Yunho shifted in his seat. It creaked beneath his weight and he solemnly got a cup of coffee, calling no attention to himself as he ducked his head down in an attempt to make himself smaller, shorter, petite. Jongho watched, though his gaze wanted to desperately tear away from Yunho and place itself comfortably upon Yeosang.

The coffee machine dispensed Yunho his coffee all while the man appeared as if he were not breathing. His movements were as stiff as everyone else in the room, sat, quiet, shut-off. Everyone was too awkward and uncomfortable to speak, to ask Yeosang about what had happened in his time away.

Silence was the chosen method of support.

Jongho returned to his work, and as his mouse clicks and finger taps returned the movement in the office space returned as well. One by one everyone fell into place, and flow came back to the space inviting a less tense environment. Jongho was glad for it, allowing his mind to melt into the mundane pace of his work, instead of worrying about Yeosang's return. Though Yeosang's return continued to burn at the back of his mind.

When the clock offered the end of the work day, Jongho hurriedly started to pack everything up. Though he did not hurry the way Yeosang did, because it took extra effort to catch up with the older soldier who had already left the office space.

"Yeosang-ssi! Yeosang-ssi..!" Jongho moved his feet a little faster, it almost felt as if his calves and thighs were burning as he caught up with Yeosang. "Hyung!"

Yeosang paused for a moment, and Jongho let out a sigh in relief as he approached, the last few steps closing the distance between him and Yeosang.

"Yes?" Yeosang's voice was deep, distant, and cold. It was an echo across a frozen lake, longing and suppressed.

"Oh, um... I was hoping to walk with you for a little bit?"

"Hm, why?"

Jongho looked around - left, right, he knew there were cameras but he was scared he might say something poorly with more eager ears straining in on their conversation.

"Like we always do."

"Always?"

"Mhmm. Well, not always, but most days we walk and talk until we have to part ways?"

Yeosang let out a hum that vibrated like steel hitting steel inside of Jongho. Jongho dared to look at Yeosang now, more fully, not hidden by the shadows of a cubicle. Yeosang's features were sallow, pale, with brittle lips that have peeling dry skin. The round of Yeosang's cheeks were no longer round, rather hollowed out and sunken in as if he had been denied food and water. Yeosang's eyes appeared distant, as if he were not really there, a shell of himself. Jongho dared to look along his body, covered, except for his fingers which were bloodied around the nails, brown as if he had been clawing at something.

The youngest dared to swallow, dared to breathe in Yeosang's ghostly presence.

"Are you alright?" Jongho whispered, but he was scared to do so, as if he might upset a spirit beyond the worldly realm.

"Of course I am."

But Jongho was not convinced and as Yeosang started to walk, Jongho joined him without asking again. It was easier to simply do this, instead of asking again if he was allowed to do so or not. Jongho realized, whether consciously or subconsciously, that this was not the man that he had not known before Jongho had been shot down, before the last time he had seen Yeosang all that time ago.

"You don't seem okay."

"Why is that?"

"You don't look like yourself."

"What am I supposed to look like?"

"Less hungry and thirsty, for one."

"I am neither of those things."

"But-"

"Don't worry about it, Jongho-ssi. It is better not to worry about these things."

Jongho knew that Yeosang was right, but he could not help but worry. His body and mind were naturally jumping towards worry, it was an instinct he could not help. It was not something that he was capable of suppressing like all of the other emotions and feelings that often pooled at the back of his mind.

"I suppose you're right." Jongho nodded, continuing to walk, but not convinced even as he recited his confidence in Yeosang politely.

"It is better to not worry, better to let yourself simply follow what is ordained to us by the government, by the superiors."

Jongho chewed on his lower lip, he had heard these words before, but never from Yeosang. Yeosang had been the one who had rebelled in more recent times. It felt strange for Jongho to be on the other end of the equation now, as he had been the one in the past who spoke this dogma with ease.

"I know." Jongho was irritated and the bite of that irritation snapped out of him like a frenzied canine when he spoke. "Sorry." Jongho apologized immediately, as he let a sigh leave him.

"Don't apologize. I don't mind."

"I can't speak to you so unkindly."

"I suppose." Yeosang murmured his distant response.

"Are you content now, Yeosang-ssi?"

The evening air hit Jongho's face with a swirl, and he inhaled the smog, latent smoke and fresh air all at once. There was a moment where he felt enjoyment ripple through him.

"I am very content, thank you for asking, Jongho-ssi."

Jongho hated the way Yeosang spoke to him, the strange robotic way as if he were not Yeosang at all.

"Can I come with you to your apartment?"

Yeosang's brow furrowed in response.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jongho-ssi."

"Please, hyung?"

A strange long pause followed and then Yeosang finally nodded.

There was relief that followed that seeped into Jongho's bones like warm soup that trickled down into the stomach, or equally warm tea. Jongho's shoulders relaxed slightly as they walked along. Jongho allowed silence to fill the space between them. It was clear to him that Yeosang was no longer as talkative as he had once been. Something had changed, and it was not a few small something's but many big something's. Jongho could not pin down what it all was, or how but he knew that something was different. He allowed this to exist as fact, allowing Yeosang to simply be in silence.

Jongho was not usually the talkative one, but it was hard to believe that he was the one who felt the most desire to speak now. It was as if he wanted to take up the mantle of being talkative for the sake of their relationship being maintained. Whatever their relationship was. Quiet and unassuming as it had been.

It was the silence that Jongho felt was creating something new in him, a hot fire that burned like a star in the sky. He wanted something more, he felt as if something was stolen from him. Something he did not even know was possible to steal. For how could he have known that something was even there, until all was lost?

They walked for a long while, boarded a train and a bus. Jongho did not say a word in that stretch of time, even as the buses tires squealed against old gravel roads on the outskirts of the city.

Yeosang stood from his seat and wandered out of the bus as if he were fixated on returning home. His gaze was gauzy, rosy, as if he were not alive at all. Jongho watched and stepped off of the bus with Yeosang. He trailed behind the older man, one meter of distance, then two, and three. Yeosang walked and never turned his head, never looked back to see if Jongho was still there. Jongho's stomach tightened with the same frustration from before, and Yeosang seemed to not worry about Jongho's presence.

Soon, Jongho walked up to Yeosang, faster, shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Do you not want me around?"

"Hm?"

"Do you not want me around?" Jongho repeated, keeping his frustration just barely and terribly under wraps.

"You are my teammate, I am fine with your presence."

"Hyung, but-"

"You should not worry about what other people think, Jongho-ssi."

Jongho fumbled over his next set of words, so much so that he said nothing, only sputtered uncharacteristically.

They climbed a few flights of stairs up to where Yeosang lived, and Yeosang opened his apartment door with an old key before turning to look at Jongho.

"This is where our paths diverge."

"I can't come in?" Jongho asked, swallowing thickly, his brow furrowed, a small sheen of sweat on his forehead from their travels.

"Why would you?"

"So that we can be together, after so long? You were gone for so long." The words fell out of Jongho accidentally. It was not something he had intended to share, not something he had ever thought he would share. But he wanted to be with Yeosang, now that he was close to him after so long. His presence was all he craved and it was eating at him from the inside like a horrible disease.

"I was?"

Yeosang seemed entirely unaware of his own absence and Jongho frowned deeply at this.

"Let me in." Jongho did not ask for permission then, and barreled into Yeosang's apartment. He pushed Yeosang back and shut the door behind them. "What is wrong with you? What is happening? Why are you acting in this way?"

Jongho paced forward, grabbed onto Yeosang's shoulders and started to shake the slighter of the two.

"You can't come in! What are you do-" Yeosang was shaken, grabbing onto Jongho's shoulders firmly as if to hold him in place while the dongsaeng shook him viciously. "Stop!"

Jongho couldn’t stop, he did not want to stop. He shook Yeosang until both Yeosang and Jongho were on their knees and Yeosang was staring off into space with a prominently distant look that had not been there before. There was a long period of silence, Jongho held Yeosang by the shoulders, steady, waiting, his breath baited in his lungs.

"Jongho?"

The strange distant look melted like raw fat in heavenly sunlight. Yeosang looked awake suddenly as he glanced at Jongho.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"We walked here."

"We did?"

"You don't remember?"

"Not really- I don't remember much after the attack."

"You have been acting especially odd today, Yeosang."

"I have?"

"Distant, like a robot, almost."

"They did something to me."

"Who?"

"The men in masks."

"The ones that follow us on missions?"

"No. Different one's, I suppose I don't even know if they were men. The government people, the superiors, I think."

"You were taken by the superiors?"

"I think so."

Jongho lowered his voice, the furrow of his brow more prominently displayed now.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I don't remember."

Jongho slowly released Yeosang's shoulders then, and leaned back onto his feet, his knees creaking slightly. He stared at Yeosang for a while longer, simply enjoying the elder's presence now that he had spoken.

"Hyung, it's hard, I know, but you can't rock the boat like you have been. Bad things will happen, they already have. I don't want more bad things to happen to you."

For the first time Jongho felt himself being true to his feelings, even if his mind was eating at him. He wanted to look over his shoulder to see if there were any bugs in the window that could be listening to them speak. He realized just how much he wanted to follow the rules. If he could just follow the rules, then he and Yeosang never had to be apart. They could live their simple lives and obey what they were told. But in that life and obedience, they could be together. Perhaps their union would not be the same as that of a man and a woman - that would never be possible - but they could have something else.

That would be enough, wouldn't it? The government would never have to know just how fond Jongho was of Yeosang or how fond Yeosang was of Jongho. They did not have to share it with anyone, they could just hold onto one another, and exchange distant desperate glances. That would be enough for Jongho. But he could never imagine what would happen if they both rebelled, if they were both caught. If Yeosang did not have Jongho to shake him out of a strange government prescribed trance.

“More bad things?” Yeosang echoed gently, daring to reach out to touch Jongho’s pink, warm cheek.

“Yes. You were gone from all of us, for a while. Something bad must have happened.” Every muscle in Jongho’s body forced Jongho not to flinch away from Yeosang’s touch.

“Oh.” Yeosang slowly looked down towards their laps and Jongho’s gaze followed suit.

“Please don’t ever leave me again, hyung. Please?” Jongho’s voice and words were foreign to him as he spoke. It was a strange feeling to plead with another in this way. He had never done it, had never been in this position of extreme vulnerability.

“I’ll try.” Yeosang whispered in return, the warmth returning to his tone.

“Try as hard as you can. That way we don’t have to be apart anymore.”

Yeosang could only nod and Jongho watched him do so. It was a silent promise, a pact that Jongho could only hope would never be broken. Time would be the only proof that such a promise would not be broken. Perhaps he would forget the promise entirely in time, but as it lingered fresh upon his mind, he knew that both of them had to keep it.

“Are you thirsty or hungry, Yeosang?”

Yeosang nodded again.

“Let’s see if we can’t get you fed and hydrated.”

Jongho was not a good cook, but he hoped that there was something here in Yeosang’s apartment that would allow him to prove that even if he was not good, that he could still try and provide in whatever way he knew how.

Chapter Text

The light overhead flickered with the buzz of morning, forcing Han’s eyes open. He squinted and groaned in response, rolling over to fiercely bury himself into his blankets. It was difficult to force himself up in the mornings. Even with the return of Woosung’s presence, it was somehow different and therefore wholly not the same from the Woosung that he had come to know and love. Though the delightful features of his face were largely the same, there was something about his energy. It was different, and for this reason it was like spending time and interacting with a different person entirely. He had whispered this to Minjoong in passing, a breath upon the wind, in fear of backlash from the team - or worse yet, the burning pain that he might impart upon Woosung, who was still only learning how to feel, learning how to navigate the bleak world that he had been forced into.

One night, Han had thought that it might have been better if the government had just killed Woosung, and then let his soul rest. That they would not try to replace him or bring him back in any capacity. It felt strange, disingenuous to bring him back in this way. It was rotten, the whole thing - even his own existence had become a place of judgment, his very breath was something that he was morally repelled by, if only because he could not stand the idea that he was created and kept alive because of someone that was forcing him into the world. Not because he had been born organically and had the opportunity to grow from childhood to confusing adolescence to heavy burdensome manhood. Han was thrust into the world as a man, and he was asked to live in it as a man, but only a partial man. Han and none of the other clones were given the opportunity to be people, to live in those ugly slab-concrete buildings that peppered the city that they protected. He was an animal, a pet, an experiment that lived in these walls that were constantly closing in on them, with no promise of reprieve.

Han had chosen to sleep alone today, having suggested to Woosung that he should sleep by himself and learn a little bit of independence. Woosung had whined, having grown comfortable around Han, but he did not rebuke the idea entirely. His timid nature prevented him from doing so. Han had planted a kiss on his temple that evening and even tucked him in. He brushed some stray black hairs from his eyes and smiled at Woosung as if he were the most delicate thing in the world. He was so different from the other Woosung, but the way he looked, Han could not help but feel his heart beat a little harder and faster around this new iteration of Woosung - he was pulled to care for him.

“Do I have to sleep by myself?”

“It will help your training.”

“But I haven’t trained yet.”

“No… You’re right. But it will help.”

Woosung was right in that he had not yet received training, and Han did not wish to tell him what lied in store. There was a chance that the rigor of the training alone would kill Woosung anew. Han’s heart was not certain that it could take hearing such bitter news again. The distant look in Minjoong’s eyes, the cataclysmic words that spilled from his lips. It would have been enough to kill Han. They would have to create a new Han then, from the ashes of the old one that had fallen apart as a result of Woosung’s demise. Even now, Han was barely keeping it together, his muscles fatigued and his body aching every day. ‘Depression’ is what Minjoong had called it, though he had left out the part where Han did not feel sad or ‘depressed’ but rather so apathetic that he might have ceased to exist and everything would be okay.

It would not be, he knew. This new Woosung, even though they had not known each other for very long, would not be able to handle Han’s sudden departure, suddenly becoming dust and nothing more.

Another groan left Han’s lips as he turned over and let out a pitiful sigh into his blankets, letting the hot steam of his morning breath spread throughout the fabric in his protest of being awakened by the buzzing lights.

“Hannie?”

The name was given to him almost immediately by Woosung when he had been introduced to the group that fateful day. It was not a name that anyone else had ever called him, and he could scarcely remember the last Woosung calling him that either. Still, it was soft and loving. It was a word like a dove’s feather, it fell from Woosung’s lips and touched upon Han’s mind with such ease that he could not resist Woosung at all.

So, Han slowly peeled the blanket back and away from his face, squinting a touch more as he looked up towards Woosung who was standing over him, his hands clasped together just in front of him.

“Yes, Woosung-ie?” It still felt foreign, he had called the last 007 ‘Woosungie’ but with this one it felt a touch forced. Or, perhaps it was his apathy. Perhaps if he had not felt so careless about the world, then the name would have come easier. He knew it would have, but he said nothing on the topic, he did not wish to hurt this 007, did not wish to put any burden on his gentle, almost childish mind.

“Are you getting up? I wanted to read.”

“Read? Breakfast will come soon, we should eat first. If you don’t eat, you won’t become strong.”

“Oh.” Woosung bit on his lower lip. He touched his teeth to the curve of the plump flesh and chewed.

“Well, maybe we can read a little bit before breakfast, and then after we can read some more, alright?” Han gave in, he could not stand to look at Woosung in this manner. He always looked like a kicked dog or cat when he got this way, and Han did not have the heart to allow it to continue. He just wanted Woosung to be happy, even when he felt so perfectly empty.

Slowly, Han sat up, his bones and body creaking. It was strange to feel so pitifully human when he knew that he was stronger and physically better than any real person. He knew, because it had been proven to him over and over again on all of those missions that he had been forced to take. He knew that he was better and stronger, and yet here he was facing the reality of what any mortal body faced.

That was when Beomhwa peered into the bedroom with the open door.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good morning, Woosung… Han…” Beomhwa glanced between them both, and Han prickled at the way Beomhwa peered at his uncovered body. Embarrassed, he pulled the blanket up over his chest ever so slightly to avoid those piercing eyes. Beomhwa’s eyes were capable of X-Ray vision, so Han had decided. It was as if he were able to stare through absolutely anything. Han could have been convinced that Beomhwa was capable of seeing into the souls of others. Which meant that he could read Han, laid-bare.

“Is something wrong?” Han asked, his jaw tightening slightly as he sat there. Woosung moved to sit down next to Han, his weight as light as parchment.

“Not… Necessarily.” Beomhwa murmured and looked then to Woosung. “We have an inspection today, a check-up.”

“Why?” Han asked in return, he did not like the idea of it.

“I suppose they want to make sure Woosung is feeling alright after all that has happened.”

Han scratched at the back of his head, ruffling with sharp nails his blond hair. The idea did not sit well with him. Minjoong was one thing, he knew Minjoong would never inherently hurt any of them. In fact, Minjoong was the last likely person to hurt any of the clones physically. But it was not Minjoong who did the primary check-ups. He only stood there as back-up and provided the serum that kept them functioning. Indeed a serum that Han scarcely knew the name of, it was never brought up in front of them. The doctor was the issue, and as he looked between Beomhwa and Woosung he wondered what he could do to keep Woosung safe. It was a promise that he had to keep. He let his hand holding up the blanket to run his fingers delicately over the fabric, soothing himself as he pinched two ends of fabric together and rubbed.

“I will stand by Woosung today then.”

“I do not think they will allow you to do so.”

“I frankly do not care what they allow, or who allows it. If they wish to have a smooth and seamless inspection today, they will allow me to stand near Woosung, either myself at the end of the line or him with me at the beginning of the line.”

Woosung’s hand touched Han's leg hidden beneath the blankets.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to.” The voice was soft, timid, painfully suppressed in what Han could only translate in his mind as fear.

“It’s not alright. I will stand by you.”

“But-”

“No buts.”

Woosung looked down, and Han sighed, dropping the blanket down so that he could touch Woosung’s thigh in return.

“Listen, I have my reasons. Try not to worry too much, alright?”

When Woosung did not respond, Han reached his hand up to Woosung’s chin. He balanced it upon his fingers, feeling its sharp edge. Woosung felt the same, entirely in his fingers, and it made him want to touch Woosung more.

“Alright.” Woosung croaked, and Han looked to Beomhwa.

“It’s settled then. I’ll stand next to Woosung.”

Beomhwa nodded though he did not seem entirely convinced. Han knew that there was - theoretically - nothing he could do to convince Beomhwa of his plan. He knew that Beomhwa would move throughout the day with the sliver of doubt in his mind that Han would be able to resist what they were often very deliberately prescribed to do. But Han had set his mind to it, more than ever before. He would protect Woosung in ways that he had never been able to protect him before and he would do so by bending the rules. There would be no issue, if he was allowed to simply stand by Woosung and watch over him as a promised guardian angel.

Han’s muscles found new purpose when he had made this decision, and with a bit of wiggling he got up and out of bed as he started to force himself to feel more awake with true zest for the day. Though that zest was covered by a layer of extreme tension, apprehension that he could not deny was present throughout him and Woosung reading before breakfast arrived. Those feelings extended into their meal, where Han watched Woosung eat out of the corner of his eye and provided him with a few extra helpings of meat that Woosung resisted on account of being ‘full’ but Han knew that was not true and insisted that he eat a little more.

Woosung ate a little more.

Then they sat on the couch, and Woosung palmed an apple as they read. Han provided occasional assistance when Woosung pointed at a word on a page and asked what it meant. It was endearing that of all things, Han had to teach this Woosung to read, that he had not come pre-wired with the ability as most of the clones had. But they were clones and they came with certain mishaps. Jongho could not speak, the last Woosung could not properly remember his natural’s life and therefore his own past. Han and Sangwoo came with strange hair variations that would not otherwise appear in the natural population. Minsu too came with a strange hair variation, though his was far less noticeable unless he stood in a bright light - then the navy blue would stand out. Han had joked early on that they looked more like cartoon characters, right out of a vapid comic book. Sangwoo did not much like the joke, and Minsu had pouted enough that Youngho had started to try and assure Minsu that his hair was in fact ‘very cool’ and ‘unique’ and ‘pretty’. Everyone rolled their eyes at Youngho’s affirmations to Minsu, but Minsu liked it and had curled into Youngho in an instant. Minsu was through and through Youngho’s ‘princess’ and there was nothing anyone could ever say or do that would change this fact imprinted upon the world.

Han and Woosung read for a long while, long enough that Han had started to wonder if they would receive a check-up at all that day. Usually such activity happened in the early half of the day, not in the middle or right before they were to go to bed. But the hours stretched on, and Woosung had started to get sleepy, leaning into Han until he completely collapsed into the blond clone. The younger was snoring lightly while Han continued to hold Woosung, their ankles and legs entangled with one another on the couch. Han continued to read, his eyes moving slowly over the contents of the book. It was not an extremely interesting book. On occasion Minjoong snuck his old books in for them to read. They were mostly informational science books, books of the academic variety. There were books on the world’s history, the government, the allegedly factual functioning of the world. Han had long since determined that these were not inherent facts, but rather re-writings of facts to fit the narrative that they currently lived in. Well, at least this is what he had surmised from all the reading he had done. The more he read, the more he wondered what was the reality of the situation. Why were there rebels that the team was sent out to kill, to sabotage? If this world that they lived in was so perfect for those that truly inhabited it - the way Minjoong did - then why were there so many issues in the world that needed constant quelling and attending to? It made no sense.

Han was yawning and slowly putting aside his book when the commotion in the basement started. Beomhwa was the first to rise and gently shake Han’s shoulder to wake him. Han would give Woosung the slightest shake of his shoulder as they both started to stand. Woosung became more reluctant as he rose, whimpering slightly when he rubbed at his eyes to try and get himself to a state where he could follow directions and orders from those that were coming into their space.

Woosung ambled awkwardly to find his place in line, and Han led him over to stand right between 006 and 008. But it would be Han that broke the numbering system by standing next to Woosung. The clones would read 006-007-002-008.

The doctor arrived with two guards near him and Minjoong who was trailing behind, holding seven syringes full of that mystery serum that kept them all going and most importantly - immortal.

As the doctor approached he froze in place, stunned by what he saw it seemed. Though Han could be convinced that he was also imagining it, the slight twitch of the doctor’s features in his disdain of what he was seeing - an unusual lineup of the clones, none of which tried to shift or change said lineup. It was as if they had arrived here naturally, and indeed they had. Han was determined to stay rooted even as the doctor took in a breath of air in exasperation.

“What is this?”

“What is what, sir?” Beomhwa spoke, his voice monotone, even, careful. There was a clear caution to his posture and voice, and Han appreciated the nonchalant response - as if Beomhwa had no idea what had changed, or that anything changed at all.

“You are not in line, properly.” The doctor sneered, and Han could tell with the way his gaze kept flicking over to Han and Woosung that he had wanted to tack on another word to his sentence - something particularly derogatory to make them cave into themselves. But there were no words that this man could speak that would make Han move.

“Yes, sir. We thought we should shift our positions today.”

“Why is that?”

“This is 007’s first check-up-”

“Inspection.”

“Yes, sir. We were wanting to make him more comfortable.”

“Well, one day he will have to do these things on his own, so perhaps the first time is the best time to snip the umbilical cord.”

“Sir?” Beomhwa did not understand, and Youngho started to mime but quickly stopped moving when he was met with a particularly sharp glance from Sangwoo whose hand grabbed onto Youngho’s moving hand, attempting to gesture.

“It does not matter. 002, stand in your place, in line.”

“No, sir.”

“No?”

“I will stand by 007, as I had intended to today.”

“No, you will stand where you are meant to stand. Where I have told you to stand.”

“I will not sir.”

“You will.”

Han’s entire body had tightened, he felt particularly stubborn today. A feeling of heat had erupted in the back of his throat not unlike heartburn from a particularly acidic meal. He was unwilling to allow this doctor, this half-man mostly monster to move him back where he was ‘supposed’ to stand. If he wanted to stand next to Woosung, he would. What did it matter if they stood in numerical order or not? Han did not see a difference, they received the same care regardless. The blue of Han’s eyes moved to look at Minjoong who had stepped forward.

“Perhaps, it is not worth arguing over.” Minjoong suggested, he had lost much of his shyness recently and at least this was admirable to Han - though he still did not trust the biologist fully as Beomhwa did.

“It’s not?” The doctor oozed venom, a slow cadence that made Han’s skin prickle and shudder with hatred.

“We will inspect 002 all the same, no? It does not matter where he stands.”

“This is what I was thinking si-” Han started, but the doctor’s head snapped sharply towards Han.

“Silence. You have no say in what goes on here.”

Han’s lip curled. The reality was that the doctor was right, but it was not a reality that Han wanted to live in. He was every bit as human as anyone else, it did not matter that he was created artificially born from a tube full of viscous liquid. He still had feelings, movement, the memories of a childhood that he never got to experience. These things were all worth something, were they not? Han believed this to be true, he believed that everyone who stood in the line that he stood in deserved dignity and respect as anybody else, any other human in the world.

“Let us be civil.” Minjoong suggested. It was clear to Han that he was attempting to keep the peace, even though that peace was already shattered. Gone from the world like Han’s trust in the government. After all, how could he have any trust and believe in the world he lived in when the lives of those he loved could be torn away from him in foul swoop? It felt like it was entirely impossible, and so he stood there as Minjoong started to administer the first of the serums, addressing Beomhwa first.

“I wish for 002 to move to the front of the line still.”

“Well, it is clear that he does not wish to. So I think we should continue with the inspection.” Minjoong shared. A vein bulged in the doctor’s neck, against his already straining temple. But after a few moments of quiet contemplation the doctor moved forward and began his inspection. He was able, after all, to work on Beomhwa first - as if Han never existed.

Han relaxed a little bit then, and continued to stand there in his place quietly. His fingers occasionally brushed against Woosung’s in a reassuring way - he hoped that Woosung would understand that all of this was for him. That this argument, this tension, it was for him. Han knew that Woosung had no idea what the doctor did, but he wanted to make sure that it would never happen again, not to this iteration of Woosung. It was a woe that he did not want Woosung to have felt initially, and so he would protect him tooth and nail now. Now that he knew, now that he could.

Slowly time elapsed - it always seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace - and Minjoong arrived at Woosung. He administered the serum at which Woosung flinched slightly and Han shushed him delicately as if he were a rose petal being battered by the wind. Then Minjoong moved to Han and provided him with the serum. As the fluid entered his body and bulged his flesh slightly, the doctor made his way up to Woosung.

“Lift your shirt.”

“He doesn’t need to do that.”

“He needs to lift his shirt, because I have requested him to do so.”

Han shook his head. There was a slight ache from the injection site but this would not stop him from protecting Woosung’s innocence.

“You don’t ask any of us to lift our shirts.”

“I must palpate his skin to be certain that he is not growing anything like the last 007 did.”

“You did not catch the early onset of it on the last 007 either way, what does it matter if he lifts his shirt now if you do not do a far more comprehensive test?”

The doctor’s lips turned pale white, his skin ghostly, anger and fury rising in him that he was being tested by what Han knew he saw only as subhuman.

“You will not challenge my work, and my knowledge - 002.”

“I will if it doesn’t make any sense.”

“You do not know what you are talking about. 007!”

Woosung flinched immediately, his shoulders rising at the shout that was a mere foot from his face.

“Lift your shirt!”

Woosung moved his fingers, shaking as they curled into the thick fabric of the top that they all wore, pulling it up slowly to show his skin underneath. It was soft, well-tempered with muscle in spite of a lack of physical activity. He continued to lift the shirt, but before he could reach his chest properly Han’s hand shot out and grabbed at the closest wrist he could reach - it did not matter which one. Han pushed down.

“Do not interfere 002!” The doctor shouted, his fury running over in the already full cup as he reeled and swung forward to hit Han on the cheek with the back of his hand. The impact was loud, flesh against flesh, but Han’s flesh was better, stronger, he knew that. It left a ruby red imprint on his skin, but Han did not move. He did not flinch or reel the way that the man likely intended for him to, his arm was flexed and strong against Woosung’s wrist, pushing the shirt back down even with the impact.

“Sorry, sir - was that supposed to hurt?” Han did not know, or understand, where this sudden courage was coming from. But it was gushing out of him. It was anger and every drop of guilt that he had ever felt towards the Woosung that he could not help, could not save and most of all could not protect. It was a pain that consumed him and every step that he took ever since the news broke of Woosung’s death. He felt now was his opportunity to fight, to push back against the world he lived in. It was his opportunity to protect Woosung when he could not in the past.

The doctor curled his hand inward, feeling the shock of the impact far more than Han had felt it, clearly. His knuckles had turned red as if he had hit stone, and now he was standing there - shell-shocked, confused as to how this clone would have the gall to speak against him.

“Kihyun!” The honorific was dropped and Minjoong approached. “You cannot hit them, that is not part of the procedure!”

“To hell with the procedure. This damn thing dares to challenge my authority!”

Minjoong shoved himself between the doctor and Han then and stood there, though it was clear that he trembled like a leaf between the two larger men - one of which possessed a strength that could not be considered normally human at all.

“No. We aren’t going to fight. There is nothing in the procedures about 007 lifting his shirt, so let us just do everything by the book and we will leave.”

Han glanced at Minjoong, he could feel the unsteadiness of his back against his chest. The slightest quiver of his shoulders. It was admirable that he stood between them now. It was courage, the true definition of it. He stood there now not because he was big and strong and could fight either one of them off, but because he was just trying to make this go quicker, easier. A part of Han’s stomach lurched, he did not want to hurt Minjoong. Their caretaker, even with all of his flaws, had a modicum of good intention in mind. Perhaps Beomhwa had been right. Han glanced at Beomhwa, who was tense about the situation but refused to move out of line. Though with the way his muscles coiled, Han wondered if Beomhwa would jump out of line if something happened between the doctor and Minjoong. Probably.

“I said, to hell with the procedure.” The doctor shoved Minjoong, causing Han to grab onto the biologist just under his arms to push him back up, to steady him as the doctor moved and ripped at Woosung’s shirt to grab him and do as he pleased.

It was a step one too far.

Han let out a scratchy shout as he intervened with the doctor’s attempts to touch Woosung. He grabbed onto the doctor’s wrist and started to mold it beneath powerful fingers. He could feel the joints there breaking underneath the pressure. His gaze wandered wildly looking for something sharp. A syringe would do. He grabbed onto one in Minjoong’s hands, he did not care if it was capped or not - it was - as he started to stab the doctor repeatedly. His emotions had unfurled and he felt like a wild, frenzied animal. The doctor started to scream as dull plastic started to impact his shoulders and neck. The clones all moved in to try and tear Han off of the doctor, Jonghui and Woosung moved towards Minjoong to get him out of harm's way. All the while, the two guards finally awakened to the situation, their guns aimed at the ceiling at first as the gunshots rang through the space, ricocheting loudly around the room which caused the clones to part away from Han and the doctor, flinching back. Han only realized all of this due to the sound and lack of heat that he felt from the team trying to tear him away, the lack of hands as the doctor fell to his knees, still screaming and still struggling. It drove pleasure into Han’s body seeing the man on his knees, in pain - suffering the way he was meant to suffer. Han wanted this man of all men to suffer, he wanted his death and every time he drove the crumpled plastic and metal of the syringe into that lily white skin he felt another surge of pleasure.

It did not last as long as he desired. He felt hands on him, powerful hands. These hands grabbed and pulled and removed him from the screaming doctor, whose screams started to die off immediately when the syringe was no longer being driven repeatedly into his flesh. Han thrashed, even in this animalistic blinded state he knew that he had been grabbed by the guards, and he knew that he was being dragged away.

“Let go! Let me go!” He cried, desperate in his thrashing. “He fucking needs me! HE NEEDS ME!” It was a moment of realization even with how he felt, wild, angry, untamed, that this Woosung was still important to him. Even if he was not the Woosung of the past, he was still inherently Woosung and he could never abandon him, never leave him. The lack of motivation in his life was being sucked up into a vacuum where it was always meant to be, and he felt suddenly reinvigorated as he was forced to his feet barefoot and pushed repeatedly down the corridor.

“Move.” The disembodied voice of a masked guard growled at him from behind, a gun near his back but not close enough that Han could turn and grab the weapon to retaliate. So he moved, he walked to the end of the corridor where the door whirled and pushed open.

“Where are you taking me?” His heart was pounding in his head, the call to frenzy was still there.

Han was met with silence, and though he asked the truth of the matter was that he knew where he was going. It was a place that he knew Woosung had been to after attacking the doctor, and he wondered how many other countless victims had been there for their disobedience of the government, the status quo, the hierarchy that was forced into place not through merit but some unknown and useless criteria.

Han wanted only a single peek of the world outside of the basement, but as he found the pattern of the corridor there was an impact against the back of his head and all that he could do was exhale pathetically as his body slumped down to the ground. When he did not pass out immediately, another impact was felt, his skull cracking and bleeding as he finally fell to the ground and the world went utterly black.

Chapter Text

All Jonghui could do was stand there and watch. A silence rippled through the entire team as the masked guards dragged away one of their own. They could have fought, could have tried a little harder, but none of them saw any merit in it, not now. Not without the approval of Beomhwa, or Minjoong - who was a far less likely option to greenlight any retaliation. Jonghui was silent by force, but he knew more than most that silence was often the result of an individual being battered so severely by life that they had no energy to speak left in them. 008 knew that Minjoong was among those people, that he did not fight because he knew it was best to submit, or maybe easier. Jonghui did not necessarily agree with the mentality, but he knew it was easier. Perhaps it was unfair of him to judge Minjoong on character traits that he had only observed, he had no idea what was going on in their caretakers head and his putting his body between Han, Woosung and the doctor already told a story that could not otherwise be articulated.

Han did not return that evening, and Jonghui spent the rest of the day with the team, being near and around Woosung who had been altered by the encounter. It was clear that he was scared, far more so that he had been before. It tugged at Jonghui’s heartstrings, and he could see that it did the same to everyone else. Strangely, Minjoong had remained after the inspection was over. He helped to clean the space, and offered some reassuring words to Woosung who had curled himself up on the couch and cried for about an hour after the inspection was over. Not a soul tried to insist to Woosung that things would get better.

Because every soul in the room knew that things would never get better.

Jonghui always had hope for a better future, but he did not know if that future would be tomorrow or in another hundred years. Would the regime that they lived under the boot of even last that long? The rebellions seemed ceaseless, a constant war on the streets that people were being impacted by. Jonghui knew this without ever living a regular life, he could see it and breathe it when he was hauled out and made to fight for the corruption that he stood against. If only he had the courage to stand against it in a way that had more impact. It was not as if he could rally the team against corruption. As the youngest clone with no voice - literally - he had the most difficult time communicating with the rest. Only Sangwoo understood him. They had formed a language of their own, and it was not a language that the rest had done a great deal of trying to learn. Jonghui understood, a new language in these conditions was a burden. It was not something he placed on the other’s, he would rather be the quiet one with the muscle. It was a lot easier than to try and make everyone else around him bend to his will. Even though he did kind of want to, a part of him entertained the idea thoroughly.

Were they even his friends, if they did not try to communicate with him in the way that he knew how to communicate? The likelihood was not a good one, but he knew not to rock the boat too much. Jonghui always chose the path of less resistance. Jonghui had never been one who enjoyed resistance, it was after all something he dealt with in his ‘job’ if forced labor could even be considered a true form of employment.

The next day arrived with a slight ruckus. Everyone was awake and peering out of their room doors to stare into the brightly lit corridor. The guards had fumbled with their breakfast, leaving most of the rice and fish splattered on the floor. It was the first time that the clones had ever seen the guards act normal, human, as if they had a switch that had been hit and they were suddenly no longer the robotic beings that had been bringing them food day in and out. It was always on time, and it was almost always the same - with some variety to keep them nutritionally sound - and for this reason it was so incredibly interesting to watch them fumble, to watch them scream and berate each other.

“Your fault!”

“I did not do this, you weren’t looking!”

“I was right behind you, you stopped out of nowhere!”

It went on and on in this manner, and the clones could not stop staring. Jonghui especially as such outbursts of emotion were a rare sight from government employees. Well, rare enough that this piqued some interest from all of the feather ruffled heads that were staring.

At some point the guards agreed to just go get another batch of everything and figure out the cleaning after. A display of their teamwork on a small scale, as they turned each head popped back into respective rooms and Jonghui went back to his bed. His stomach grumbled gently, breakfast always came at the exact same time, and so now that it was not coming at the right time he felt himself more hungry than usual. Perhaps it was the agony of waiting for something that Jonghui knew should have already been there? It was hard to tell, a feeling that he was not familiar with. There were many things that Jonghui knew he was not familiar with, the world was sheltered away from him, so it was to be expected that he had not a single clue about the details of the world that another might be perfectly familiar with. A shame, because in truth Jonghui enjoyed intellectual pursuits. He loved to read and write when given the opportunity. Though only Sangwoo entertained his silly scribbles in the notebook that Minjoong had once given him as a gift after Sangwoo had shared with Minjoong that Jonghui enjoyed writing. A thoughtful gesture, one that Jonghui really appreciated, more than he could really share with Minjoong.

The breakfast arrived in due time, and everyone filed in carefully, stepping over broken ceramic and messy pieces of military metal containers that had kept their rice and fish warm before it all shattered in the corridor.

Jonghui ate, and as always, he listened to the group.

“How did everyone sleep?” Youngho asked, yawning and stretching.

“Well, I think… As well as I could.” Beomhwa sighed out as he picked up his bowl of rice and topped it carefully with a bit of fish meat which flaked deliciously over the white grains.

“I couldn’t sleep half the time.” Minsu groaned, his voice always somewhere between a deep tone in an attempt to seem strong, and whiny. The whines were almost always primarily addressed to Youngho, who gave Minsu a pat on the thigh. Minsu with this gesture felt fulfilled and went on eating the breakfast heartily.

Jonghui smirked to himself and glanced at Sangwoo.

“It’s been harder to sleep, I think. Hasn’t it?” Sangwoo addressed everyone after sharing his glance with Jonghui.

“Why do you think?” Youngho asked, and Sangwoo shrugged.

“Not sure. Everything that has happened… Woosung, Han… I can’t say I sleep like a baby much anymore.”

“What did I do?” Woosung asked in a whisper, though he was eating as hastily and aggressively as Minsu at the moment. It was unclear to Jonghui as of yet whether he was eating to temper the pain of not having Han nearby, or if he really just felt the need to eat like this. Jonghui figured it was the latter, the last Woosung also ate in this way until he got more and more sick.

“Nothing, Woosung. Not you, the last one.” Youngho waved off politely.

“Oh.” Woosung, unbothered by this, continued to eat.

“I just think something is in the air, like we are one bad fight with someone away from… from…” Sangwoo started. Jonghui knew Sangwoo's nature was that of an observer not unlike Jonghui. Some thought Sangwoo was a bit of a fool, he often got a distant and vacant stare. Jonghui knew it was because he got overwhelmed easily, his senses aggressive and alive. So, if Sangwoo was saying now that there was something in the air, perhaps it was something worth heeding.

All Jonghui could do was look around the table as they all ate.

“I don’t think we should talk about it so openly.” Beomhwa whispered, his voice low, his words a looming storm of warning. They all knew that he was right, but not everyone wanted to obey the law anymore. There was a restlessness with the departure of Han. How permanent that departure was? That remained to be seen. Jonghui hoped it would not be long, for the sake of Woosung mostly. The team morale would remain, as long as Beomhwa was around. Han’s absence was undoubtedly noticed, but it did not shake them to the core as it might have in the past. There was strength and resilience to every single person here.

Jonghui glanced at Woosung then. Every single person here, except perhaps Woosung. He was too new, too green. Jonghui felt a pull to protect Woosung, he was so delicate that it made his heart hurt. He wished he could share with Woosung how he felt, but all he could do was exchange little glances, longing and reassuring. There was nothing else he could - the grunts that he let out made him a particularly unattractive person to interact with vocally, after all. Of this, Jonghui was extremely self-conscious and mindful, not because others were somehow repulsed by his grunting, but because he himself hated how he sounded. One day, he mused that he would ask Minjoong to fix him, to let him speak so that he could shout from the top of the highest building and herald the end of the world. He had never asked, and he wondered when he would ask.

Perhaps never.

Breakfast came and went as it always did, the smell of cleaning solution becoming a prominent scent in the space after the guards had cleaned their mess and departed, though their departure would at least promise lunch in the future. Minsu could not stand the smell of cleaning solutions and cleaners in general - his senses were often far too turned up to handle anything aggressive smelling - and after complaining for a while he eventually retired to his room so that he could sleep off the headache he had gained for himself. Youngho sheepishly joined him and Beomhwa rolled his eyes a little bit when Youngho tried to play off the fact that he was going to join Minsu.

Everyone knew that Minsu and Youngho were together - they had heard it to some degree - but Youngho always acted impossibly polite about the status of their relationship. Always blushing up to his ears until he was nothing but a bubbling and boiling tomato. It was simultaneously pathetic and endearing.

Jonghui let out a sigh, rolling his neck as he gave a few puffs from his lips. He could not speak, his vocal chords were an underdeveloped tangle, but he could grunt and growl and make other strange sounds that came from the combination of air and humming through his nose. It was the only way he could exercise his throat, make himself feel less groggy, especially after breakfast or really any meal. Jonghui was not too bad at holding a note, so sometimes he would hum. No words, but he would hum and carry melodies on. His voice bounced off the walls in those moments, and he liked to listen to himself return to his own ears. If only he could properly sing, that would be fun. Though, then no one would hear the end of it - ever.

The day rolled through, and days spent in the enclosure were hardly days at all. They were strange points between time, and Jonghui felt it most of all on these days, where nothing was happening. Where it was only breakfast, lunch and dinner. Where it was just the seven of them together, talking, or not talking at all. Sometimes they played cards, sometimes they laid on the single couch, or all together on the floor unless it was too hot like it had been in the last several months. Not anymore, the air had started to cool off substantially, the air filter blew cool air through, making it possible for the team to lay together and mumble about how much they all hated to be here. They all loved each other, Jonghui felt that love as their bare calves brushed up against bare shins or thighs, on one another in a heap of boredom. Their boredom was not alleviated when they all laid there, talking endlessly about the same topics, about the same old things that they knew nothing and everything about.

They all knew so little about the topics that they had not experienced, their lives were either facts they had read or speculations. Jonghui hated it, and loved it. He hated the way they speculated because the world was simply not as exciting as their boyish imaginations running wild. He loved it, because in these moments of stifling nothingness, they could live in a world of total fantasy. Fantasy was so much better than their reality that was either boring or prolifically dangerous. These extremes that they oscillated between kept the mind in a constant state of bent dis-ease. Jonghui’s mind was often moving through when the next dangerous situation would arise, would their deployment be a surprise or planned? When would training come? Everything was in constant flux, a state of tension.

Jonghui figured that this was the state that their superiors wanted them to be in. Constantly guessing, and never knowing. If they could not feel stable, they could never put their feet down on the ground long enough to rise up and put together a rebellion. But based on Sangwoo’s observation, the government was probably very wrong.

The truth of the matter was that if none of them could sleep, and all of them felt that they were one wrong interaction away, now, from a total explosion then it would not matter if there was stability or not in their day-to-day lives. The inevitable was coming, and it was coming faster than even Jonghui felt he was ready for. Though Jonghui knew that he would take it all on the chest, that he would rise up with his team against whoever tried to suppress them when the time came. Jonghui knew where his loyalties were, and those loyalties were not with the government. After all, how could he back the government when all it did was lie, abuse and use convoluted hypocrisy to get what it wanted?

He couldn’t.

So he trusted only in his team and no one else.

A week rolled by and a new assignment had been put on their calendar. Though, ironically, it was not an assignment for the entire team. It was one that listed Woosung, and Jonghui. Jonghui was to train Woosung, the others would stay behind. Jonghui hardly understood the reasoning for all of this, he did not feel as if he were qualified to train anyone, especially with his general inability to communicate verbally. It made things just a touch more difficult. Still, the entire team had become alight with the idea that their two youngest members would be spending time together. Jokes compounded on other jokes, and Jonghui could not help but pout just a little bit when Minsu ribbed him about it.

Minsu and Youngho were the only ones who could physically apply enough pressure on Jonghui’s physical body where it would hurt. This was found out in a particularly uncouth wrestling match when all of the clones had gotten together at the center of the common room and took bets - supported by absolutely nothing - on who could beat who. One by one, Jonghui with his bare hands pinned them all down. It was almost too easy, he shouted with glee though his voice rasped in all of that joy that he expressed. Then came Minsu and Youngho. Their physiques were a bit taller than Jonghui and this alone was enough to have Jonghui on his back even when he did his best to rebel and resist. After all, Jonghui was a bit more tired by the time he had to wrestle Minsu or Youngho and so it was a lot easier to put him down. There were some congratulations, some high-fives and another day would go by where everyone rested before another wrestling competition would be instigated. Jonghui was able to put Minsu and Youngho down when they were first in line, but just barely and his muscles strained the entire way through.

But, today was not a day about the team wrestling. It was Jonghui’s strange opportunity to show himself as a mentor to someone that in a numerical sense was created before him - even though this iteration of Woosung was much younger. His mind braced at the idea as he considered what impact he could have on Woosung. Whether it would be a good one, or not. This Woosung was so timid, would they be able to communicate at all? Would Woosung need extra guidance? All of these thoughts and questions flicked past in his mind as the two clones had their senses taken from them and were transported to some mysterious roof top ten minutes from where the basement was.

Jonghui had a good sense of time. He liked to count the minutes, after all he had so much time to spend in his own head he had come up with odd ways to keep himself entertained. This was one of those ways, counting the seconds that would turn into minutes that he would keep tracking by tapping fingertips against the fleshy parts of his palms.

Ten minutes. Realistically, Jonghui knew that even with this time in mind he would not be able to navigate here, but if he just memorized the scent… If only Minsu were here, he was far better at such things. It had occurred to Jonghui that if they all put their abilities together that they could more than likely navigate through the entire building. But they did not, it would take a lot of courage on behalf of every single team member to break out. A courage that Jonghui knew, some of them did not yet have burning in their bellies.

The breeze was soft on this rooftop, soft and cool. If Jonghui had to give it a color, he would think of a light blue that bordered on grey. It made him shudder as they were released and given no instructions, just a pen pad and an actual pen. There were weapons already here on racks, plenty of targets, but otherwise it seemed an almost abandoned space.

Jonghui stood for a moment, facing Woosung, both of them appeared awkward. Woosung did not seem like he wanted to make eye contact, and Jonghui was simply palming the writing utensils. He knew what they were for - so that the two of them could communicate - but he wondered if there was another way. Another way that was simply better.

Nothing was coming to mind, so Jonghui cleared his throat and offered Woosung a smile even if Woosung was not looking. Then he cleared the smile from his face, reminding himself of where he was and all of the government’s eyes that could be on him.

‘Woosung, we need to train. Let’s warm-up, first, okay?’ Jonghui wrote and offered the paper to Woosung who read, slowly, and looked up to Jonghui.

“Warm-up?”

“Mmm-” Jonghui affirmed with an awkward hum, nodding his head as he stuffed pen and paper into his trouser pocket. He motioned with his head and started to run, at first at a soft jog and then at a more speedy sprint.

Woosung strayed, clearly not getting the point at first, but ultimately joining Jonghui on his jog when he came around the first time at the initial point.

One minute, two minutes…

Jonghui kept running until a sheen of sweat broke over his forehead and only then did he start to slow down. As he slowed, his ears keened against the breeze. He could hear Woosung huffing and puffing just behind him.

They would stop and Jonghui would pull the pen and paper out but at first, he would just stand there and offer Woosung a small thumbs up.

Woosung was gasping for air, as if his lungs were several sizes too small. Jonghui chalked it up to this being his very first jog, or really any real form of physical exercise. He would get used to it. So he would start to write again.

‘Are you alright?’ He showed the paper with the tiny words and Woosung breathed in through his nose, nostrils flaring as he did. He didn’t respond, just nodded towards Jonghui, giving him a half-hearted thumbs up. Jonghui was not certain but he would return the pad to a more comfortable position for him to write. ‘Let’s stretch, alright?’

“O-Okay.” Woosung exhaled and Jonghui would put away the notepad once more with the pen and start to lead a stretch. In time, he would listen to the way Woosung’s breathing soothed. It became as still and smooth as a lake’s surface. At least, it was how Jonghui imagined a lake’s surface to be when the tension was high and there was not a single breeze that was blowing through the area.

They stretched their arms, their torsos, their legs. Jonghui particularly enjoyed stretching his legs, and his lower back. After so long not being out and about, in truth, this felt good even if it was mandated. Jonghui groaned at some point, deep and guttural. Something deep inside of him unchained his vocal capacity so that he could fully express himself, not thinking too much, just feeling the catches and small pains in his own body. There was a deep soreness, and it was most certainly related to the fact that Jonghui had not been out in a long while. The way his calves stretched, he could almost hear them groan like a tree in the wind. His knees cracked as he bent them slightly, squatting so that he could give his thighs a proper stretch too. Jonghui exhaled through his nose, and then let out another sound through gently parted lips.

“Why do you do that?” Woosung asked, his voice less harsh and more curious. It was just the type of question that Jonghui would feel bristled about normally, but coming from Woosung those words did not evoke the same reaction. He just looked at Woosung with a gentle and leveled gaze. He wanted to speak, wanted to tell him why, the urge washed over him as he set himself down onto his bottom with a sigh. For a moment his hands and fingers would motion, attempting to communicate with Woosung through the gestures that he knew Sangwoo understood. But Woosung just blinked a few times and then shook his head.

“Sorry, what?”

Jonghui scratched his head and decided to just write down the explanation on a new piece of paper.

‘I don’t talk, I can’t talk. Something about my voice wasn't developed in the creation process correctly. Maybe they made me too fast. I wouldn’t put it past them. They aren’t the most careful laboratory in the world… Not that I know of any other laboratories that make people. Hell, I hardly know anything. Anyway, sometimes because I don’t talk, I let out sounds. It feels good. It’s like being stuck in a cage, my mind is constantly trying to make me jump out because of how quiet I am. That I can’t just SAY what I want. So when I can, I make noise.’

It was longer than he had wanted, longer than he had intended. It was probably easier to just explain the bare bones, but he wanted Woosung to know who he was, and why he did what he did through and through. He didn’t want to deceive him or make him feel as if he was painting only half a picture. How else would the team get closer to each other, close enough to go against the government? They wouldn’t, not if Jonghui contributed to a lack of closeness and communication, when he already struggled to communicate.

Slowly, Jonghui handed over the paper, ripping it gently from where it connected and handing it to Woosung.

Woosung read, and Jonghui watched with bated breath as those chocolate eyes burned their way across the page. It was slow, but he could see the way Woosung’s mind was turning over with each new word he read. It seemed an eternity, and Jonghui was certain that his face had turned blue and purple from the way he had held his breath, though Woosung did not say anything or seem to notice that this was the case.

“I understand, I think.” Woosung looked over the note again, as if he were trying to understand something deeper than what he had read. Jonghui wished that he could tell him to read between the lines that there was something else there, even if there was not. But perhaps there was, but it was not something that he knew was there either. So how could he tell the other clone that there was something to look for?

He couldn’t.

Jonghui was realizing how much he simply could not do. Even though he tried his best, it always ended up being so damn difficult.

“It’s like the room we are in. We want out, we want to smell the outside and feel the breeze on our faces. But we can’t. Because we’re locked in. So sometimes we just do strange things inside of our enclosure. We experience life the best we can, inside by letting everything out. It’s the same with your voice.”

Jonghui’s soul filled to the brim, and then it overflowed. This was exactly it, it was the desire to fly free when one was bound to the earth with invisible chains. Woosung had understood, and Jonghui beamed at him though his mind screamed at him to put away the obvious glow in his own eyes, the dark brown gaze, the round of his cheeks, his mind reeling at being understood so quickly and easily. Finally, Jonghui nodded, and he nodded again, his body ecstatic as he brought himself to his feet, he felt electricity in his toes.

Jonghui offered Woosung a hand to get up and Woosung smiled at Jonghui, almost laughing.

“Didn’t think I’d understand, huh?”

Jonghui shook his head, before he took the notepad back. Their bodies were sufficiently warmed up, they could probably do a little more. So, they did. Jonghui would move to the gun racks and offer his assistance in how to put together the guns, and how to break them down as well. Where the bullets went and how many. Everything was written down and Woosung would pocket the information - no doubt to review at a later time - and watch as Jonghui showed him everything.

‘Mostly, the last Woosung enjoyed knives and… such…’ It was an odd thing to write, even odder that Woosung nodded to himself and pocketed the note after. Jonghui would show Woosung the knives, and daggers. He let Woosung hold them in his hands, palm them, left and right. But Woosung was not quick and sharp, not like the last Woosung had been. Jonghui watched, interested in the way this Woosung interacted with the weaponry.

After some time, Jonghui set up a rifle and led Woosung over to a few targets. This interaction was entirely silent as Jonghui showed Woosung how to hold the weapon and how to aim through its sights.
“It’s heavy.” Woosung exhaled, and Jonghui nodded, tipping Woosung’s elbow up so that it was properly positioned. “I mean, it’s really heavy…” Jonghui tapped his fingers against Woosung’s back as a countdown and he seemed to understand because once the last finger tapped his back he would unleash a rain of bullets. However, in that Woosung flew back, casting the rifle and all of the power that it had stored inside of its deceivingly small frame into the air. Jonghui jumped to the ground, ducking to avoid being shot on accident. Once Woosung’s finger left the trigger, the bullets echoed and then silence permeated the area. Jonghui let out a sigh and crawled gently over to the Woosung who had been floored. He grabbed onto the strap of the rifle and removed the weapon entirely from the clone’s body.

‘No more. I think… You’ve had enough.’

“Yeah. I think so.” Woosung croaked, and Jonghui frowned; he could tell that the other young man looked upset by the series of events. In truth, they had only been out here for forty-five minutes, and Woosung’s first go with a gun was not particularly successful. They would need a lot more sessions such as these to get anything out of Woosung. It was clear that he was not like the last, for better or for worse.

Jonghui thought better, he was more like a lamb than a wolf. It would give the team a soft demeanor over time, and that was a good thing. It was a way for them to become more like real people who cared, instead of the weapons that the government wanted them to do.

Jonghui would place the gun back on its rack, disposing of the bullets that were left in it, letting them scatter along the ground. Woosung had joined him by then, watching over his shoulder as he worked silently. They were supposed to be out here for two hours… Jonghui knew that they would not take them back to the basement until the proverbial clock stopped ticking.

They spent the rest of that time learning how to toss a knife into a target - an activity that Woosung was far better at, even if he did cut his fingers a few times in the process. It was a quiet time, well spent and Jonghui could feel the expanse of the future brighten just a little.

Chapter Text

From the moment Sangwoo voiced that something was changing, things started to change and very quickly indeed. Suddenly, the clones were being moved to train in a way that they had not done since the very beginning of their existence. But the training was no longer dished out in a way that Youngho could properly decipher. One hour he was being sent out, alone. The next hour Woosung was sent out with just Beomhwa. Then Jonghui, alone. Minsu, with Sangwoo. There was an irregular pattern to how they were called and told to train. It was difficult to decipher what exactly the purpose of it all was and Youngho was left in a state of total mental discombobulation.

After two weeks had passed, Han returned into the fold. He had extra scars, and he acted extra distant and broodier but none of them treated him any differently. Youngho, especially, did his best to try and make Han feel like he had never left - though it was easier said than done by the way that Han swatted Youngho’s attempts away with pouting lips and powerfully squinted eyes that showed his displeasure so plainly on his face.

“What are you doing?” Han would grumble, and Youngho would just shrug. There was no good answer for why he sat next to him during meals or put his arm around him in a large hug that only Youngho could accomplish. Minsu always pouted nearby, a little jealous - Youngho knew - but it had not been Minsu who had been taken away from the group and given extra scars to carry on his body for the rest of his life. It was Youngho’s job to help the morale of the crew. He was not a leader, not in the way that Beomhwa had been. But when Minjoong was not around, he had started to take on the role of the caretaker. The book that Minjoong had gifted him was the point that spurred him to continue.

The book in question was full of medicinal advice that Youngho enjoyed soaking up. It had made him a better reader and his mind felt sharper.

“Know-it-all,” Minsu whispered once under his breath and Youngho had gently smacked him on the shoulder. It was not that he was a genuine know-it-all, but he had come to the conclusion that he did to some degree want to ‘know it all’. There was so much about the biological world that was simply out of reach and this is what made his head turn over and over again in the proverbial clouds. All of the plants that he had never seen, never touched, but they were laid out in this book and it shared with Youngho the knowledge of how to pick those plants, how to process them and how to create powerful medicines.

Woosung’s death, the way he had not been able to save him from his untimely demise also continued to push him forward. He never wanted any of the clones to be in a situation where it was life or death in terms of their health. He would never allow it, not again. So he read, and he soaked up everything that he could in spite of Minsu’s teasing whispers.

There was also something about this book.Youngho felt Minjoong had given it to him for a reason. He had not yet figured it out, but he knew that between all of the ways to heal a person, there was a hidden secret. Some days he would flip through the pages mindlessly, as if something would fall out of the pages. It never did, but Youngho hoped that something would hit him in the head like a brick. Something, anything…

In those moments, when nothing would happen, he would just let out a sigh. Usually he was laying in bed next to Minsu and Minsu would groan and whine and turn over to make sure that he was facing away from Youngho who was in his mental castle trying to figure out the world’s problems. The world was incredibly small - or really his world, the world of those who had been created by Minjoong’s hands and pitted against the people who lived somewhere else. Outside, not even in the city, but out there. Youngho had seen it, time and time again; the wide open desert, the dunes, the eternal shifting sand, the piercing blue sky that made him squint while the sun beamed overhead, powerful and unyielding. But that was not his world, this small place was his world. The opposite of what he knew was out there. The world’s problems were the problems that were here, in this enclosed space. That was this world.

Youngho was sent out to train alone at this discombobulating pace. He did not know when the training would even arrive, or if it would be for him or someone else - in spite of the schedule. Today he had been reading, quietly pondering the world to himself, flipping through the pages with his thumb as he nursed a fresh paper cut along that very same finger. Then two masked guards walked in and commanded him to attend training. Confused, but unwilling to argue with the demand, he would stuff his book between the mattress and the squeaky bed frame and be on his way.

Youngho ran and stretched and fired every weapon that he could get his hands on. Alone was not so bad, but it was extremely lonely. Isolating. Perhaps the government had intended for them to go on missions alone? He hoped not. They worked best as a team, this was where their strengths were, though Youngho had to admit that their weaknesses were there too. Perhaps it would be easier if they had gone on missions alone?

No.

Youngho had to shake his head, and level his gaze down a large automatic weapons sight. He would fire off a few bullets, carefully choosing his targets instead of allowing the bullets to fly wildly all around. They would come in sets, a pattern.

Tun tun tun tun.

Tun tun tun tun.

Youngho’s shoulder ached against the kickback of the automatic, and after a while he had to lower it with a sigh and roll out his shoulder. Even as big as he was, he could not easily withstand an eternal onslaught of a metal object beating into his body. There was something deep about it, as it would vibrate him down to his very bones. It would shake his skull a little too, and it felt as if the words and thoughts that he was thinking before were just falling out of him. Youngho, when he held a weapon, very quickly and easily became 004. It was easier to just be a number, to not think as he shot down his targets - human or lame and stationary. These targets were the latter variety, but sometimes he imagined them as real people, some deeply cruel part of him. Youngho wondered if this was good, if this was something that a good person might do. He felt not, or at least another part of him felt that this was not a good thing to think. A duality as he fought against himself, as he fought between being Youngho and 004. A young man learning about the world, and a cruel clone, a reprehensible weapon of the state.

Tun tun tun tun.

Tun tun tun tun.

He switched out weapons. The next was a handgun he held it firmly, fingers extended delicately against an equally delicate trigger. He would pull on it only when he felt he aligned his target up well. Sometimes he did not shoot for center mass of the targets, sometimes he shot at legs, or arms, or the neck. The goal always changed, and he needed to be ready to switch at a moment’s notice on a mission.

As he fired off this handgun the silly dummies that had no humanity to them became very human in his mind. At first like blobs that slowly siphoned themselves into shape, like light spilling onto the ground appearing as a puddle of milk. Except these were not just people, not any person’s face appeared on the dummy. Rather, his imagination made a masked guard out of one. He shot at it, and he shot so flagrantly that for a moment Youngho believed that he was killing a government employee. There was pleasure in it too, his stomach bubbled warmly, and that warmth spread into his chest. It felt so good that his heart was pounding into his head. Another image appeared, similar, a slightly different body build. He shot. Then another image, and Youngho found himself gently smiling to himself. Slowly he pulled the gun down, a movement practiced and smooth.

Looking on, the dummy was just a dummy, a target as inanimate as the walls that kept him here. The chain link fence that kept him from escaping. But as he stood there the dummy became the most hated image - the doctor Li Kihyun. So he leveled his handgun against the imagined Li Kihyun, though he could have been very real to Youngho in that moment as he shot the man in the head, several times and though nothing became of the dummy, Youngho liked to imagine the way the blood would fly from his head at the impact. The way his neck would be forced backwards by the velocity. The way he would land on the ground, his skull cracking, the way the smugness would bleed from his body the same way that the blood was escaping him now. The bullet would have pierced him too, clean through, and ended his life. It was the most merciful way for that man to go, there would be no other way. Youngho’s stomach tightened, not with nausea but with another wave of pleasure. He inhaled slowly through his nose as he felt a series of goose prickles run up and down his entire body as the cool autumn air moved through him, in and out.

When Youngho lowered his gun and looked down he noticed that there was a strain to his trousers. It was not a strain that he would have expected of himself, but it became abundantly embarrassing almost immediately, nonetheless.

“…Shit…” He exhaled and walked, no, he felt he was waddling back over to the weapons rack where he would pop the cartridge out of the hand gun and put it down in its place. For a moment he just stood there. He had gotten ahead of himself, lost in the rush of the training, that’s what he had to tell himself. He had to suppress the thought that perhaps this came from a far less savory place. A place where he relished and was aroused by the death of a person. Though perhaps to relish the death of a tormentor was not so bad, no? Perhaps it wasn’t, but to feel this way about it? Youngho leaned himself closer to the weapon rack, against the metal table that extended left to right just in front of it. He could feel his erection gently rubbing through his trousers underneath the table, into the metal. Youngho blushed. He felt pathetic, like a teenage boy - uncontrollably aroused by all the wrong things.

The longer he stood there, the more he wanted to rub himself against the table and he felt so incredibly embarrassed to do so. He knew he couldn’t, not really. Because the truth of the matter was as he stood there, the more he realized that he would be seen. There were cameras everywhere, and it was not as if he were willing to put on some show. Even if he was, he knew that he was not supposed to feel that way and someone would find out that he was pleasuring himself out in the open and put him into whatever torture chamber they had locked Han away in most recently, and Woosung sometime before then. The thought of being in a torture chamber cooled Youngho’s body then. His mind lusted for the death of another less as he came back into reality and was forced to face off with his own strange sort of mortality, and the loyalty he held to the government versus the loyalty he held to his own body.

The truth was that his instinct fell more in line to obeying the government. His mind rebelled against all of this, very naturally, but there was no denying his instinct. The way his body seemed to obey what he was told without any shadow of a doubt. He hated this about himself, and he wanted to dispel this from himself. Perhaps if his body became under the control of his mind without him cringing, he wouldn’t have so many issues. Perhaps.

Youngho leaned away from the table then with a resounding but determined grunt as he picked up a few daggers to toss around at a less human-shaped target. There were circular targets, these were more popular for knives and daggers so he picked them up in a heap and started to toss them. The sensation of arousal faded away even quicker now with the cold breeze sifting through his hair, brushing against his reddened cheeks. Youngho focused hard only at the task at hand, and he slowly put his mind over his body. The government would not have him today, he would not slip and become a doll to be dragged away when he knew he could control himself. Or at the very least try.

Thwap.

Youngho watched with solemn eyes as a knife sliced into the target. His knife throwing skills were never as good as Woosung’s had been at one point. It had been a point of contention, Youngho liked to be good at almost everything to some degree. But knives and daggers? There was a delicate art to it that he did not have. Youngho and Minsu were definitely more of the big lumbering types - against their own will - and Youngho at the very least knew that his place was to be large and on the defensive. Not the quickest on his feet, but he did not need to be. He did not need to be a master of the delicate arts, he could just protect his team and shoot indiscriminately at those that would attack them.

Another knife lodged itself into the target and it made Youngho become aware - as if the knife had been the cause of this awakening - that every mission that they had ever been on, his priority had always been the team. Of course, he acted for the government, but his goal was never to complete the mission - that was secondary if not tertiary - it had always been to make sure that the team got in and out safely. That none of the missions mattered if he did not have the people he cared most about by his side. Those people that the government would replace in the blink of an eye.

Thwap.

Youngho let out a sigh and looked over his shoulder listlessly towards where the door was. It had to have been almost time for him to be done. These sessions rarely lasted longer than an hour or two, though a few of the trainings had gone on for much longer he had noticed. Not for him, but for the other’s. As if they were forced to keep working on something else. There was little benefit, after all, from running a body ragged. Skills were honed with careful practice, not necessarily perfect practice, but the kind of practice that allowed the muscles to settle into a routine. Once the nebulous timer reached two hours, or on rare occasion three hours they were usually breathing hard and exhausted. Each muscle was contracted, painful and sore. Youngho did not want to end up in the manner, and so he after throwing the last few knives that he had in his hands he would go to dislodge them from the target and settle them a bit haphazardly over the metal table that he had been rubbing himself against a moment earlier.

Youngho exhaled, his sigh was one that bled stress from his shoulders but the stress remained nonetheless no matter how many deep breaths he took.

“Stupid…” He muttered under his breath and walked away from the table, leaving the knives as scattered as his thoughts. Someone else could clean up the mess, he was tired of cleaning up after himself, making sure that he was abiding some body of law that he had never even seen. A proper leader made themselves seen - like Minjoong or Beomhwa - they did not hide away from the world, sulking in the shadows pathetically. Youngho was scornful of the behavior, because he knew it came from a place of fear. Whoever the true leaders were hid away from everyone because their lives would be in danger. Wouldn’t they be?

Youngho plopped down on the ground, his shoulders hunched and feeling unpleasant as he started to stretch so that he could cool down his body. It was not ten minutes, where his mind had already started to wander into starlight, that the guards appeared donning their masks and weapons as usual. They would render Youngho to a place of senselessness and take him back to the basement.
As Youngho was brought in, Minsu was taken out and the two of them briefly exchanged a glance, their shoulders brushing up against one another. Youngho’s pinkie was desperate to hook onto Minsu’s. A pitiable display of affection, they could hardly speak to each other in these moments.

Youngho resolved to shower, stripping off his sweaty clothes and letting the water rush over his body. It warmed him and when he turned the knob just right, cooled him down too. His mind became a blank canvas once more and for the first time in a few hours he felt himself relax properly. It was the feeling of coming home, because this space was the only place he had ever known as home. The truth of the matter was that Youngho hoped that one day this would not be the only place, but for now it did give him an overarching sense of ease. There was food, companionship, his bed, his minimal clothes, and his book. These were simple things, but they were nonetheless things that he relished in because it was all he knew to be comfortable.

His fingers lathered soap into his hair and he groaned gently at the pleasurable sensation. He washed the shampoo out and put in a pea-sized amount of a buttery product that Minjoong had said was good for keeping the hair healthy - ‘conditioner’. He put that in carefully, but did not lather it into his scalp - something about it buttering up the scalp was bad, and he did not remember exactly what, but he did remember the negative connotation. Youngho let the water run over his face, moistening his slightly cracked lips. By doing so he found that there was a crack that was deeper than he had initially expected. It stung and he scrunched up his nose before pulling away entirely from the water. Instead, he grabbed a bar of soap and started to wash himself. His arms and armpits, his torso, his neck, he could feel the dead skin rolling up beneath his calloused fingers and then the water washing it off of him. It felt good, it was a bit like a lizard shedding its skin. A concept that he only vaguely remembered from a fuzzy, hazy childhood covered in gauze and rose-tinted windows.

When Youngho reflected on his childhood, or the childhood of his natural, it was always as if he were an outsider peering into a frosted window into a home that he could not quite walk into. But he could feel the warmth radiating from the outside, the way his natural’s parents cared for him and held him tight. They raised a bright sunshine of a child who smiled often, until the bleakness of the world killed the sunshine in his heart. Youngho was the result, a monster made of DNA, the living breathing result of the sun’s death. After all, if his natural had never started to work for the government, he would have never had a clone wandering in the world.

But the memory of lizards… These were feisty creatures that slithered across the ground in the days of his youth. They slowly disappeared from the city, little by little. As the sun receded so did the presence of the lizards. But Youngho remembered squatting nearby some that were sun-bathing on a rock. The day was especially warm, blistering with heat, but the lizards had their eyes closed, their necks expanding and contracting in gentle bliss. It was a beautiful sight. Youngho remembered that his sandals were blue and old, beaten up by time, and his feet were just a touch too big, his toes curling onto the edge of the shoe, gripping, touching the hot sand.

The bar of soap moved to create suds near his groin and up and down his legs. He rubbed and cleaned and used a small wash towel to get more of the dirt off of him and after all was said and done he would wash the buttery conditioner out of his hair, leaving himself completely clean.

Youngho dried himself off with a particularly rough terry cloth towel making sure that all of him was dry and that his hair was not dripping too excessively. It was colder out in the hallway as he let steam spill out from the bathroom that he had hogged for what must have been approximately twenty minutes. Though, there was no one there to complain about it. Upset by this lack of interaction, Youngho padded quietly and awkwardly to his room so that he could pull on his basic uniform that they all wore. It was a synthetic cotton, he would sweat easily in it, and it never felt good on the skin but it was something he was used to - aside from it being his only option. Youngho pulled at the neckline of it, grumbling to himself. The neckline always shrunk after a wash, which he found to be irritating and a sensation that he did not enjoy. Once it was sufficiently loose he laid down on the bed. It squeaked and crunched beneath him slightly and he fished for his book awkwardly between the metal frame, the mattress and all of the weight that he was now applying. He would eventually manage to yank it out, though a part of a page had been bent so poorly out of shape that the book now had a damaged crease on the cover.

Youngho frowned and tried to bend it the other way, but alas, the crease was permanent as if it imprinted itself into the ink itself, bulging one way and the other. The clone pouted to himself, stressed at the idea. Would Minjoong think he was careless? For a moment as he laid there anxiety clawed at him uncontrollably at the very idea that he might upset Minjoong with the way he treated the book. But there was nothing to do about it, he would just have to apologize profusely when the time finally arrived. Perhaps if he apologized to Minjoong and showed him what he had done, the caretaker would just smile and let him off the hook? It was a grand idea, if not one that was fueled almost entirely by an anxiety to perform well. It was just another way that the government had sunk its teeth into his psyche. Just another way they controlled him even though he aimed to not be under their thumb any longer.

“Stop it…” Youngho groaned and opened the book. There were very few things that calmed his speeding mind like reading or re-reading parts of the book that he held in his hands. So, this is what he set out to do.

It was hard to say how much time passed between Youngho deciding to read and Minsu’s return but at some point the main door mechanism sounded off in its robotic way, signaling someone’s arrival and Minsu was barreling in soon enough.

Minsu landed awkwardly on his knees at the foot of the bed, his fingers ashen, and under his nails was perfectly black as he reached out to touch Youngho’s foot.

“Goodness, what happened?” Youngho did not yank away, instead he sat up and sat closer.

“I think they were trying to kill me.” Minsu whimpered, as if he had been beaten and kicked.

“What? Why would they do that?”

Minsu shrugged and started to lift his training shirt which the fabric weight of their combat uniform weighed more than the casual scrubs they wore.

“They shot at me.”

“What?” Youngho was in disbelief, what kind of exercise was that? And why would they do this to Minsu? Youngho’s gaze fell against Minsu’s torso and looked it over as he set the book he was reading to the side. Indeed the statement was true, he could see the hot scrapes of a bullet on different parts of Minsu’s body. None had pierced his torso, so they had clearly been aiming for the sides - or perhaps whoever it was could not best Minsu?

“Why…” Youngho reached out, more questions than answers as he brushed fingertips delicately over Minsu. “Let’s wash you, and you can rest.”

Minsu nodded and started to stand, using the wall to do so. Youngho offered his body for Minsu to lean on, and his partner did not waste much to do so.

In the bathroom, Youngho meticulously and delicately undressed Minsu until he was standing nude. The water would run lukewarm and then warm and Youngho would wrist test it before letting Minsu in. Every step was dedicated to Minsu’s care. Then Youngho washed Minsu, and as he did he revered the body that he was touching. The blood ran pink in the water, there was not enough of it to run red and so it simply diluted. The bar of soap made Minsu cry and whine and let out small puffs of air in his irritation.

“We have to clean the wounds, you know that, it will help with the bleeding too.”

“Mm~” Minsu whined. Youngho knew that none of them actually felt that much pain, especially over scrapes like these. But Minsu was sensitive, particularly so and it only spurred Youngho to love him just a little more. To be just a little more delicate and careful.

Youngho washed Minsu’s hands and fingers, getting the ash and soot off. He worked his torso, his neck, his face, all the way down to his feet.

“Almost done, baby.”

“I know.” Minsu murmured, curling his toes away from Youngho’s washing. Pain and whining were replaced with the slightest giggle.

“Oh come on.”

“Perv.”

Youngho rolled his eyes at the name calling a bit and after he felt Minsu was sufficiently clean he would put up the bar of soap and wash him down properly.

The blood had mostly stopped along his body now, and after some drying off, and putting trousers on Minsu, Youngho and Minsu settled on the bed together. Youngho crossed his legs and sat close to Minsu facing him as he worked hard to put pieces of gauze and some antibacterial liquid on the wounds. Minsu would flinch away and squirm, but Youngho would eventually get it all done.

“What would you do without me?”

“I don’t know, bleed I guess.” Minsu shrugged, becoming more comfortable once he had a shirt on.

“Yes, that is always good to hear.”

“But I’ll always have you.” Minsu murmured.

“Right, you’ll always have me.” Youngho smiled gently. Even if the chances that they would always have each other were fairly low, it was a nice thing to think and say out loud. It would make them work extra hard to make sure that there would never be a day where they were not together.

“Maybe you won’t always have me.” Minsu added a more solemn tone.

“Don’t say that. If I’m not allowed to leave you, you aren’t allowed to leave me either.”

“Some days, it’s hard to think of anything else.”

“I know, you’ve told me before, darling.”

“I have but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

Youngho nodded, all he could do was support Minsu whose mind careened into darkness very frequently. Youngho could never allow his mind to do the same thing, could never allow himself to become the eclipse on Minsu’s sunny day. Minsu needed him so much, to be that sunny day. He would be his sunlight forever if he had to, even if it all killed him outright.

“Maybe, sometime in the future, we can convince Minjoong-ah to let us out and go on a little walk in the city.” Youngho suggested.

Minsu snorted, his nostrils flaring in the way that Youngho loved.

“Yeah right.”

“Okay, fine, sad man. How else am I going to cheer you up if not with little fantasies?”

“I don’t know. Hold me?”

This was the sure fire way to cheer up Minsu, to hold him and rub on him. Minsu preferred physical affection and strong words of affirmation to keep him going - and Youngho was more than happy to afford this to him. So he squirmed up to the head of the bed and leaned himself back into the corner where the two walls met and where the bed was pushed up against. He opened his arm and offered the comfort and solace of his chest for Minsu.

Minsu crawled up and leaned hard into Youngho, and when Youngho had felt tension bleed away from him during the shower, he felt Minsu’s tension bleed away here. A noticeable difference between the tense shoulders and back, to the full relaxation that he was experiencing now. It was as if all of him pooled into Youngho’s soul and Youngho turned to silken desert holding onto his Minsu.

Chapter Text

The truth, the truth was that it was impeccably difficult to tell time. Even with the lights going in and out, keeping their days. Even with the calendar that marked carefully their schedule for each passing hour. It seemed impossible to tell the wide expanse of time that they spent in this enclosure. Beomhwa had a difficult time with it, but he knew that it had been several weeks now since the strange change of pace to their schedule. The weapons were suddenly being taken out to be sharpened, as if they had been born anew. Beomhwa experienced firsthand as they would be removed from the space in strange pairings or solo, one after the next, to go train their bodies for an unknown enemy. Beomhwa quietly believed that it had something to do with the plans that they had just barely managed to retrieve from before Woosung had passed away. Those plans must have been tied to the reason that the superiors were moving this team so rigorously through training. After all, despite their seeming discordant behavior, things in the end, almost always seemed to have a reason for happening. Beomhwa had come to believe that their training would come to a head, a penultimate moment in due time.

But the time, it was several weeks now from when they had started the more regular training, and a month or perhaps almost two since the new Woosung was brought into their fold. It must have been longer since the original Woosung had passed away. The new Woosung was not physically strong, nor did he possess a great mental resolve. Something had gone wrong in the speed with which this Woosung had been made, the DNA suffering. This was Beomhwa’s secret knowledge. It had been something Minjoong told him one evening as they sat in the dark of Beomhwa’s unlit cell, only their hands touching, fingers laced like delicate fabric with each other. Beomhwa relished the warmth of his Minjoong, and he had hoped that Minjoong relished him all the same.

Weeks, or months. It did not matter too much, for the wounds had hardly healed. The overall mood of the clones had been soured, dampened, downtrodden. They all moved through their assignments without any desire to do them. There was none of the motivation, ambition or zest that had once been there. Nothing that had once pushed them to serve the government remained.

And why should it have remained? The government from their very inception had created them as monsters so that they could kill and be culled easily too. They were not treated as humans, as equals of the human race that wandered outside of these walls. They breathed the air all the same, but their bodies were marked as lesser by the numbers tattooed on their arms. The government tortured them, beat them, raped them. They did everything to train them to be hardened soldiers, robots that would not look at anyone and feel mercy or sympathy. But that was where the government, the superiors had been so tremendously wrong. For all the chaos that they put the team through, the team came out being more sympathetic, more loving. They could not imagine being anything but these traits, these things that exemplified humanity. Or what Beomhwa had decided exemplified humanity. Feeling, in spite of what they had been told. The way Minjoong acted, the way he felt and acted so quietly in spite of everything that the world threw at him.

Beomhwa knew that Han did not put a lot of trust in Minjoong, because Minjoong was inherently a part of the government. It was for this reason doubly hard to convince Han that he should trust their caretaker. Han did not budge on the subject until most recently where Minjoong had put his body between the doctor and the clones. That had softened Han up to see their caretaker not act mousy to save his own skin. That moment had bloomed pride in Beomhwa’s chest though a pride that quickly disintegrated when the events that had transpired did. At least now Han was back, though one could not say that he was better than before.

Han struggled. Han struggled to get up in the mornings without Woosung’s presence. Han struggled to wash and brush his teeth. Han struggled with forgetting to eat even though their meals came at the exact same time, every single day, without fail.

Beomhwa had whispered his worry to Sangwoo briefly. Sangwoo was the only one who understood the way Han worked on the inside. It had been Woosung before, but this Woosung was clinging to Han for love, warmth and protection. None of them believed that after such a short amount of time that Woosung knew Han’s heart, not the way Sangwoo did after all of this time. So, Beomhwa and Sangwoo sat and chatted quietly amongst themselves. At times Han would be in the room with them, and they would just stare at the back of his blond head. They knew that he was not listening, knew that he was not all there. They knew that Han was just sitting there, shuffling cards between his fingers, feeling lackluster and stale. Woosung would always find the blond and lay down across his lap not unlike the last Woosung and he would pick the cards out of Han’s hands and try to shuffle them before scattering them everywhere, leaving the two to clean up the mess.

“I don’t think he realizes how unhappy he is…” Beomhwa would trail quietly to Sangwoo, frowning.

“He’s convinced himself he’s okay, now that he has Woosung again. But I don’t think he’s over him.”

“He can’t be. I’m not.”

Sangwoo would nod.

“It would be insane to move on so quickly, maybe he’s just pretending to protect himself?”

“Maybe, but wouldn’t feeling it through be better.” Beomhwa suggested, though he knew that what he had said was at best laughable. There was not a world or dimension out there where the clones could easily battle the training they had been given - to swallow the feelings that they experienced so deep into their bodies that no light could make them see the light of day. Han was among the most stone-faced in this regard. He would grit through any pain undeterred. It was why Han had collapsed to his knees, crying, screaming his silent scream when the news broke about Woosung’s death. It had been so shocking and so painful to watch in return. It had been like watching the birth of flight. It was the moment they had all realized that they were not so different from the humans that they were cloned from. They felt exactly as they felt. Their lack of feeling had only come from training, and nothing more. Everything they had ever experienced was real, and it hurt, and it made them cry and also be happy and love. It was all of those things at once. Han suppressed the most, but when he felt, he felt more than anyone else in the entire world.

“You know what I’m going to say.” Sangwoo whispered as the cards scattered everywhere again and the duo went to retrieve them again. They quickly went about building a house of cards from the deck that they were messing with.

“I know, I know. None of our first reactions would be to ‘feel it through’. Minjoong says it is the healthiest option though.”

Sangwoo rolled his eyes a little bit.

“Because Minjoong is the master of emotion.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Minjoong was soft and smiled gently quite frequently, but Beomhwa had only seen Minjoong come undone in front of him, when they were alone and they both knew that they were safe to unravel. Minjoong did not feel any more than anyone else here, because he too had been trained to suppress it all. It had only served to remind Beomhwa of just how human they were, that their reactions to all of these things were perpetually human. They were not broken, they were just human beings built out of some kind of strange material, flesh and bone accelerated into young men that could never die and were kept alive entirely by a serum.

There was another day where Sangwoo and Beomhwa were staring, once again, at the back of Han’s blond head.

“Would you give up your immortality to be completely human?”

“Aren’t we already human?”

“Kind of.”

“We die without that serum.”

“But we die too early. I’m saying, what if we become really human. Don’t need the serum at all. We age and live to a ripe old age.”

“I don’t think I could give up being young for the rest of time.”

“Wouldn’t life become boring?”

Sangwoo shook his head. “Not while we are in here, waiting for a sentence to march to our deaths.”

“Morbid.” Beomhwa sighed, though he agreed quietly with Sangwoo. They were immortal only by the injection of a serum. They were not immortal because they were some strange magical creatures. They would remain immortal until the serum ceased to be, and then they would slowly disintegrate long before they would become old. Minjoong had told them as such - without the serum, their minds would fail first, and then their bodies. Shriveling like prunes in a hot desert summer sun. Beomhwa did not see his end being so pitiful and pathetic, he hoped that it would be fantastic, or at the very least he hoped that it was boring after he had lived his entire life, and held onto Minjoong’s hand long enough…

There had been many realizations for Beomhwa. That while he and the rest stayed young forever, Minjoong would grow old. He would become an old man one day, he would not get to stay young and immortal with the rest of them. Then when Minjoong was no longer alive, they would all slowly die too unless he passed the knowledge of the serum to them. Which he would, Beomhwa knew that because it was just who Minjoong was. Or perhaps Beomhwa would never get to hold hands with Minjoong in his death, because when he retired from the government he would never be allowed to return to the building and leave the clones in the enclosure to collect dust. Most certainly a pitiable end.

“Then, what if we lived really boring lives, forever and ever.”

“Then maybe I won’t want to be an immortal. Life would become boring. I suppose it would be nice to become old by that merit. To grow old with the person you really love and get to experience life all the way through at every stand.”

Beomhwa smiled, once again agreeing.

He would love to grow old with Minjoong and the rest of the team. But he couldn’t, because he was not human and he would never be allowed to be human - not in the traditional sense. They were born from cold test tubes, made stronger and better. They were not born from a womb, as babes who needed to be swaddled and shushed to sleep as they cried and cried. They were created in the image of the government’s idea of perfection. They never had to be grown, never had to be watered, their minds were already full of worldly knowledge. Some vague education, vague childhood memories, they were all there, and they had already learned from it all on some sickening subconscious level. So the government covered all of these experiences in a level of grime and then sent them all on their way into the world, stumbling blind, but most certainly blindly obeying.

But that was not so much the case anymore, recently their whispers had become more and more dissenting. They trusted the government less, and Han’s distrust of Minjoong was born from the collective distrust of the government. They went to the training quietly, but they felt strongly that they did not wish to be split up. They showed it on their faces, and the training became more difficult. Minsu returned from training after having been shot at. Beomhwa had been whipped repeatedly over his back until scars had formed - though he would have hardly called such a measure ‘training’.

The government was trying to find a breaking point again. They were training them for some future mission where they would go against a large rebel group, based on the plans retrieved. But some of the training was purposeful. The solitary training was to split the group up, to not allow them to speak to each other, to commiserate. Beomhwa had the slightest feeling that there was something more to all of this - he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but he had a feeling in his gut that the government was planning something with the team. To break their minds, to make them quiet and obedient dolls without any personality. Perhaps there had been a reason to rush Woosung’s creation, to make him so delicate and with the fire of a wet rag. Perhaps they wanted them all killed or broken enough that they would become like this new Woosung, strong but not willing to rock the boat that they were strapped into. They were chained, slaves of the republic they served. Beomhwa was not certain it was a republic, perhaps it was an empire. They would not have any way of knowing, not ever. Not until they left here.

This was part of the problem. They all spoke quietly of leaving, but none of them could figure out a proper way of doing it. If they killed the guards when they entered and took their weapons, they would not know how quick a response there would be to put them down as a threat. It was not something they could test either, it would be far too dangerous without risking lives. They could, of course, run out and away on a mission, but they had no maps and no way to know where they were. If they were in the desert, they would likely die from thirst and sun exposure before they died from a lack of serum injection. If they tried running in the city, this was yet another danger of too much potential response being available.

None of them spoke openly of plans, but the way they spoke with each other it was obvious that almost all of them - apart from Woosung - had thought of it. It was a deep temptation that scalded Beomhwa down to his very bone.

The time would come, but none of them knew when. They just knew that the opportunity would present itself imperfectly but completely underneath their noses. It would be a moment that they would need to act upon to win the day, to win their freedom and in Beomhwa’s head, Minjoong was right there beside them.

Beomhwa knew that Minjoong had never shot a gun, that he was a simple biologist and nothing more, but he hoped that they would run with Minjoong and that they would soon become a team of eight, free and completely unshackled.

Another day came and this one had Sangwoo, Beomhwa and Han on the docket to train. It was a random match-up, but Sangwoo and Beomhwa at least felt they could make the most of it. Han had been as despondent as he had always been recently. It was undeniably a very difficult situation, one that Sangwoo and Beomhwa had secretly talked about that perhaps they could get ahead by talking to Han during the training where he had less chance to move away from them. After all, they would be standing side-by-side shooting at targets and even taking a jog together to warm-up if the time allowed.

A three hour training was what had been allotted to them, and Beomhwa had to let out a ragged sigh. Three hours was simply too much. If one hour was tiring, and two hours was exhausting, three hours well overstepped any sort of boundaries created. Three hours was meant to put them in a miniature coma to make sure that they would not act out afterwards. The only thing that Beomhwa could do after a three hour training was sleep away the ache in his muscles. An ache that the government believed was impossible for the clones to really have due to the way that they were built. But this was not true at all, there was nuance in their DNA-modified bodies. They could go for a long time, withstand a great deal more than a human, but that did not make them incapable of feeling after everything was said and done. The lactic acid in their muscles was just as aggressive as anyone else. It was a strange line to toe.

They were loaded into small vehicles that were just small enough to fit into the corridors, and their senses were muffled as they often were before they were taken out to the training yard. There was, at least the slightest silver lining, fresh air in this yard. Particularly, it possessed a smog-adjacent scent that, although not extremely pleasant, was reminiscent of the outdoors and therefore comforting to some degree. Their restraints removed, they were set out into the yard and abandoned. The government expected that at this junction they knew what to do.

Beomhwa motioned with his head, Sangwoo and Han followed silently to his gesture. The three of them stretched, but every time Beomhwa searched to make eye contact with Han, he found Han looking elsewhere. Out beyond the chain link fence, or at the concrete beneath them, or towards the targets that they would eventually be shooting at. It was as if he were looking to be anywhere but here.

Once the stretching was done, the group would run. They would run several circles around the yard. Beomhwa’s thighs burned by the time that they dared to stop and he knew that the other two likely felt the same. Han was slightly better at running than Beomhwa and Sangwoo, as Beomhwa and Sangwoo were primarily masters of intel and longer-range shots. But that didn’t matter much in the end, they all stooped once they were done. Breathing ragged, fingers gripping onto the tops of their knees as they braced down and tried to just catch what little oxygen was in their blood currently, to try and replenish what was lost in the run.

“Let’s not-do-…that..again.” Sangwoo wheezed, gaining enough strength to grab onto a nearby wall, as he let out a soft groan.

“Not today.” Beomhwa agreed, but Han said nothing. He just breathed, frowning the entire time as he did.

“You alright, 002?” Beomhwa asked then, looking Han over hoping that the clone would respond to him. He received a single glance and then the blond looked away.

“Yeah.”

Beomhwa frowned and looked at Sangwoo. So Sangwoo started, timidly at first.

“002-”

“What?” Han raised his shoulders.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.”

“I’m sick of you two gossiping about me constantly.”

Beomhwa frowned, so he had heard what they had said even if they had spoken so quietly that they had trouble hearing each other at times.

“002 it was not meant to be unkind. We’re worried about you.” Beomhwa stepped up. He knew that Sangwoo did not enjoy confrontation. Beomhwa did not either, but he was capable of taking this kind of emotional heat a lot better.

“Why are you worried? Suddenly.”

“Because you haven’t been the same ever since-”

“Yeah?” Han turned, sharply, irritation in his blue eyes.

“Well it’s to be expected.”

“I thought I should just be less emotional about it.” Han hissed through his teeth.

Beomhwa sighed. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t… meant it like that. Please, I don’t think right now is a good time for all of this… For us to not be…”

“Not be what? We’re not anything if you ask the clowns outside of the door.”

“Shh…” Sangwoo waved his hands, gesturing down to try and keep Han’s voice down.

“Don’t shush me.” Han rolled his eyes.

“You know what they’re trying to do, and this is exactly it. We can’t let them in. We’re just worried about you, we want you to feel better. You’re not alone.”

“I’m not?”

Sangwoo stepped up then, not literally, but his chest pushed forward a little bit.

“002, we all care about you. We all cared about 007 too. We know that we probably don’t feel the pain you do. But it’s not fair to say we don’t feel it too. The large absence of his presence. It’s horrible and very plain, at least I can feel it too. And I know 003 feels it. We all feel it.”

“Aren’t all of you desperate to just add the new 007 back into the fold?”

“Why shouldn’t we be?” Beomhwa snapped a little, and he stepped forward closer to Han literally, his brow furrowing. “He does not deserve our anger and pain, just because he was created to replace him. You haven’t shied away from taking him in either, why should we shy away from it?”

“I don’t know, maybe because he’s mine? Maybe because there’s no one else that helps me feel okay?”

It was a conversation that was going nowhere. The tension was entirely unresolved and Beomhwa was not certain how to resolve it at the moment. So, he slowly glanced to Sangwoo and then towards the shooting targets.

“Let’s just train for now. Maybe… Maybe it’ll help get our minds off of all of this.”

“Sure.” Han dismissed and walked off towards the gun rack and the metal table. He started to quickly put together some guns that he wanted to practice with and took them over to a divider that he usually took up when the team had trained together in the past.

Beomhwa was silent. He slipped past Sangwoo, feeling dejected and unsuccessful. Perhaps it was the wrong approach, but he was not sure how else to approach Han without simply doing so. He grabbed a few rifles, including some automatics and set up shop. He paid no mind to anyone else as he started to fire off shot after shot, his mind screaming with the sound of bullets and nothing else. To some degree it was like meditation, and because Beomhwa knew no other life, this was what had become a place of solace where he could let go and not think too hard.

It was a lot easier to not think when the rounds of bullets flew out of the barrel and into the targets far away. His keen eye watching each fast piece of metal pierce through the dummy’s easily. A few shots to the head, some to the torso, an arm and a leg. Beomhwa even tested himself against smaller pieces, fingers, toes, the ears, the nose. He wanted to see if he was capable of such pinpoint accuracy, and unsurprisingly he was. Still it was something he kept training because he did not want to become rusty in the one thing that he had been so good at during the time when they had been training hard, before they had ever graduated to taking on missions properly.

The bullets sang and Beomhwa’s mind was silent, silent until bullets started to overlap with other bullet sounds, and then he had to stop. He placed down the rifle and let out a sigh, the noise in his head, or rather the silence had become entirely too loud and it had started to make him want to vomit.

They couldn’t be separated. Whatever the government was intending of them, it seemed to be working on Han. Or perhaps Beomhwa was imagining it, but he could see the foundational pieces of their friendship crumbling all because of Woosung’s death. They could not let it happen, they could not. So, Beomhwa looked down towards the dummy he had shot, and then the rifles that were all neatly placed in a row where he was standing. Then he looked over to his left. There was a partition there but a wall could not keep him from seeing Han aiming, laser-focused, and shooting - there was an anger in his eyes that Beomhwa had scarcely ever seen.

Unable to just stand there and do nothing, Beomhwa abandoned the guns, the shooting and walked straight to where Han was standing, in his partition, in his little world. He grabbed onto Han who shot up into the air from the grab and Beomhwa shoved him down to the ground, swiveling them around so that Beomhwa was very dangerously in front of an armed man.

“What’s wrong with you?” Beomhwa hissed, it was his turn to be upset. Han was on the ground now, having stumbled from the unexpected grab.

“Nothing?” Han looked confused more than he looked combative and this was exactly how Beomhwa wanted him. Beomhwa was rarely ever cruel, but there were moments where his blood boiled over, frothing hot liquid that burned up on a stove. He was all steam, and aching for conflict.

“Nothing? You… You don’t see what they’re doing to us? All of this splitting up and not allowing us to train together? You don’t see how they’re making you act about Woosung?”

“What?”

“Don’t what me!” Beomhwa leaned over and grabbed the rifle from Han’s hands and though the metal was still hot he bent it. He bent the barrel of the gun until it was a pathetic ninety degree angle. “You know what I’m fucking talking about!”

“Um-B-003…” Sangwoo cleared his throat from behind, but Beomhwa wasn’t paying attention. He could not hear anything but the screaming in his head, the loud boil over of emotions.

“You can’t do this! You can’t anymore! Listen to me.” Beomhwa was on his knees, he was grabbing onto Han by the front of his uniform. He was holding him up with balled up fists, shaking him.

“They will split us up, and then they will make us obedient, quiet dolls. And if that happens, I will be sure that they get to you first when all of this happens. I will be there to make sure that you are the first doll to obey them, first in line, first to receive the punishment of being too hot-headed, being anything but what they built us to be!”

“Um 003!” Sangwoo cried out again, and as Beomhwa turned to retaliate he felt something hard hit him in the face. Though it was very much his fault for turning into it, he felt blood spurt from his mouth, and one of his teeth loosen. It was now Beomhwa who collapsed on the ground. There was not much he could do, because there were masked guards standing over him grabbing onto him and lifting him by the armpits.

“Let go!” Beomhwa fought, and Sangwoo was rushing over to the guards. One of them dead-armed Sangwoo’s approach and Sangwoo did not dare to push further. He just looked nervously towards Han who appeared as terrified as Sangwoo did.

Whatever Beomhwa had done to Han, it seemed to have worked. At least for now, because the clone could do nothing but sit there and stare off into space, almost as if he had been lost entirely to the void.
Beomhwa kept fighting, he kept putting his heels into the concrete and kept resisting but he could not fight three guards. He could bend iron with his hands, but he could not resist the strength of three men entirely. They had a hard time pushing him, but they could not fully be stopped in shoving him out of the training yard.

Soon Beomhwa was being hoisted up onto the vehicle, a guard with a gun against Beomhwa’s head.

“Remain calm. Remain still.”

“You’re going to punish me now?”

“On the contrary. We will not be punishing you.”

“What? That isn’t normal protocol.” Beomhwa thought it was odd, immediately odd, as if this too had purpose behind it all.

“This is normal protocol.” The guard stated robotically, but Beomhwa knew that wasn’t the case as he was robbed of his senses.

“Remain calm. Remain still.”

The vehicle moved in the same way that it often did, back down until Beomhwa was released in the corridor where the clones lived. The lighting was a bit dim, his head was spinning out of control, his lip was bleeding, and without any of the adrenaline he could feel the pain now full force from his lip. His fingers touched the area delicately. It was painfully swollen and he could not help but flinch even just from touching. He needed some ice, and it was fortunate that they had some cooling packs in the freezer just for this sort of thing.

Beomhwa walked but he felt ghostly as he did. He walked out into the common room and to the back of the room to the kitchen. He fumbled awkwardly and uncharacteristically with the freezer door and pulled out a cool pack.

“Hyung?” Woosung’s voice called from behind. “You’re back early…”

“Yeah…” Beomhwa whispered, croaking, feeling as if he were not all there. It was not unlikely that it was from the impact he had sustained to his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Don’t worry Woosung, I’m just fine.” Beomhwa turned around and offered a ginger soft smile, because he could not muster more.

“Hyung your face!”

“Just a little bruise. It’s okay.”

“But your lip and your cheek.”

“I promise, Woosung, I promise that nothing is wrong.”

Beomhwa could see that Woosung did not really believe him, but Woosung was not one that would fight what Beomhwa said. So the little one instead just nodded and shuffled around Beomhwa to open the refrigerator.

“Do you want strawberries, hyung?”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” Beomhwa whispered, but even talking was more painful than he could admit.

In a flash there were strawberries presented in front of him, washed and ready to eat.

“Thank you, Woosung.”

“You’re welcome!” The younger chimed with a small smile - and Beomhwa offered another pained smile back. For now all he could do was eat strawberries and find some peace in Woosung’s presence.

Chapter Text

Han watched as Beomhwa was dragged away, watched his heels dig into the ground, the way his expression shifted from anger to irritation, to horror and sadness and back to anger again. As Han sat and watched, he realized that this entire situation had been his fault alone. On one hand Beomhwa did not need to have attacked him, but he did and it had been for a reason - Han’s own behavior, Han distancing himself all because of Woosung’s passing. Han fervently believed it was not a feeling that any of them could understand, none of them had lost their other half the way he had. And while he had Woosung now, it was not the same. The loss was still visceral and real and living in his mind.

This loss had caused a great deal of exhaustion. It was exhaustion that bled into his bones and now as Han sat on the ground shaken. He could not get himself to stand. He just kept sitting there, and when Beomhwa was no longer in the yard he ended up looking at the ground in total silence. The silence was deafening, it was a ringing in his ears as if a bomb had gone off nearby. What was he supposed to do? His strange behavior had turned Beomhwa into a beast and that beast was now being dragged away to be tortured more than likely. If only he had put on a good face, tried to seem amiable still. If only.

Han looked up slowly and stared now at Sangwoo, but he felt so distant as if he were outside of his own body. The apple of his throat bobbed heavily, and he pushed his arms against the ground, willing himself to stand. His knees buckled but he found the strength in his thighs to stand there, tall and strong. A sigh left him both through his lips and his nostrils which flared as he did.

“He shouldn’t have done that.” Sangwoo whispered, but Han was looking down at the ground now shaking his head, his fingers curled into fists.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done-”

“You know what, 005. I don’t want to admit it, not openly to him, but he’s right. If they split us up then we will have nothing left.”

Sangwoo remained silent, as if in agreement.

Han moved back to his station where he had been shooting and returned to the exercise, but with none of the focus and luster that he had moments ago. He started to build up a despondent blame within himself of what he had done, and now what would become of Beomhwa…

Except when they finally returned to the compound he found out that Beomhwa was there, nursing his bloody injury and talking to Woosung. For one reason or another, Han’s blood started to boil, as if he had felt sympathy and poorly for no reason at all. Why was Beomhwa here? He had transgressed against the command of the government and he was still here. Here, talking to Woosung, he wasn’t in some torture chamber being rewired as Han had expected. Had Han not been a human being his eyes might have dilated with anger like a blistering boil upon reddened skin.

“Why are you here?” He fumbled out and Beomhwa glanced at Han.

“What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t you be in some ice chamber?”

Beomhwa frowned, standing a little taller as he stood away from the floating kitchen island.

“Well, I thought so too, but I’m not. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Han could not contain the fact that there was some loathing that he felt for this moment. That it felt unfair that everyone else would have been punished, but there Beomhwa was, unpunished, even though he had that silly bleeding bruise that would heal up in due time.

“Han, now’s not a good time…” Sangwoo whispered, putting a hand on Han’s shoulder, but Han jerked his shoulder away.

“Don’t touch me, Sangwoo.”

Sangwoo’s hand faltered beneath Han’s sharp gaze.

“You shouldn’t be here, Beomhwa!”

“Yes, I know.”

“You know.” Han mocked as he walked over to grab onto Woosung by the wrist, Han pulled Woosung, but Woosung pulled away from Han.

“Stop. Stop, Han. I don’t want-”

Han released Woosung then, his lips pursed.

“Oh, you want to side with him then? He’s your best friend now, yeah? Fine. FINE!” Han felt explosive anger bubbling inside of him that killed with one singular shot and disappeared. He went to his room and without a shower fell right to sleep. His mind was wandering through every scenario that would have brought Beomhwa here and not to the torture chambers that the clones were usually promised. How was it possible that Beomhwa was given such intense mercy when none of the rest of them would have received the same treatment?

Han’s mind was not thinking of the possibility of innocence, or the possibility that the government was trying to manipulate him into this feeling of anger. He just laid there until his mind finally cooled just enough that he would sleep. But it took a long time, and he kept tossing and turning and grumbling to himself.

The next morning when the lights pierced his eyes, he noticed that Woosung was not around. It was to be expected though, after what he had said. He said nothing about the topic when he arrived for breakfast. He ate silently and then sat on the couch, grabbing one of the few books they had to read quietly to himself. He spoke to no one, he didn’t want to. His mind just kept rolling over the same thoughts, the same concepts, the same angering scenes that would crop up in his mind.

What a fool Han thought he was. He allowed Beomhwa to best him yet again by being the government’s favorite boy. And Woosung, his beloved, was now siding with Beomhwa.

“Want to play cards?” Sangwoo asked and Han shot him a look that could only have been described as demonic. The blond raised his brow and sneered.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“But-”

“All of you are conspiring against me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we want to be your friends and we want to make sure you feel better.”

“Go away.”

Sangwoo swallowed hard, so hard that Han could hear the liquid move down through his throat before he left. A card game started up with the rest of the team while Han sat on the couch and bristled.
Nothing felt better a week later, or a week after that. At the very least though, Han was presented with the opportunity to train by himself. Finally, solace, away from the rest of the ‘team’ where he could think and feel his emotions towards everything more clearly.

When he arrived at the training he would do a basic warmup and soon after he found his mind consumed not with spitefulness towards Beomhwa, or Sangwoo, or anything else… But rather how much he missed Woosung.

Everything was Woosung, it drowned out every other thought when he came to the conclusion that there was no one in the world that he wanted more than just to have Woosung back. His stomach churned and churned and when he finally returned to the real world, Han realized that there were guards standing in the yard with him.

“What? What’s going on?”

“We will be performing a varied exercise with you today, 002.”

That didn’t sound right, or at the very least suspicious and Han just stood there, his shoulders and upper arms tense, the curve of his muscle prominent against his shirt.

“Why?”

“Don’t question these things. You will complete an obstacle course while you are being shot at.”

“Shot at?”

“Yes.”

Han’s brow furrowed and he glanced towards the weapons rack and started to move towards it.

“Halt, 002. You will not be using weapons.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I need to use weapons to deter my enemies.”

“This is a simulation that requires agility, not one that requires retaliation.”

“That…”

But Han wasn’t given a chance to respond as the guards filed out and soon enough the yard started to shift all around him, becoming a miniature cityscape. Though it did not look a great deal different from moments ago, it was clearly something that they intended for him to be entirely unfamiliar with. The less familiar he was, the more trouble there would be. Han did not love the idea too much, but he knew that he had no choice and found a place to squat behind.

With no weapons, he had to map out a plan and at a glance he could tell that there were at least patches of red smeared across this new ‘city’ area. The patches of red marked movement points, but they were all deeply exposed and vulnerable. This meant that he would move in patterns to avoid being shot at.

A gunshot fired, and Han felt a searing pain in his arm. That didn’t make sense, because theoretically he was hidden behind a block and would have no reason to be shot at. But as he looked around and surveyed the area, he realized that this training would not at all be fair. There would be bullets flying from both sides. There on the other side from where he thought he would be shot at sat men with rifles sticking through holes in a wall that he scarcely knew functioned in this manner.

Someone else fired another bullet and before Han could move he felt more pain striking along his side.

The clone hissed, grabbing at his abdomen as he started to move, finding a place that was properly hidden between two walls. This would make moving even more complicated. Something that he did not necessarily want to endure.

Were they trying to kill him? Weaken him?

Han looked around and for a moment he was certain he had seen a flash of movement from around a block.

“Woosung?” He whispered, his mind distorting reality for a moment as he moved his body towards the moving object. When he reached the corner and turned it, he saw that there was another man standing there and he was holding a gun too - it was quickly pointed at Han and he immediately ducked behind the wall again and ran for it.

“Fuck.”

It was all he could say as he found a red spot and stood near it. The moment that he stood near it the bullets stopped and he pressed himself against a nearby wall - though he was still quite vulnerable. Han located the next red smear, though this one would require him climbing. With a burning side and arm he was not so sure that he was at full capacity to do so but he had no choice. He glanced behind himself and then in front of himself, and down below as he searched for movement.

“You will receive sixty seconds to catch your bearings at every spot. Otherwise we will shoot indiscriminately.”

This was his only warning before the bullets started to fly again and Han would leap from one roof to the next, his adrenaline pumping even though he knew that the distance to fall was not very long. If he fell he would not die, he would not even break his legs, but to say that it was somehow desirable and pleasant would have simply been false advertising. He grabbed onto what he thought was a regular pipe, but the pipe squeaked and in its old decrepit sort of way swung down, leaving Han to hang on for his life and hope that the pipe would not detach entirely and leave him to fend for himself from the ground level.

The pipe found a stopping point, but not after thrashing Han’s head a little bit against a wall, a scrape along his brow as he looked up and with a furious and pained exhale started to climb up.

His fingers dug into a window sill, and as he did he felt his nails cracking beneath his own body weight. It was not an easy thing, but he kept holding himself up. The cacophony of bullets were ringing through his head, and through all of that he could hear Woosung’s name. His dear Woosung…

More bullets grazed his body, one even going so far as to pierce his arm entirely before the bullet bounced haphazardly off of the wall he was climbing and disappeared into the abyss. Han cried in pain, there was nothing else he could do as tears welled up in his eyes.

Each strike of the bullet was either a nuisance or a horrible pain that was coursing through his body. He wanted to drop, to fall, but he was already so close to the second red smear. If he could just reach it he would get a sixty second break where he could breathe. Breathe for a moment and let his mind be entirely blank.

But the bullets kept flying and although he wanted to reach the second endpoint he couldn’t go as quickly as he wanted. Another bullet clipped his ear and he bit down on the inside of his cheek in pain. He bit so hard that he was certain he could taste blood in his mouth, but perhaps it was just how tightly he was clenching his jaw to try and push down all of the pain.

Finally, he managed to yank himself up onto the fifth floor window sill that had the second red smear. He sat down on the sill huffing and puffing as he inspected briefly all of the cuts that he would now have to wear as badges on his body. It was almost shameful. Some warriors took great pride in their scars, Han saw them as all the times that he had gotten sloppy and gotten struck. But this was not a real fight, he was certain that if he had a gun he would have been able to take out everyone here. If only. But he did not and he was therefore a weak soldier just trying to survive.

It was in a manner of way completely terrifying, because if one considered the impact of this - he was a lamb for slaughter, screaming for help and just trying to survive. He had no way to fight back and nowhere to go. Only the meager sixty second breaks that would do little to help him recover his strength.

Han pulled himself into the window and landed on a creaky old floor. He found his footing and looked around. It might be possible to lay low for a moment longer in here so that he could at least catch his breath - beyond the sixty seconds. But somehow, Han had a feeling that the building would be rigged to blow up or that there would be gunmen coming up the five floors to shoot at him directly very very soon.

Han lowered himself slightly against the ground, each breath painful and ragged, each breath sending stinging pain throughout his body from the expanding bullet wounds and scrapes that he had been awarded by the many bullets that were seemingly constantly whizzing over his head in those dire moments. Sixty seconds was not a long time, and it came and went so quickly that Han could hardly manage to calm his lungs so that he could feel like he finally had enough oxygen. A solo operation was nothing like a group operation, nothing like it.

As the bullets started to fire again he realized that the spot that he was in was quite safe, which was a good thing as he pressed a hand down against one of the bigger wounds that he had. He groaned slightly as the blood gushed in between his fingers, but then a beeping sound irritated his ears. But it was a beeping sound he was all too familiar with - a grenade. Whether they were intending to get him to move or to blow him sky high was not something that Han was willing to question and so he ran for it. He ran as quickly as his body could catapult him forward. As the grenade exploded, Han burst through a window that still had glass in its frame. He covered his face, and curled his body in to avoid too much damage though his back burned with all the exposure that he received from the blast. He was just barely able to orient himself in the air, quickly enough that when he landed on a concrete ‘roof’ he rolled, but just narrowly.

The clone landed and felt the air leave his lungs, he could not cough, and he just stared up at the ceiling as his lungs struggled and his entire body seized.

All he could do was think, frozen inside of his human shell. Finally his fingers were able to grab onto the ground and he inhaled loudly as if he had never breathed before. A baby being born from darkness. The guns were still shooting, but he didn’t care about them. His ears were ringing, tinnitus triggered loud and clear from the explosion, and all he could hear was the high-pitched mosquito sound as he found both courage and strength to stand and start moving towards the third red smear.

To Han it was entirely unclear how many red paint spots there were, it was impossible to have counted them from his original vantage point. So he just trusted his instinct that once he reached the third spot, he would be halfway to being finished. Which was still a long time, but it was at least halfway.

He would bound for another rooftop, feeling another bullet thrust itself into his shoulder, dislocating his shoulder entirely. Han stumbled and found a wall he could hide behind for a moment as he let out a cry of pain. Slowly the clone grabbed onto his shoulder and inspected it. It was entirely out of socket, and the shell of the bullet was still inside of him. Now was not a good time to pull the bullet itself out, but if he could just get his arm back into place, back into socket.

Han dug his fingers into his flesh, his toes curling in his boots as he resisted sobbing. It was painful even if he was not fully as weak as a natural born human being. This pain was far less of a pain than he had felt when he had lost Woosung. That was an eternal and empty chasm of pain, this one? It was just physical and he would get over it - maybe. As his fingers dug in he thrust his palm quick and fast into the opposite direction of where he felt his shoulder had been forced into. But he found that as he did, something was stopping him from putting his joint back into place. This caused more pain and more blood to gush from the wound. The air was filled with the smell of smog and gunpowder - that strange iron and copper smell that only came from copious amounts of bullets, metal rushing up against metal at high speeds, letting off plumes from the barrels.

Trembling, Han looked out and over to see where the third red smear was, and he willed himself again to stand and start to move towards it. It was on the ground in between a few ‘buildings’ in an alleyway structure and he was so close, he could see it from his vantage point. So he ran, he ran and he jumped and he landed on a fake dumpster that he rolled over and got in position to be on the red painted spot. The bullets stopped and he messed with his shoulder a little longer.

“Fuck… Fuck…”

The bullet had lodged itself in such a way, it seemed, that it was also keeping him from putting the shoulder back into place. The bullet would have to be extracted before the shoulder could be put back into socket - which meant a far grimmer truth, he would not be able to do anything about the shoulder situation until after this exercise was done. So effectively, he was down one entire arm, which did not bode well for him if he was going to have to climb anymore structures - and knowing the way the government liked to set up these challenges, it was a certainty that he would have to again.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five four, three, two, one…

Han dreaded the countdown in his head, but he had to keep it or else he would be taken by surprise when the bullets would begin to fly again. At least now he was mildly ahead of the game. As he heard the automatic rounds fire off again in sequences he started to move again. Around the bullet all along the ground, running, running…

“002.” The voice crackled like fizzling lightning from somewhere beyond.

“002.” It was a light coming into focus, but was not quite there yet.

“002, get up. The exercise is over.”

Han squinted, and very quickly realized that not only was his face sore but he was looking up, in pain and very confused.

“What?” Han croaked, looking between the masked guards standing over him.

“The exercise is over.”

Han realized he was laying on top of one of the red painted smears, but he did not remember getting there. Slowly, he sat up.

“Did I finish?”

“No. You completed four out of ten stops.”

That did not sound right, but Han knew better than to protest. He pulled his knees up a little bit and groaned.

“Then I’m done, right? Can I go and clean up?”

“No. Failure to complete this exercise results in punishment.”

“What?” Han asked. He felt like a broken record as he looked up at the guards again though his neck hurt keening up like this. “What do you mean, punishment? You didn’t tell me there would be punishment.”

“Your full effort is expected. But the command is punishment for those who do not complete the task.”

Han felt a searing hot pain in his shoulder as if he were cattle being branded when the guards lifted him by the arms and started to drag him. He did not have even the slightest bit of energy to pick himself up onto his feet to walk. Instead, they truly dragged him, his knees bumping against the ground, but his body was so numb that he hardly felt anything below his waist.

Right in the very training yard where he had trained, and had on multiple occasions trained with the team, he was handcuffed and bound like a deity ready to be sacrificed. The top of his uniform was stripped off of his body and his back received multiple lashings, as if the magnitude of the mission that he had been given was his fault.

Groggy, but entirely out of it, Han felt every bit of pain and sting from the whip hitting him across the back and splitting his skin open. He did not make a single sound, he just grimaced and grit his teeth. He was so angry, so angry with all of this. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to react. He just knew that he was going to pay these men back one day. He didn’t know when, but that was the kind of pain that he felt, it was the kind of pain that made him want to cry out and retaliate, to make him do something even though he was entirely helpless and at their mercy.

“002.” The voice, familiar but distant, was floating back in.

“002.”

Han snorted and looked around. He had passed out and now he was just looking around his vision swimming back into focus.

“Fuck off.” He growled, unable to hold his composure anymore. His face was dripping sweat profusely from all of the heat from the pain.

The guards did not respond, they only forced medical gauze onto his back - the sticky kind - and put the disgusting uniform back onto him. He was bound, and his senses removed from him once more as he was dragged back down into the cattle pen.

The door opened mechanically, a familiar sound that heralded his homecoming. Han was glad to be back, but it was not as prominent of a feeling as the anger that was festering in his stomach when he stepped into the long overly lit corridor. One step after another, he carried himself towards the light at the end of the tunnel, where he knew it opened into the much larger space of the common room. How simply their keepers had built these walls. A simple corridor that splintered into eight spaces - seven rooms and a large bathroom - that at the very end opened up to the biggest room of them all. They saw no reason for more stimulation, they had no desire to make sure that their creations, their wards felt anything but complete and total anger and solitude in the world. Han’s mind rotted with hatred, hatred for everything. One step after the next, until he breathed a ragged breath in the common room with its perfectly filtered sterile air.

“Han, you’re back!” Sangwoo chimed, trying to smile but Han could see that it was weary.

Minsu and Youngho were there, and Youngho offered a brief wave.

Woosung was there too, but he did not say a word. He was however, occasionally looking over at Han though it was apparent to Han that he was entirely too scared to speak to him or acknowledge him fully. This only worked to infuriate Han more as he walked forward. He grabbed the nearest chair and with a scream started to throw it, his muscles tensing as he cried out in his anger, his pain, his sadness. Everything that Han could get his hands on was thrown, and it was thrown liberally. It was thrown without any regard for how he would re-open wounds, it was thrown even though he could hardly feel his dislocated shoulder. He found the strength to use it somehow too - he willed the numb limb to work as he threw chair after chair, side table after side table. He even lifted a shelf that had been filled to the brim with books in the time since they had become a team - Minjoong slowly filling them of his own accord.

“Han!” Beomhwa shouted as he stood in the doorway of the common room itself. It was too late. The books flew and Han tossed the shelf with a loud bang that was quickly followed by a yelp, a cry of pain.

There, near the bookshelf was Woosung, who was laying on the ground, whimpering. His legs were stuck beneath the heavy wood, and he appeared to be crying from the way he had been hit and pinned beneath the object.

Han’s anger boiled and grew and frothed, but as he stared at Woosung now pinned beneath the bookshelf, all of those feelings that had built themselves into his very eyes, into his gaze, everything fell apart. He saw Woosung, sick and helpless. He saw Woosung, as he was, and had always meant to be. He saw Woosung.

Before anyone could rush to help 007, Han rushed, his legs carrying him numbly to the bookshelf and he lifted it as easily as he had done moments ago. He fell to his knees and saw the bruise blooming along Woosung’s thigh.

“I’m sorry.” It was a pathetic apology, but he fell into Woosung, collapsed into him as he wrapped his arms around him and his legs and pulled him into his lap. Woosung felt tense within his fingers, but as he apologized and kissed along his temple and at the top of his silky black hair, the more Woosung relaxed. Han cried, and he cried exponentially more than he had ever cried. He kept whispering his pathetic apology as he held Woosung as close as he could to his body. All he wanted was to bring him in so close that they might become one, so that he would never lose Woosung, never lose Woosung again. Every pain that he had felt in those last several months from his loss and all the physical pain that he had felt today were coming to a head and they were pouring forward like a frothing waterfall once it hit a waterway below. He buried himself into Woosung, his nose hidden in his neck as he breathed him in and wanted nothing but the world to disappear.

“I’m so, so sorry.” He whispered.

Woosung touched Han, his fingertips pressed gently against Han’s blistering forearm. His fingers were like sunlight against his broken down body that was ready to collapse at any moment, and would have, were it not for the way Woosung touched him now. The way Woosung loved him as if there was nothing else in the world to love but Han, wretched Han who had done everything to make sure that this Woosung and him never loved each other like the one before - because he never wanted to feel that pain again. He protected himself and Woosung and now he yearned for his sunlight touches that bloomed flowers in his chest so rapidly that he felt his lungs expand and a sob escape him like the wretched creature he was.

Another set of hands touched Han then, gentle.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and settled.” Youngho and Beomhwa were tall looming shadows cast upon the scene. Youngho would lift Han into his arms and Beomhwa would lift Woosung. But Han would not stop blubbering and crying, he would not stop apologizing though his apologies had now expanded in intent. He was screaming for the team to forgive him, to love him, to take him back.

And they did.

And they always would.

Chapter Text

A week went by and the training seemed to intensify for everyone. Han was left alone for the duration of the week, his body left in a state of recovery as each bullet wound slowly but surely closed. A few of the ones that had pierced his flesh closed slower, but Beomhwa and Youngho made certain that they visited Han often so that his gauze could be switched and his wounds cleaned. Han was appreciative - of this Beomhwa was certain by the way he pouted and seemed to smile just ever so slightly again. It did not happen the first day, but the second day on bedrest he had teased Beomhwa about something and smirked. It had given Beomhwa hope for their future, whatever that future may hold, at least it would be a future - it seemed - that they could all participate in together.

In the middle of the week a new objective appeared on their calendar, a mission that did not have a description to it. The vague scheduling of the mission put a cold feeling in all of their stomachs, but especially Beomhwa who could not help but look over at Woosung. It would be his first mission, and this was what terrified him.

Was Woosung ready?

Probably not. But there was little that any of them could do to prepare him more. The only thing they would have to do was when the mission was in movement they would have to protect him with their bodies, best they could.

Nobody had any intention of sabotaging the mission, and if they did, they did not speak of it. Sangwoo had become particularly silent ever since he had mentioned his distaste for the government as a whole. His silence was louder than bombs to Beomhwa - because the discontent did not become quieter. It had grown into a crescendo that could only be stifled with silence, for their own sanity.

Beomhwa walked on needles the majority of the week, as if any particularly aggressive step might set something in motion. They were all electrified, eager for something, but none of them knew what. Still, nobody wanted to be the one to trigger it. The clones knew better, Beomhwa knew better, or so he thought. It was just wired into them, their strange brainwashed training that made it so difficult to fight back, to break out.

The day arrived bleak and unceremonious. It did not feel special, and there was a morose feeling in the air, it crackled like lightning in the lungs before disappearing, a rumbling thunder in the back of the throat.

They were loaded into carts, bound, deprived of their senses and taken to their preparation room. The clones dressed, masks on first, but none of them spoke. The feeling carried itself into Beomhwa’s muscles - a feeling of tension as he slipped into his military grade boots. There was something prickling, tickling at the back of his mind right where his skull and spine met. Something was there, but he could not pin it and so he resolved to dress, say nothing, and help Woosung put his uniform on too.

“Attention!” A loud voice broke over into the room and the clones all puffed their chest out and stood upright, their arms pinned to their sides, even Woosung knew what to do. Beomhwa stood fiercely and silently. They had never been visited like this, not in their preparation room. They were almost always sent out without much information - it was as if the purpose of their very existence was to see their limits, their ability to adapt on the fly.

As if…

“Men! Today you will embark on a great adventure!” It was a robotic voice from behind a black rounded mask that had no corners. It appeared to drip in black jewels, but Beomhwa could not remember jewels being black. Perhaps it was obsidian, sharp and beautiful, though he could not think of where he had seen it before or why he knew what obsidian was.

“From the information you gathered, we have been able to put together what the rebels are planning next. Your work has been vital to our progress, to the stability of our great city and nation.”

Nobody spoke, the tension continued to rise, it could be cut with the softest edge of a spoon. Beomhwa did not twitch, but he did breathe, as quietly as he could muster into his respirator. What was this man talking about? If this was a man at all, perhaps a woman? The body did not appear feminine, though Beomhwa’s experience with women was few and far between.

“You may have been wondering why your training has been intensified too. Well, we believed our weapons were growing dull. So we decided to sharpen them for this very occasion.” There was a pause and it was as if the man was smiling from behind the mask. “I hope you will be able to do what is right, for the government.” It was a statement as much as it was a threat, and Beomhwa could tell from the menacing crackle of his robotic voice that was passing through some speech modifier.

“Yes, sir!” They spoke in unison, a harmonious symphony that lit up the room.

“Good.”

The man said nothing else. He left the room, accompanied by two guards and that was the end of it. The clones were left to finish dressing, and preparing. Once their time here was up they were loaded into a van and driven.

Inside of the van was a set of boxes that Sangwoo inspected immediately and found a brand new model of a drone that he had not yet fiddled with. There were maps on one of the van walls pinned beneath a dim light for the clones to inspect. This was a great deal more than they had ever thought could be given to them, and they were rather glad for it. Or, at least Beomhwa was glad for it.

He inspected the map thoroughly and decided on strategic points.

“This is Point A.” He spoke to the team who sat in their usual seats and watched his lecture. “We will start here, and once we reach this fork, we will divide into two teams. Plan to take up positions at Point B, here, and Point C, here.” He pointed twice and looked between the teams.

“005 will take the drone, you will scout ahead continuously to bring us immediate intel. I will move to this,” He pointed to a rooftop. “Space, after we divert at Point A. 002, 007, 004, go together towards Point B. 008 and 006 go towards Point C.”

There was a pause and then he let out a sigh.

“Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

That was all that needed to be said and done. They did not really know exactly how many enemies there would be, but if their team was being sent out then it was likely going to be a very manageable amount. More than likely these rebels were going to be stacked with weapons and leadership if this was a mission where they directly mitigated some plans that they had dug up right before the original Woosung had passed away. It had been a miracle that anything had been recovered and salvaged from that mission too, with the way Woosung had almost destroyed the results. Beomhwa knew why, but he wondered if he would have done it knowing what Woosung had likely known. Probably not, Woosung was capable of disobedience to a much greater degree than the others, this was part of who he had been upon ‘birth’.

The van stopped. It was not a long drive and they were released out into the world. Sangwoo dragged the main drone box out into a four walled structure and set himself down. Meanwhile, Beomhwa led the main group forward towards their alleged Point A as intended. They marched with a quiet cadence, their rifles out, their scopes carefully scanning the area. It was an eerily quiet space, to the point that Beomhwa was concerned that this was more than just a trap they were walking into, but a landmine that they were not prepared for.

He placed a finger to his earpiece not wanting to speak loudly enough to alert anyone in the space. He needed to whisper as the feedback in his ear turned on and he spoke into the microphone that was built into his mask.

“Change of plan. Let’s stay together. I got a bad feeling about all of this. We will all go to Point B and then-”

Before he could finish, the sound of bullets erupted.

“Take cover!” Beomhwa called out, not so much into his microphone as much as to the team, loudly. They all scattered into different directions, finding safe spots that they could put themselves behind. This was not good, Beomhwa realized quickly - they did not have a rooftop advantage, or any advantage at all.

“005! What the hell? You didn’t see the fire line?”

An incoherent sound burst through their ears, and Beomhwa grabbed onto his ear gritting his teeth from the pain.

“005! 005 come in! Come in 005!”

But there was nothing but static.

“Shit…” Beomhwa uttered and looked around frantically.

“006, check on 005.”

Jonghui motioned at himself where Beomhwa could see and Beomhwa frowned.

“I need a quicker report than that, 008. 006 is going.”

006 disappeared as they continued to take on more bullets and brimstone.

There was a pause in the shooting just long enough that Beomhwa was able to pull out from his hiding spot and begin to shoot back. Han joined him and so did Youngho. Nearby Woosung was still trying to get his hands to stop shaking long enough to get the rifle around his chest and up onto a proper leverage point.

“Keep 007 down. 007! Stay down!” Beomhwa commanded and Woosung did not need to be told twice, at least for now, he laid himself in the half-concrete half-sand floor and closed his eyes.

They continued to fight, but they made little progress.

“We can’t keep taking all of this on. We have to make progress and set up parameters, or else we will find ourselves without bullets, knee deep in shit!” Han called out into the earpiece and Beomhwa knew that he was right.

“006, status report.”

Silence at first and then Minsu spoke up.

“The drone is broken, 005 is unconscious and tied up. I’m taking him back to the van immediately.”

Beomhwa and Han exchanged a look, frowning deeply, and Jonghui was starting to rise before Beomhwa lifted his hand and motioned for him to sit back down.

“Sit. He’ll be fine. We just need to find…” Beomhwa was looking around, but all he could see was enemy lines and no particular way to break through them. They had a few grenades, but that could only take out a certain amount of a group. They would simply exhaust all of their grenades and bullets before they could take everyone out. They might have to get physical, but first they needed to try and not get overwhelmed.

Han started to shoot again and Beomhwa watched for a moment the kickback that Han received into his shoulder and the way he winced because it was pounding into his injured shoulder above all else.

Beomhwa turned back to the enemy lines and started to shoot. He took a few people down, but did not have much of a choice in having to stop and restock his cartridge.

"I can help…” Woosung whispered into his own microphone, though he was still curled up on the ground from where Beomhwa could see him.

“No!” Han shouted back. “I’m not going to have you hurt or injured, or worse yet - killed.”

“But I got trained-”

“I said no.”

“Listen to 002, 007. It’s the best option here. Just stay safe.” Beomhwa added a little less aggressively as he turned his rifle out to shoot again. He fired off several rounds before the rounds started to return his way and he had to duck and hide. Shooting was his specialty, but he would shine from a sniper’s point of view, and so this was not what he felt the most glorious in. Still, it was absolutely necessary at the moment and he kept his head down waiting for his enemies to exhaust their cartridges the best that he could. They would fire at the others, whatever they saw - a stray hand, a finger, an elbow… Everyone shot at what they saw, and some were far better shots than others. Beomhwa noticed a few close calls with Han, Youngho and Jonghui, who all hissed and cursed in a very similar manner to the point of hilarity. It really showed how much time they all spent together, that in these high stress situations the reaction was much the same between them.

“005 is in the van, I’m taking on fire here, fighting some stragglers off.” Minsu chimed in again and Beomhwa breathed a quiet sigh of relief to know that Sangwoo was at least out of harm’s way. He had few doubts that Minsu would be able to fight off the stragglers around him though - he was more than capable, even if he was not a true fighter at heart and soul.

“Good, thank you for the report.” Beomhwa returned before he started to shoot again.

It seemed endless, the ebb and flow, the push and pull. He would wait for exhausted enemy lines and he would shoot and then they would wait for him to become exhausted and they would search for weaknesses and shoot. It was becoming long and drawn out and Beomhwa knew that he was running out of bullets - though he had a feeling that this was their plan to exhaust them of options completely and leave them helpless.

That didn’t sit well with Beomhwa, for very obvious reasons, but there was little he could do. If they ran now, the best they could do was cover one another and jump into the van. The mission would be failed then and who knew what horrors would be waiting for them back at home. The torture would likely be endless. They had to succeed, pass, or at least come back with something to show for it. From the sounds of it, though, there was no option to fail. They might as well die here if they didn’t take out every single one of these men and women shooting at them. These were clearly some of the higher-ups and they had a large stash of weapons here from the way they kept shooting indiscriminately. What was strange about all of this though, was that they were not far from the city. It was as if the rat’s nest was nearby all along - the plans that they had found did not describe a movement that was incoherently far from where they lived. It made sense, to some degree, to keep everything just under the nose of the enemy…

“Shit… Shit 003… 003!” Youngho cried, his voice cutting through the air beyond the microphone. Beomhwa’s head snapped to look at Youngho who was aiming wildly at the highest flat rooftop. They were mounting a rather large weapon, one that Beomhwa had only seen in training but had never actually utilized.

“No…” Beomhwa exhaled. “EVERYONE GET DOWN!”

A giant grenade launcher was pointing directly at them and Beomhwa knew what came next. The world seemed to slow down entirely, as if he were existing in slow motion. Their enemies fired the beast, and it sparked with fire at its maw as it launched a grenade towards them, the speed of which gave Beomhwa only a hint of hope that he would be able to save the situation, if only there was a moment of more time.

The little pear-shaped object landed in the sand, lodged itself comfortably, snuggly in the sandy dunes. It was so close to Woosung, that all Beomhwa could do was feel - not a single thought moved through him as he threw his entire body against the grenade, landing on top of it. There was no time to fling it away, no time to do anything but to cover the entire object with himself. Beomhwa would be the sacrifice, and he was happy with it.

The grenade exploded, muffled by the strength of Beomhwa’s body it seemed to blow into the ground, creating a small crater where Beomhwa now lay. His ears were ringing, and he was still - somehow - breathing, but he could not feel waist down.

All he could hear, distantly, was the sound of bullets, and in time, the appearance of faces that he knew well and loved even more appearing over him, tear stricken as they grabbed at his body. But he could barely feel it.

“Beomhwa! Beomhwa!”

The code number was dropped, Han’s blond hair was sticking to his face… Why was his mask off?

“GOD BEOMHWA!”

——

“Beomhwa!” Han screamed but Beomhwa was not reacting. His gaze moved, but just barely, they were taking on more fire and bullets than they could steadily keep up with and now there was a sacrifice on the team bigger than they had originally anticipated it to be. A sacrifice that Youngho feared would threaten to take Beomhwa’s life if he could not try to stabilize him now.

“002… 002! Get yourself together.” Youngho croaked as he forced his own mask back on and pulled Han’s mask back on too with one forceful pull. “Listen, we have to shoot down the launcher operators before they can get another shot off.”

“It’s pointless! It’s useless! We can’t-”

Youngho exhaled and grabbed Han by the back of his head then and pressed their masked foreheads together.

“LISTEN TO ME! SHOOT! I will stabilize 003. We have to protect ourselves, or else 003 will die and so will the rest of us! DO YOU WANT THAT?”

002 was shaken but he pulled away from Youngho, understanding as he grabbed at his rifle and positioned himself to fight and shoot again.

“You’ll be alright.” Youngho reassured Beomhwa, though he was not certain that Beomhwa could hear him. There was hardly any movement in his eyes, but he was still heaving ragged breaths, which meant there was still just the slightest chance.

Youngho assessed the situation, and he realized that it looked extremely bad. There was a hole blown through a good deal of Beomhwa’s torso, and his hip was destroyed too. If he could stabilize him enough to get him back to the government building, it would be a miracle and they would have to move exceptionally fast. The speed with which he had to work and get him back to base was the point that Youngho would struggle with. But he had to believe that he would be able to do it, or else he would lose his mind entirely in the process. They could not lose two back-to-back in this manner. These damned missions were taking their friends out, and he couldn’t allow this sacrifice to become a real one, one that ended in Beomhwa’s death.

Youngho’s hands worked furiously, he pulled off his gloves to make detailed movement easier and started to remove Beomhwa’s clothes. The bulletproof vest was what had saved the majority of his body. He assessed what was inside, and he realized that there was a lot of blood - unsurprisingly, but this also added another time related element. The clones were capable of more blood loss than a regular person, but not to this extent. He was fighting an uphill battle.

“This might hurt…” Youngho whispered, as he dug in the crater of sand until he got more damp sand that was mixed with bits of dirt and he started to shove all of that into the areas that he could see were completely exposed. This was the only way that he had read would allow Beomhwa to staunch some of the blood loss and not completely lose everything he had in his body. This action, however, indeed did hurt because he saw Beomhwa flinch, his features knitting together in agony as he withstood all of the intense pressure Youngho was applying.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Youngho whispered, a strange part of him wanted to put the mask back onto Beomhwa, but the mask was cracked and if he had to be honest he needed to see that Beomhwa was still breathing - in spite of how uncomfortable Beomhwa’s pain was making him - this was extremely important in his treatment.

After he had shoved the wet sand and dirt mixture into the wound and packed it in well enough that he was certain that no more blood would pool out of the man he sat back and started to tear at his trouser leg. The fabric was strong, but not strong enough to withstand the aggression and sharp edge of a knife that all of them carried on their hips for extra protection. He cut the lower half of his trousers into long strips so that he could lay them down against Beomhwa and tie him off very tightly. It was just another way to make sure that he did not bleed out and to keep everything in place. But this was a temporary fix, Youngho knew that they could not have him laying here this traumatized physically for very long.

“I did it!” Han shouted and Youngho looked up to see the grenade launcher falling down, causing multiple enemies to scatter out of the way, though one man did meet his end beneath its weight.

“Good. Now…” Youngho looked at Woosung, who was still hiding, Jonghui and Han.

“I’ll take him.” Han affirmed, though Youngho watched him glance at Woosung nervously.

“Alright… 008 and I will take care of 007.”

It was ironic that as Youngho said this another grenade - this time arched carefully and thrown by someone instead of launched - landed between them. Woosung grabbed it before anyone else could.

“007, no!” Youngho cried, but Woosung threw it back at the enemy lines and it exploded in the air. Unfortunately as this happened, Woosung also took on some enemy fire due to him suddenly showing his entire body from behind the wall. The young clone collapsed, wailing, holding onto his head, as he suddenly now had a bullet hole in his right arm and scrapes along his cheeks. It was nothing compared to what Beomhwa was experiencing, but they all knew that this Woosung needed a great deal more care and love. He was not a fighter, and this sort of thing frightened him.

“We have to move, now.” Youngho commanded. Normally, Youngho was not the one in command. The charge was usually between Han or Beomhwa, but with Beomhwa out of commission, and Han distraught, Youngho felt he had to step up as there were no other options. It was either step up, or they would all die, here, today.

Han was scooping Beomhwa into his arms.

“Go! I’ll cover!”

Youngho waved Han off and jumped out into the open to draw the enemy fire directly onto him while Han tried to as carefully as possible carry Beomhwa off, up the path they had come, occasionally jumping behind bits of half-buried debris to avoid potential gun fire that moved from Youngho to him. Youngho let out a sigh when he was out of sight, there was at least some relief there.

“007, stay there for now.”

Woosung nodded, but he was still crying quite loudly even over the sound of the rain of bullets. Youngho could not stand the crying, it made his heart hurt, but what had hurt him more was seeing Beomhwa grimace the way he had and then not even scream when he felt the most excruciating pain imaginable. The image of a huge part of his body completely carved out of him was disturbing Youngho’s mind. It fueled an anger that bubbled in his throat, the anger and hatred he felt was so venomous that he started to return fire twofold on the enemy front lines. It was enough of an effort that many of them had to duck and pull away to try and get better weapons or refill their cartridges.

“Fuck off!”

Youngho knew he was the invader, technically, but he was not a willing invader - in fact he was only an extension of the law by force, and as he shot against these men and women he wondered why he was doing it at all.

“007, 008, run now, together! 008 fire indiscriminately and keep 007 covered!”

Bloodied but with still moving legs, Woosung pulled himself up and started to run for his life up the path with Jonghui on his heels, though he ran backwards firing occasional shots to try and keep any enemies at bay. For a moment Jonghui and Youngho played a game, their shots of one filling in the silence of the other and in this cycle of protection Youngho was able to start backing up.

Little by little, Youngho managed to get up the path as well. It seemed they were safe now with Minsu having cleared out the stragglers back near the van.

Youngho was the last to get into the van and shut the doors behind. He stepped over Beomhwa who laid on the ground and he knocked loudly against the back of the van.

“Get us out, now!”

A sliding mechanism on the back of the van opened, revealing a masked man.

“You are not finished with the objective.”

“To hell with the objective, we are three men down! Do you want to add to the carnage? One needs medical assistance immediately and the other more than likely too.”

“The objective is not completed.”

Youngho inhaled he was about to bellow, but before he could Han had stood and grabbed onto the man’s mask as if he was about to pull it off, but instead he slammed the man’s head against the tiny little hole.

“Listen, listen to me, if you don’t start driving, I will drive us back and I will dump your body here and say we were unable to save you. You understand me?”

Youngho could feel and almost see the way Han’s face had probably turned red.

The moment Han released the man, the shutter closed and the van very quickly drove off.

“I’m fine.” Sangwoo whimpered, he was conscious, but he was clearly bleeding from the back of his head, and the front it seemed. Woosung was shaking in the corner, still whimpering to himself from his bullet wounds. Beomhwa was not conscious, and it was expected but on occasion during the drive Youngho would pull up his mask and check with his bare finger underneath his nose.

“Still breathing.” Youngho would whisper the status to the group, but nobody responded. It was a grim acceptance, but nobody believed that Beomhwa would come out on top.

Youngho knew when they arrived because of the definitive bump that the van had to go over to into the garage, it backed up slowly and the doors opened. As the van doors opened, however, it was not the usual. There were multiple men in masks, all of them were holding onto guns and they were all trained onto the team.

“Get out in number order.” The command came and Han stumbled out first, his arms in the air. He was stripped of his weapons first and then forced out of the room.

“003 can’t he’s-”

“Then whoever is next.”

Youngho stepped out leaving the group behind, his heart was running like the hoofbeat of a stallion across a field. His weapons were removed and he was forced out of the room and onto the cart that always took them back to their basement, he was deprived of his senses as always - and a short journey after he was being forced into the basement.

Han was there, he was pacing in the common room. Youngho brushed his bloodied fingers over his face and through his hair. They were still wearing their mission uniforms without an opportunity to change. Everything felt foreign and horrible, even his boots left a trail of dirt, sand and blood as he walked in. His shoulders were tense and Han was no less tense.

“What’s going to happen?” Han exhaled, still walking back and forth.

“I don’t know…”

Minsu came in next, his boots as dirty as Youngho’s. His face was fraught with worry, completely distressed.

“What’s going on?” Minsu whispered, moving up to stand next to Youngho - Youngho knew it was for comfort, but he could not dare touch Minsu right now, everything felt out of equilibrium. “Is it because hyung grabbed that man in the van?” Minsu asked, croaking.

“Let’s not throw accusations, it’s best not to think of it now. We have to stay a team right now, more than ever. Okay, Minsu? If they come in and ask questions, don’t say anything, no matter what.”
Jonghui appeared last and he looked just as worried as the rest.

So, there stood 002, 004, 006 and 008. 003, 005 and 007 were removed from the picture it seemed. The even numbers remained and the odd ones pulled from the lineup. It was a strange coincidence that this numeric pattern occurred - at least in Youngho’s opinion, though he also worried that it was very much not a coincidence.

“Attention!”

It was a military call and the clones were quick to heed it. Without weapons, there was little they could do against soldiers that were armed to the teeth - even if they were physically stronger, they wouldn’t be able to gain the upper hand before bullets would fly.

Soon came a line of soldiers, masked, standing with guns and they were all pointed at the even-numbered clones.

“Stay still. I don’t want you to move a muscle. Hands in the air too, where we can see them.”

Youngho slowly raised his hands up, and he felt how everyone near him did the same. There was an electric feeling in the air, as if none of this was really the end, but rather the end of the beginning and that they would be able to have a new story to write soon.

But how soon? Youngho was not certain as he stood there, vulnerable, all he knew was he was practically biting at the bit for the opportunity.

Chapter Text

Chaos erupted throughout the building, and it was not unlike the chaos from when the first Woosung had been dragged in barely alive from a mission that had almost gone wrong. This time, things were a lot worse - Minjoong was forcefully swept from his office, a masked man dragging him by the lapel of his white coat. Minjoong attempted to keep himself in stride with the individual, but he found that his steps were falling just short of the speed necessary to maintain equilibrium so he would trip now and again.

“Release me!” Minjoong tried to protest, but there would be no relief. The guard kept a grasp on him, yanking him in a hurry through the many hallways, the twisting eternal corridors meant to disorient even the most knowledgeable of employees. The biologist was thrust then into a surgery room by the guard, hard enough that he stumbled through the double doors that shuttered behind him unceremoniously.

“Ah, finally.” The familiar, snobbish and all too unwelcome voice of Li Kihyun sounded off. “It is good of you to show up, Minjoong.” There was no honorific, and there was none because there was no honor between the two of them. Slowly Minjoong straightened himself out, ran his hand over his head, hair through his fingers like threads of heavy silk.

Before Minjoong could ask what was going on, he could see it. Beomhwa covered only by a basic piece of fabric around his groin, the rest of him was uncovered. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and around his ears, unclean and sweaty, an indication of Beomhwa’s efforts. But this was not what Minjoong truly paid any mind to first. In fact what drew his iris was the part of his body that was in smithereens, gone, blown away. A part of his hip and abdomen, it was as if he had been a meat sack used for explosive experiments. His breathing was shallow, his heart beating by the miracle of the government’s technology.

Beomhwa was on death’s door.

Minjoong’s breath had hitched in his throat as he approached the gurney, inching along like a worm with a growing and furious insecurity in his stomach. They were going to tell him that they were planning on decommissioning him. The very thought made Minjoong ill to his stomach, his head spinning out of control as he thought of a world where Beomhwa simply did not exist as he did now - and he was now suddenly very aware of how Han felt. The agony, the bile that collected on his lips, sour and stinging at his cracked lips.

In the end, all Minjoong could manage to exhale was - “This is bad.”

“Good for you to notice.” The doctor spoke scathingly as he stepped up to the injured side of Beomhwa and lifted his scraped arm.

“The superiors have already reviewed, they are demanding a decommission and immediate restructuring. The other two are currently being seen as well.”

“Other two?” Minjoong asked, he could barely breathe, barely speak.

“005 and 007 - 005 sustained a critical head injury. 007 he is fine, but is receiving some bullet extractions from the failed mission.”

“Failed?”

“Yes, unfortunately the clones are not meeting standards. You will be brought into a meeting soon along with everyone else that has been assigned to this long term project.”

“Soon?”

“Today.”

“But what about-”

“As I said, he is set to be decommissioned, this is not up for debate.”

Minjoong stabilized himself as he felt himself almost fall over. He grabbed at the gurney from the feeling of inevitability hitting him over the head again and again.

“No. He can’t be.”

“He will be, it is already scheduled.”

“Then why have the surgeon here?” Minjoong gestured aggressively, almost too aggressively for what he would have normally considered appropriate.

“To assess the initial damage, of course. Do not be so stupid, Minjoong.”

“I am not being stupid, Kihyun,” Minjoong spat back, his fingers turning ghost white against the gurney as he gripped it and gripped it, thinking he might bend metal. “You must understand this is all coming as a bit of a shock.”

Minjoong was frantic now and started to look around as if he was looking for something - though he was not certain of what he was looking for. The serum was kept in these rooms for the clones specifically for emergencies.

“A bit of serum, it may help.”

“To help regrow this?” Kihyun put his hand down against the bits of raw flesh, the edges that were animalistic. It almost made Minjoong retch as he watched the doctor touch his love in this way.
“Stop.” Minjoong strained, his jaw tightening as he looked away for a moment.

“You are delusional, Minjoong, and a threat to our society. Or did you not already understand that you are being watched, your every move recorded and under surveillance?”

“How would you know all of this?”

Kihyun smirked but did not answer. There was a poison in his gaze that Minjoong did not dare pierce, he did not want to know - but he had the slightest inkling that it had been Kihyun who had reported Minjoong as a danger and had him threatened in front of his own home.

Hongjoong’s face came to mind, and Minjoong steadied himself once more as he looked over Beomhwa again. Hongjoong’s poor distressed face, and Minjoong realized that Hongjoong would be even more distressed now. This morning might have been the last time they would ever see each other.

“These injuries, I can fix them.” Minjoong tried to save the situation one last time.

“No. It is already decided. He will be decommissioned.”

“No.”

“You cannot go against our great leadership.”

Minjoong did not say a word, he just moved. His body was numb, and his mind felt little more than a flash of white heat, as if he were blinded from everything but the inherent desire to act. He shoved Kihyun out of the way, and started to thread a surgical needle so that he could do his best and stitch together the flesh until it came together. He could make it all good as new, the government had no idea what he was capable of-

Minjoong never got to thread anything, because he felt strong hands against him shoving him down to the ground. In a moment, the blink of an eye, Kihyun was mounting him and reeling back to punch Minjoong. It started at his chest, the poison from his gaze had dripped into his fists and each impact stung, leaving the thin and harmless Minjoong without air.

But something about the numbness that had spread throughout Minjoong’s body was also like an anger. It had tightened his muscles to a degree of certainty that he would not allow this man to just do whatever he wanted to do to him anymore. Or to anyone. Before a fist could find contact with his face, again Minjoong threw his pelvis up and forward, knocking Kihyun up and over on his hands and knees. Minjoong just barely crawled out from under the man so that he could jump onto his back, and put him in a headlock.

The two men wrestled, their movements rattled the locked gurney that Beomhwa was on. The others in the room had stepped back, the surgeon and nurses particularly frightened of what was going on, though they did their best to not show it.

“You two, s-stop it!” The surgeon tried once, but when his words fell on deaf ears he remained in place against the wall. It seemed an eternity that the two would grapple, useless in the way that they did, their muscles untrained for endurance, both of the men ultimately separated, breathing hard.

Minjoong was a bit more roughed up than the doctor, he had to admit. His lip was slightly swollen but he was not sure that he had much longer. If Beomhwa was set to be decommissioned then they would be injecting him soon, a protocol that no one could go through without agreement and the surgeon's compliance - and lack of fear. With the two of them wrestling, Minjoong was stalling, but the moment all of this was seen on a surveillance camera, it would be over. Beomhwa would be killed and quickly.

If Minjoong wanted to save Beomhwa and defy the government he would have to act now.

The young biologist did not say a word when he suddenly stood straight and brushed his hair back to appear as normal as possible. He picked up a scalpel, ungloved, unsanitary and without care.
“What are you doing?” Kihyun voiced, hesitant, before Minjoong simply turned and left. There was no point in telling Kihyun what he wanted to do, what he was going to do to Kihyun and anyone else who stood in his way. This was turning into an anger fueled rampage in his head, quicker than he had ever imagined was possible.

A long time ago, Minjoong had not fought his conditioning too much. A long time ago, Minjoong had been content to follow the status quo as long as he was paid, treated well, and was happy. But today was not a long time ago. Today was extremely close, it was now and there were a million things that he would rather do and feel than continue life in the shackles of his conditioning. The double doors shuttered behind him again as he located the guard that had roughly dragged him earlier. He approached the individual from behind and with no small amount of conviction lifted the scalpel and brought it down into the guards neck. Blood sprayed everywhere, Minjoong feeling its warm embrace as he flinched back from just how much there was. His hands became crimson, and the white lab coat he wore soaked in the flecks of blood. He could hardly see because of the copper fluid covering his face. He wiped it down with his sleeve, heaving in disgust inside of his chest as he left the scalpel and took the handgun that was sitting so quietly and politely in the dead guards holster. It would not be of great use when he was descended upon, but his mind was hardly applying any logic to the situation at all. This was moved from a place that Minjoong had hardly ever moved from - feeling and emotion. He was motivated entirely by love, and it was so strong and fierce that he could not resist it even as the back of his mind, where his conditioning and life’s lessons sat screaming at him, shaking the bars of the cage that he had put everything he knew in.

Not now. The conditioning was nothing now, he forced it to have no power over him. If only for the moment - he was certain that he would scream about it later.

With the gun in hand he looked it over and slowly shifted the gears on it. He only knew the basics, but he hoped this would be enough. A man in a trance, he turned and threw himself back through the double doors into the surgery room and before anyone could stop him he trained the barrel of the gun on the doctor.

“W-Woah! Minjoong-ssi, that isn’t a good idea, you know-” BANG! BANG!

The bullets rained down, louder than bombs through the small room. Kihyun’s body took the impact, first his abdomen and it had made him stifle a painful cry when he fell to his knees and Minjoong took one step forward, aimed at Kihyun’s forehead and shot him there. His body crumpled, pathetic and very dead, bleeding from his lips.

“Bastard.” Minjoong exhaled, his finger applying pressure but not pressing the trigger as he exhaled with a strange amount of relief. The relief was almost disgusting to him, but the pleasure of seeing Kihyun’s body pathetic, lifeless, and so beneath him was more than enough for Minjoong to feel divine.

The nurses and surgeon had said nothing. They were all pale in the face, their hands in the air, cowering, pressed against respective walls.

“Move an inch, and I’ll kill all of you too.”

The power that the weapon had given him made Minjoong smile outwardly. He was crazed, and he felt unlike himself as he pointed the gun directly at the surgeon, at his chest, then his head. Then to the nurses and he did the same.

“Remember. An inch. I want to see your hands, at all times.”

It was a drug, this power, this mania, this intense insane feeling of freedom. As if he were a bird bruised and battered that finally got to take revenge on everyone who had ever hurt him. Minjoong could have fallen to his knees now, he could have prayed to a strange deity and praised the world for giving him freedom, freedom from something terrifying but completely unknown.

Minjoong knew he did not have enough time, the shots would not have gone unheard, and with the cameras trained upon the room, he knew that soon operatives would arrive, or guards and they would take him away or gun him down. Minjoong’s hand lowered, he offered peace to the surgeon and the nurses before he approached Beomhwa’s body and began to make an attempt to re-thread so that he could begin the stitching process.

“You’ll be okay, soon.” He spoke to Beomhwa, but the words were more for himself than for Beomhwa. He knew that Beomhwa could not hear him, not in this state. With the sterile string he started to work again, his hands shaking but quick. He would pull on large swaths of flesh, making sure that there was not too much tension so that there was not an issue with mobility. He pulled together the raw edges of his hip, and moved the stitching along the pelvis.

Then, a weight fell upon Minjoong, his fingers releasing the thread instinctively as he was pulled back in a chokehold. The surgeon was trying to wrestle the firearm away from him, but Minjoong had never held onto something more tightly than this gun in his entire life. He did not know he had this kind of strength until this moment as he fought hard against the chubbier man whose stomach was making it more difficult for him to take the gun away.

After some twisting, Minjoong would manage to shoot the man in his knee at first - this shot was only a happy accident - and when he fell, screaming and pleading for his life, Minjoong exhaled. He was no longer so scared to kill and he thought to himself how quaint adrenaline was. It was a drug above all other drugs - there was a reason that the serum had a huge foundation in what adrenaline was within the human body. It elevated the clones' existence beyond a normal human threshold, it made them feel more alive than any other person could ever feel alive when they were not under a certain amount of adrenaline induced fever.

“I said, not an inch.” Minjoong whispered, seething, and for a flash he almost felt bad as he pulled the trigger and killed the surgeon too. That final glance he gave him twisted his soul and Minjoong glanced at the nurses who were hardly breathing before he turned back to finish his job.

And if he had to be perfectly frank, it was a huge job to finish - there was a lot that he still had to do. Slowly, Minjoong lowered his gun, exhaling, but even the breath that left his body was shaking, unsteady and unnatural. He willed himself to calm down, just enough that he could pick up the needle and thread once more. He had to act as not only a surgeon, but an artist, and it was not something that the biologist was used to doing. After all, he knew how to give injections and do basic tests and inspections, but this? This was a different battle entirely, one he was more than willing to take on due to the situation that he was in. There was no other option, it was either fix Beomhwa, now, quickly, or lose him and more than likely lose his own life too once the soldiers arrived.

Minjoong knew that there was little to no chance that he was going to come out of this situation alive, especially if he did not start putting Beomhwa back together and bringing him back to a state of consciousness. Those cameras that he knew leered and loomed over his very existence were going to sing their song and tell their tale to the prying eyes of a watcher, a constant and silent sentinel that would raise an alarm about the death that had occurred in here, the silence that was permeating the space just as thickly as the smell of blood.

Minjoong’s stomach was no longer curdling from the smell of the blood. He felt almost at peace with the scent, as his trembling hands worked on stitching Beomhwa up the best that he could.
“You shouldn’t have done this, you shouldn’t have. Foolish, Beomhwa, foolish.” Minjoong whispered, talking to Beomhwa, keeping himself grounded as he worked hard on the task at hand. Each time the skin tugged snuggly, his own skin crawled. He did not like how it looked, the strange monstrous appearance that it possessed as he was forced to stitch him like a rag doll to some state of normalcy. A state that Minjoong was not certain he could bring Beomhwa to, but there were those serums in here… They were going to do the majority of the work.

One hand touched a flap of skin, stretching it slightly so that he could place the needle against it and the meat and muscle beneath. With the thread pulled through he connected it to more fibrous tissue across the way and he kept on. Soon a zig-zag pattern emerged, and there was not too much blood gushing from Beomhwa that Minjoong could not handle. Already soaked in the blood of the guard, the more he felt himself become sticky with blood, the less he cared about his current state. The more he stood and worked and focused, the more he became completely engrossed in the process and forgot the reality of the situation and just how very dire it was.

Soon the pattern became quick, simple, the stitching became instinctual as if he had done it a million times, his trembling hands had become shockingly steady, his breathing too. There was nothing in Minjoong’s world but the flesh coming together like a fleshy jigsaw puzzle, with pieces that were never meant to fit together. He allowed for some space between threads holding flesh together, this would allow for the serum to fill in the gaps and insure a superior filling of the wound. Beomhwa would appreciate it when he was healed, and his skin was not impossibly tight to move - this potentiality could be almost as horrible as having half of one’s body blown up.

“Stupid, stupid… But it’s okay, it won’t happen again. That’s right, never again. You hear that?” He called out, looking up at Beomhwa's face. His features were so peaceful, it was as if he were completely asleep and not in some artificial state of unconsciousness. He would have preferred that Beomhwa be in a restful state, but it was impossible. If he were truly asleep he would wake up to the needle digging in his skin and yanking, it would be painful. It was better that he was asleep, even if it meant that the peaceful look on his face was just as artifice as his sleep.

“Almost done… Let’s see the ribs.” The ribs were the final part. They were the least damaged, not unlikely that the reason for this was that the clones had quite incredibly strong rib cages - and at the very least the bulletproof vest helped on missions. They were extraordinarily pliant like that of regular humans, but they were reinforced genetically, making them capable of taking far more hits in the chest without experiencing a significant amount of fallout or pain. Not that they knew that, they all knew that they were strong, Minjoong had omitted a lot of information about how genetically modified they truly were. There was no need for them to know, it would slowly destroy their sense of self, their feeling of humanity in an inhumane world.

The needle slid in and he made short work of the rib cage area. Finally, Minjoong stepped away, setting the needle to the side with the thread and inspected his handy work. It was haphazard, the work of a man who was not as well-versed in the fine work of stitching, but it was enough for now. If there were cosmetic issues in the future, they could try and take care of it. But cosmetics hardly mattered when one’s life was on the line as was the case with Beomhwa. Once he was done he would place some gauze on all of the wounds.

Minjoong took a deep breath in and glanced at the nurses with a still crazed look in his brown eyes before he lifted his gun and waved it at them.

“Go stand by the door. Now.”

They were fearful, but they did as they were told. Minjoong was happy to have this sort of power, to wield it. They would be the first to be trampled if anyone walked in and now that more time had passed he feared that there would be in fact people coming in, very soon.

Minjoong dug through the many drawers in the surgery suite. Nothing was labeled and it seemed that this was on purpose. The individuals who attended surgeries were made to memorize where everything was to assist the surgeon, and the surgeon never sought items out for himself. The surgeon simply requested them and they would always appear at his or her behest. Finally, he found the syringes already pre-filled. There were only seven, and he was quick to recognize the one that was specifically for Beomhwa’s weight class. He picked up the syringe, tapped it with the back of a finger to get any extra air bubbles out and then went to pinch at Beomhwa’s arm skin. He thrust the needle in, hurriedly, and filled the man with the chemical.

The syringe was deposited on the surgery table that wheeled around, empty, and Minjoong cocked the gun and waited.

In five minutes, nothing seemed to happen or change, and no one had come in to stop him either. The nurses continued to stand by the two doors, they occasionally shifted awkwardly, causing Minjoong to apply pressure to the trigger of the gun as if he was going to shoot them, but he would stop himself, realizing that them shifting was not a good enough reason for him to shoot them down now.

Another five minutes and he could see a visible difference along the flesh that he had stitched together. It was less bloody, and there was new pink flesh growing, stretching towards cells across the way. It was not perfect, the process would be agonizingly slow more than likely to heal Beomhwa’s entire injury; it would take several weeks of regular serum injections and rest. But they did not have this kind of leisure. Minjoong returned to where the syringes were and he grabbed the rest of the six and shoved them grossly into his lab coat pocket. There was no knowing what would happen, and he refused to risk it. Six more, for whatever emergency would occur.

He hoped for none, but there was always a chance.

“Okay… One last thing…” Minjoong whispered to himself and started towards the many different drawers and cabinets again. He needed a specific chemical that would reverse Beomhwa’s current sleeping state. It would be simple he would just need to inject it into the IV that was dripping an anesthesia fluid keeping him in a dreamland.

Finally, he found it, the bottle unassuming and simple was rolling around but at the very least labeled for what it was to avoid any confusion between it and the bottle next to it - the decommissioning liquid. Mingjoong lifted the bottle of death, a pain and anger bubbling in him again as he grabbed onto it and tossed the bottle hard against the wall. The little thing exploded against the wall, glass shattering and flying everywhere.

Minjoong crunched across the glass as he held the ‘good’ bottle in his hand and after a bit of fiddling with the saline bag he managed to get the bottle hooked up and its contents moving into Beomhwa.
From there, it did not take very long. The clone was opening his eyes at first, and then he was grimacing, pain coursing through his body no doubt all at once.

“Hey, hey I’m here.” Minjoong whispered, touching a cold bloodied hand to Beomhwa’s cheek. “I’m here.”

Beomhwa’s pained expression eased a bit, as he lifted his good arm and lifted the oxygen mask off of his nose.

“What happened?”

“I…”

“Minjoong, you’re… you’re covered in blood.” Beomhwa spoke, his voice aching.

“I know.” Minjoong whispered in return, but he was barely able to get the words out. It was as if finally speaking to Beomhwa did not feel entirely real, and this moment was grounding him back into reality in a most jarring and dramatic way.

“Minjoong…”

“I killed some..people…” It was his confession, and he looked back at the nurses by the door and then lifted the handgun to show Beomhwa.

Beomhwa’s expression warped, unwilling to believe what Minjoong had presented him with.

“Wait but-”

“We shouldn’t talk now, or wait. We need to get out, and find the others.”

“Find? Where are we?”

“A surgery suite, but we have to leave. I fixed you up the best I can but THEY may come at any moment. I don’t know how much longer. It could be now. Which is why we should start getting you up. We need to find Sangwoo and Woosung.”

“What happened to them?”

“Minor injuries, but we need to find them nonetheless.”

“What about the rest?” Beomhwa started to sit up, but he couldn’t, his abdominal muscles were wrecked from the impact he had taken and they hurt from the sharp sensation of surgery that had just had on his body. Fortunately, Minjoong was there to help, and he put an arm around Beomhwa’s body to help him sit-up and once he adjusted, helped him put his feet over the gurney. Beomhwa was completely nude and in spite of the moment, Minjoong could not help but blush - though it was well hidden by all of the blood that was drying on his face.

“Stand here a moment.”

Minjoong looked around, and quickly he found Beomhwa’s uniform. It was half torn, bloody, sweaty, but at least he could wear the boots and trousers instead of running around unprotected - that would be unsafe.

“Let’s get you dressed, quickly.”

Beomhwa exhaled, and Minjoong started to dress him. Each movement, Minjoong flinched as if he could almost feel the pain in Beomhwa’s entire body. He was extremely courageous for the way he lifted his feet, the way he bent over against the gurney and let Minjoong dress him from waist down.

“Fuck… Fuck Minjoong-ah.”

“I know, I’m sorry… But you have to.”

Minjoong looked away, he could feel tears prick at his eyes seeing Beomhwa in pain, almost crying from the way the trousers sat on his hips causing him an insurmountable amount of pain along his freshly closed hip stitching.

“It’ll be okay, soon.” Minjoong had no idea if this was true or not, he did not know when the pain would go away, but he had to promise anything to Beomhwa now so that they could live through this moment together.

Finally with trousers and boots on, he would offer his body and Beomhwa would lean into him rather hard. Minjoong was not a strong man, but with all of the adrenaline rushing through his core, he felt he could pick up an elephant if he had to. They took one step forward.

The doors were suddenly kicked in off of their hinges, the nurses were sent flying underneath them and Minjoong could not tell if they were dead or not but he gripped onto his handgun and used his leg to kick the gurney over onto its side.

Beomhwa let out a scream when Minjoong and him quickly lowered themselves to the ground when a flurry of bullets came at them.

“Shit shit shit…” Minjoong was breathing hard, he didn’t know what to do. He could shoot them, but he didn’t know how many there were, and he had no idea if he had enough bullets. There was a good chance that at this distance with his untrained amateur eye he would miss and waste bullets.

“Give it to me.” Beomhwa groaned, his voice laced like a ribbon through cloth with pain.

“Huh?”

Before Minjoong could say another word, Beomhwa reached out with his good arm and grabbed onto the gun and pulled it loose from Minjoong’s terrified, gripping fingers.

There was a moment, though it was brief - Minjoong noticed - where the bullets stopped firing and through the smoke and dust the operatives entered the room. They were not wearing masks, they were just in their black suits, holding onto automatic rifles. Their movement into the room was almost silent and cautious. Beomhwa turned over the top of the gurney.

One, two, three, four.

Four bullets shot, four bodies fell to the ground.

“I forgot about your vision…” Minjoong whispered as Beomhwa handed him the gun back.

“Don’t forget again.” He teased painfully. “Put the safety on and put it in your pocket.” Beomhwa commanded and Minjoong fumbled briefly before he put the safety on the handgun and shoved it into the opposite pocket of where the syringes were.

The two managed to stand again with one painful heave that Beomhwa forced outright.

“Alright, now grab the damn guns off of these guys. They won’t need them.”

“All of them?”

“We’re going to be finding the others in their surgery rooms, no? So yes, all of them. We will all need guns to fight.”

Minjoong nodded and proceeded to lift all four automatic rifles from the corpses. Two for him, and two for Beomhwa. Beomhwa slung one off to his back and the other he kept in his better hand - Minjoong copied and then they both stepped out of the room, into the unknown.

Chapter Text

Beomhwa was hesitant as they stepped out into the corridors. He had never seen the outside world like this outside of where the clones lived. To come into this space, to breathe it, it was both riveting and disappointing. For all the time that he had spent wondering what life would have been like out in the real world, it appeared to be exceptionally boring. The ceiling was a grey off-white color, the walls were neither white, nor black, nor grey. They seemed some monstrous combination of all those colors, but none all at the same time. The floor was carpeted in places, and then strange plastic in other spots as they walked.

His body was on fire, in spite of Minjoong’s best efforts. Beomhwa had to step gingerly and even with this mindfulness he found himself mind numbingly disoriented. It was a miracle that they had not been intercepted after what felt like an eternity of walking - though it had to have only been five minutes. Minjoong appeared to know where he was going, but Beomhwa was not entirely certain that he did. Their goal was to retrieve Sangwoo and then Woosung from their respective holding areas. How would Minjoong know where they were being held?

Beomhwa realized that it was possible that Minjoong knew more and had more clearance than he had originally believed. To Beomhwa, Minjoong had always been an angel, as innocent as a lamb. He could not have been an overlord, a seething man that created them with hatred and murder in mind. But Minjoong moved as if he were a seething man, not the lamb or angel that Beomhwa had imagined - it made the clone wonder what had changed inside of Minjoong? What had made him become the monster that moved with such impeccable confidence?

It was not a thought he could linger long as Minjoong stopped at a T-shaped hallway. He pressed Beomhwa up against the wall and Beomhwa grimaced, stifling his painful groan, trying to dampen the sound of his rifle that was slung on his back from banging against the strangely colored walls. Minjoong stuck his head out. He looked left and right and then pulled himself back to stand next to Beomhwa.

“Guards… Changing shifts.” Minjoong whispered and Beomhwa nodded though his neck felt stiff, the pain from his hip and abdomen shooting repeatedly up into his body. He felt like he was going to curl into himself, and it was by the grace of some deity that he was kept standing. It was as if his body was pulling him to stand, not the strength of his mind.

It was as Minjoong had said, a guard passed them not long after though he did not notice the two standing where they were standing. Beomhwa did his best to move after Minjoong by rolling his feet as he often did on missions. This would dampen their approach to the guard that was still - miraculously - facing away. Beomhwa placed a hand on Minjoong and pushed him back gently, he did not want Minjoong to kill another man today. His innocent lamb had to stay innocent, even if said lamb was covered in the blood of man. So the injured clone approached, his footsteps growing louder as he did and once he was upon the guard he would turn, a rifle steadied in his fingers. But Beomhwa was quicker, even in this painful state he moved faster than a human, and he grabbed onto his neck and snapped it.

“Better move…” Minjoong flinched, swallowing hard. Beomhwa had a feeling that they could not stop wherever they went, that they would be pursued in due time, because just as there were cameras and microphones everywhere in his encampment, there must be cameras and microphones everywhere here. The people that both Minjoong and Beomhwa worked for were not people that would leave a stone unturned and they trusted people - ‘real humans’ - only a fraction more than the clones that they kept under lock and key. They only trusted people because they could kill them and control them a great deal easier than they could control the killing machines that themselves had created and now feared.

Minjoong continued to lead the way, and finally they arrived at a set of two doors where a guard stood watch, a sentinel. Minjoong pushed Beomhwa around a corner.

“J-Just stay here.” Minjoong murmured, and disappeared. Beomhwa closed his eyes, and listened.

“Hello, I need access to the surgery suite.”

“The surgery is finished.”

“I would like to see the patient.”

“You are unauthorized.”

There was silence for a moment.

“I see.” Crackled the voice of the guard and Beomhwa’s chest slowly drooped with relief, because he heard the sound of the doors opening and shuttering behind. It seemed an eternity then, the silence of simply standing and waiting. How was Minjoong thinking he was going to come out of there with Sangwoo, without being noticed? With the guard standing there? It was most certainly impossible - but Beomhwa was currently under the impression that many things were impossible in their circumstances. There were a lot of unfortunate variables, and none of them he particularly enjoyed the idea of. The clone started to chew deeply into his lower lip, a nervous tick to try and soothe himself.

It seemed ten minutes went by - but Beomhwa had a hard time telling as part of his mind was focused on the pain that kept shooting through him - and then hellfire erupted. The firing of a gun was what Beomhwa heard, and then a rifle. The clone turned the corner, unwilling to standby while Minjoong sacrificed himself for some unknown cause. They did not even have a proper end game to all of this, there was no telling how any of this would conclude.

Terrified of the consequences but trained to be a killer, Beomhwa pointed his rifle at the guard and fired. The bullets flew and pierced the guard accurately, his body crumpling. But the bullets were loud in such a contained place, and he knew that he had shortened their window of escape even more now - a window of escape without being utterly overwhelmed.

Beomhwa limped, it was the best he could do, all the way to the double doors and shoved his way inside.

It was bloody inside, the white sterile walls splattered with dark red that dried quickly into brown.

Sangwoo was on the ground, his head was bound with a tight bandage, gauze in multiple layers, and gauze covering his eye.

There were bodies littering the ground and for a moment when Beomhwa saw the white laboratory coat carnage he thought that Minjoong was among them, but he was not. He was sitting next to Sangwoo who was crying, and when pain shot through his head, he grasped at his bandaged eye. He would scream out and cry more from the pain.

“They took it! They took it!”

“Took what, Sangwoo…” It seemed that Beomhwa’s bloodied caretaker had been unable to understand what ‘they’ had taken this entire time that Beomhwa had been leaning against the wall waiting for a call to action. But to Beomhwa, who had spent a great deal more time with the clone team than Minjoong, it was abundantly clear.

“His eye, Minjoong.”

“What?” Minjoong snapped and looked on in disbelief at the shell-shocked Sangwoo. “But there was nothing wrong with it, nothing… Nothing since…”

Beomhwa remembered it clear as day, the strange headaches that caused Sangwoo all the pain in the world, the extra injections he received so that he could live normally and now… The surgeons, while Minjoong was not there to stop it all, had taken the liberty of removing the very source of Sangwoo’s pain. Beomhwa could not speak on whether or not this was a silver lining or a curse - it would not be easy to live with only one eye, if they all lived at all.

Beomhwa looked between Minjoong and Sangwoo, and before he said another word he turned to the surgery suite that looked like an orchestrated blood pit. Somewhere here had to be a strong enough painkiller to make Beomhwa forget that he was in pain, long enough to let him fight unhindered. So he started to look. He searched through every drawer, throwing bottles and contents aside that he did not need.

But soon, he found a bottle and a syringe. The bottle was labeled and in smaller letters in the finest of print Beomhwa made out that this bottle was for relieving pain, though it had a drowsiness side effect. Beomhwa did not believe that he could feel drowsy in this current situation so he pulled a large amount of the liquid and stabbed it into his damaged body, wincing and groaning in pain.

“Beomhwa-” Minjoong looked over as if brought to do so by the sudden groaning. “What are you doing?”

“Painkiller…” Beomhwa groaned as a small bulge appeared under his skin where he administered it.

“But you don’t know how much! You should have asked me.” Beomhwa could see Minjoong torn between standing to attend to him and to stay near the distraught Sangwoo.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” Beomhwa was not certain of the dose, but he tossed both bottle and syringe aside and grasped onto a nearby counter and held onto it, leaning his weight into it so that he could alleviate the pressure along his obliterated hip and bursting abdomen. Everything was so fucking bad.

“They’ll come any minute. I’m surprised we haven’t been swarmed.” Beomhwa groaned out, leaning his elbows down as he let another huff of puff.

“They don’t want to raise a huge alarm and cause an overall panic.” Minjoong responded, though he had not come to Beomhwa’s side.

“This place is huge, how many people work in this building?”

“I don’t know, thousands? I haven’t even seen every part of the building. You’ve seen it from the outside.”

“I have…” Beomhwa whispered, he could already feel the painkiller circulating through his blood stream, the numbing beginning to take hold. “It’s…” What was the word? He had read it somewhere, in a book that Minjoong had gifted someone at some point. “Daunting.” That was it.

“Yeah. I think it’s meant to make you fear.”

Beomhwa could understand such an idea, a fearful population did not act out in a treasonous way. But how could a population that was fearful also be a population that was content with life? Perfectly superfluously happy as if nothing was wrong in the entire world? This Beomhwa did not have an answer for, because it seemed impossible - again that word - to be happy when the driving force for that happiness was visceral fear of what would happen if one was not happy.

His mind started to become numb, his fingers tingled with an electric static sensation - he could feel them blister beneath the surface. Soon there would be no sensation at all, he would be able to move and fight without consideration for his safety. But as the numbing became more prominent, Beomhwa realized just how cold he was, and his body shuddered, covering like a blanket in hideous goose prickles.

“I can hear them.” Sangwoo whispered, his voice still painful and dry from all the crying that he had done.

“Okay… Okay… Don’t worry, we’ll get out of here and we’ll figure something out.” Minjoong said this with a level of certainty, and Beomhwa wished that he felt as certain as Minjoong sounded in the moment.

Slowly, Beomhwa turned to face the other two and he watched as Minjoong tenderly gave Sangwoo the rifle that had been hanging on his back.

“We’ll probably have to shoot out of here before we go get Woosung.”

“What, they took Woosung too?” Sangwoo whimpered.

“Yeah.”

“But his injuries were minor.”

“They’re probably trying to separate everyone.”

“How can we be certain of anything?” Sangwoo wept as he grasped the rifle and started to stand.

“We can’t be.” Beomhwa hissed under his breath, grabbing onto his rifle too. “We just have to try and get out of this alive. So no more crying. No more crying until everything is done - whatever that means.”

Sangwoo looked at Beomhwa, he cast him one glance and nodded. The nod was enough for Beomhwa to know that Sangwoo was aligned with whatever it was they were embarking upon and in spite of his eye he would battle until the day was done - a soldier through and through.

A line of soldiers appeared with hand guns that had silencer attachments. Beomhwa, Minjoong and Sangwoo fired at them as they tried to end them. But the hand guns were too slow in comparison to the blistering rounds of bullets that easily flew from the barrel of their automatics. The line of soldiers was just another pile of dead bodies. Minjoong exhaled, ragged, Beomhwa could tell that this was taking a toll on his lamb mentally. He glanced at Sangwoo who was shaking, not from killing, but from the shock of having his eye removed.

“Let’s go.” Beomhwa ordered and Minjoong looked at him tight-lipped.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise.” Beomhwa had no right to give Minjoong that promise, but if he did not promise it now he knew that they would get tied up in this room longer and risk more soldiers.

“Sangwoo, grab the silencers. Might come in handy.”

“I don’t have anything to carry them in.”

Beomhwa looked around and with a grimace. He grabbed onto one of the surgeons and shook his limp body - that was slowly turning rigid - out of the lab coat. He tossed the lab coat over to Sangwoo.

“Seriously?” Sangwoo grabbed the lab coat mid-air, almost fumbling it through his fingers.

“Well, it is better than nothing and maybe two white coats walking together will garner less interest from guards. Instead of three armed men, one of which is…” Beomhwa glanced around and pulled another lab coat from another person and shoved it over his body. The stitches straining over his built chest - it was better than nothing, especially with how cold he had realized he was.

“Yes, three white coats walking together is more believable.”

“I’m not certain any amount of white coats is going to save us from what is to come.” Minjoong sighed and Beomhwa could tell that he was not entirely convinced by Beomhwa’s promise.

“Let’s go before more come, though at this point if we do not get intercepted by a wave of soldiers before we get to Woosung it will be a surprise.” Beomhwa shrugged gingerly.

“Why is that?” Minjoong asked, his military knowledge scarce. Sangwoo only nodded to agree with Beomhwa.

“If there are cameras everywhere, and worse, microphones, then more than likely they already know what our next point will be. They will do anything and everything to stop us at this junction.”

“They will be subtle.”

“Subtlety does not mean they will not use extreme force, let’s go.”

Beomhwa started to move, relieved that the pain in his hip and abdomen was dimmed to a dull hum.

The unlikely team of three treaded forward carefully. Beomhwa felt it was nothing short of a miracle that they had survived against gunmen at this junction. They would be even more disadvantaged now - in spite of the white lab coats - because of just how clunky and loud their movements would be with the automatic rifles. Minjoong was absolutely no professional marksman, and while Beomhwa and Sangwoo could make up for this lack of experience, neither one of them were at their best. Beomhwa was still just thankful that he had found some numbing solution that would allow his body to move without a constant firing of pain throughout one entire side of his body. Sangwoo had the added handicap of learning how to shoot with only one eye, after all they were taught to use both eyes when shooting and now with only one a target would be quite different. Still, the two clones were professionals in a way that no one else could be, or would ever be. They had experienced profound horrors throughout their training and conditioning, every kind of pain and torture imaginable, mental and physical. Beomhwa fiercely resented the government and the superiors for what they had put him and the team through, but now as they hobbled forward a team of three, he was suddenly glad that he knew these pains. Glad only because it made him temporarily stronger, made him capable of sustaining this pain and not falling to his knees because of it.

Beomhwa did not know where they were going, thus he allowed Minjoong to lead the way again though he remained near Minjoong. Near enough that their shoulders would occasionally brush against each other. Sangwoo stayed back, as if avoiding the center most space. Though strategically speaking, the back was a good place for Sangwoo to be, at least one person had to be to lower the risk of them being flanked and trapped.

Their footsteps were heavy and Beomhwa flinched with every echo that he heard. Otherwise, these corridors were eerily empty. Too empty for this to be a lively working space.

“Is it… normally this… empty?”

“Around here?” Minjoong kept his voice lowered, barely above that of a hushed whisper. There was an exhaustion in his throat that carried into his voice. “Yeah, sometimes.”

Minjoong did not seem put off by the silence, but Beomhwa could not help but feel something agitate his instincts.

They turned a corner and Minjoong pointed.

“That’s the camera room for down here. We gotta check on all the live feeds and see where Woosung is being kept.”

“You don’t know?” Sangwoo asked, sounding exasperated even in his quiet tone.

“I don’t.” Minjoong responded, sheepishly.

“No use arguing about it.” Beomhwa muttered, sighing to himself. It was not a good thing, it was just another detour, but the quicker they got this done the better. Minjoong walked and stepped into the room first. There was no one there and Minjoong let out a sigh of relief. Beomhwa kept his gun raised though as if this were a trap. It did not matter if it was or was not, it was just a fleeting thought, an instinct, a matter of his training.

“Quickly.” Beomhwa hissed and Minjoong sat down and started to click through all of the different feeds. Each feed flicked through different medical rooms and different angles of those rooms. Beomhwa watched the flickering feed, and it astounded him just how very thorough this entire surveillance system was. It was perhaps one of the most impressive things that he had seen in a while. The more Minjoong clicked, the more Beomhwa tensed, time slipping through their fingers.

Minjoong clicked and it showed the room they were standing in, darker than the rest, but there were three bodies - Minjoong sitting, and Beomhwa standing by the door with Sangwoo to the side of the door just in case. Everything was a precaution in the way they moved.

“I look bad.” Beomhwa whispered to himself as Minjoong clicked again and again. It seemed eternal. How many rooms were here? The idea that there were even this many was mind-boggling. What could they be used for? Most of them seemed entirely empty. There were a few pacing guards, and Minjoong would pause on those screens, as if memorizing where the guards were before he continued on.

Finally, after what seemed a terse and painful eternity his finger would not click forward.

“There.” Minjoong whispered and pointed.

Woosung was sitting in what appeared to be a genuine holding cell. Though it was medical in nature it was more of a jail cell than anything else. The clone was covered in patches, but the main thing about his body was that he was handcuffed to a seat that he had been put in. Woosung did not appear to be moving, but when Minjoong clicked again just to see another angle, it was obvious that the youngest clone had been crying by the streaks on his face.

“We should go.” Beomhwa said, tentatively. There was no telling if they would get caught or not in the surveillance control room of all places, but he didn’t want to risk it. Especially not with how empty everything seemed. Almost too empty, as if they had removed any potential workers and civilians out of the way to avoid casualties when the shooting truly started. This didn’t make Beomhwa feel a lick better though. If they sent an entire army to infiltrate, there would be little that Sangwoo and Beomhwa could do to defend themselves, let alone a man who was not the best shot in the world.

They had to move, really quickly, and then get the rest of the team to even have a shot. Whatever that shot meant.

“Okay, yeah.” Minjoong nodded and stood. He clicked a few times as if to arbitrarily cover their tracks and then they all filed out of the room. They continued to move, Minjoong occasionally pausing around corners. Beomhwa supposed it was to check if a guard was still in place or not from what he had seen on the screens earlier, but did not care to verify. The quieter they were now, the better; no reason in talking to each other if they could better keep each other safe by not speaking at all.

It was not as long of a walk to get to Woosung as it had been to Sangwoo initially, or perhaps the lack of pain shooting through his body had made the entire process just a touch easier. Though Beomhwa was not eager to find out when the numbing would wear off, leaving him in pain once more.

“I don’t think anyone was inside with him.” Minjoong remarked to the team and Beomhwa nodded.

“Do you want me to go in first?” Beomhwa suggested.

“No, I should.” Minjoong shook his head, but Beomhwa placed a hand on Minjoong’s shoulder. He squeezed it tenderly, feeling the petite frame beneath.

“You don’t have to. I’m here.”

Minjoong looked torn and Beomhwa could see that, but he did not want to make Minjoong feel as if he were obligated to act as a hero. There was no reason, when Beomhwa could more than likely neutralize a threat much faster.

“Just cover my six.”

“Huh?” Minjoong looked confused for a moment, and Beomhwa let a small smile eek out onto his face.

“My back. Watch my back.”

“Oh okay.”

The clone nodded and pushed the door in, and this was all grand, except that Woosung was not here. It was just a white and very vast room and when Minjoong piled in, he hissed.

“Shit. He’s probably locked in there.” Minjoong pointed to the cell door stuck in the corner. It was the only cell and Beomhwa figured it must be some kind of strange holding space.

“Look for keys, spread out.” Beomhwa commanded, and the three started a search.

As they sought out the keys, the process seemed entirely futile. Beomhwa remembered the feeling not a few minutes ago of ‘impossibility’ and this did seem like an entirely insurmountable task. He forced drawers to open and kicked them back. On and on the entire search was pointless.

“Can we shoot the lock?” Sangwoo finally suggested it after a few minutes of looking and Beomhwa exchanged a glance with Minjoong.

“We could.” Beomhwa remarked and looked back to Sangwoo. “But we might attract unwanted attention.”

“If it’s our only option I would rather take that risk and just hurry out of here.” Sangwoo sighed out, and Beomhwa could tell it was not the other clone’s favorite option either. The clones were killing machines, yes, but they were also expert infiltrators when the mission called for it. In this case, infiltration and silence was of utmost importance and it felt against their natural instinct to take the louder and more boisterous road. But, without options, Beomhwa approached the cell.

“Woosung?”

“Beomhwa!”

“Shh, Woosung. We’re here to get you out… But you have to stand away from the door.”

“Okay, okay, okay…” Woosung responded, self soothing and Beomhwa listened to the gentle scurrying footsteps. Beomhwa aimed his rifle then and gave a few solid shots. He forced the door open then and ushered Woosung out. The youngest clone was immediately given a rifle to defend himself with.

“Should have used one of those silencers we pilfered,” Beomhwa lamented.

“Doubt they would have fit on the barrel of these rifles.” Sangwoo shrugged but Beomhwa was looking towards Minjoong.

“He has a handgun in one of those pockets.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Minjoong confirmed blushing awkwardly. “But I forgot.”

“We shouldn’t stay. We need to get back to our main housing space. I have a really bad feeling about how empty it is.” Beomhwa was already moving towards the exit.

Minjoong cleared his throat.

“I agree, actually, I thought it was odd before. But seeing how empty everything was on the video surveillance, it’s not normal, all of this. If we don’t get to the main area, there is a good chance that we will be overwhelmed here. I don’t know what the superiors are planning, but what it is, it is not good.”

Beomhwa was not happy to hear this, but it was at least an admission to his own concerns. The feeling of anxiety completely blanketed him. They were racing against the clock, running for their lives in the most genuine way.

Woosung out of the three clones was the most physically capable for the moment, but Beomhwa knew that he was not as good of a shot now as he had once been. He would be more timid, which meant that no matter Beomhwa would have to take the lead with Sangwoo and hope for the best.

They moved quickly, Beomhwa occasionally catching Woosung looking around the space that he had never seen. A boyish wonder to the way he gazed at the endless and nauseatingly twisting corridors. It was a miracle he was capable of looking at all of this so easily, without the coiled tension and putrid disgust for the space in his stomach. But perhaps he did feel this way and Beomhwa had no way of knowing.

“Shit… Where is this?” Sangwoo cursed at Minjoong who seemed to be taking them down a million turns.

“We have to go down.”

“Down?”

“We need the elevators, and then we need to go down.”

“Let’s hope those elevators aren’t occupied.” Beomhwa sighed.

“Why are you three wearing doctor’s outfits?” Woosung chimed just a touch too loud and Beomhwa and Sangwoo shushed him.

“Trying to blend in.”

“I think you stand out.”

“Thank you for that, Woosungie.” Beomhwa shook his head and they finally turned a corner that had what they were looking for at the very end - elevators.

Minjoong scanned his identification card and Beomhwa felt relieved when it worked. As if he had the suspicion that the superiors would have turned off Minjoong’s security clearance by now. Then the feeling in his stomach started to turn sour - what were the odds that they were about to walk into a hornet’s nest?

“Minjoong…?” Beomhwa leaned against the wall of the elevator as they all settled in for a ride down.

“Yes?”

“You don’t think we won’t run into a trap, down there?”

“Anything is possible.” Minjoong shared, scratching at his head, blood flaking off of him in brown and red crusted pieces. “I don’t really like the odds. The way we didn’t run into anyone, everything seems to be working a little to plan, no?”

“That is exactly what I am thinking.”

For a moment Minjoong was silent, his eyes gazing towards the well-lit elevator ceiling.

“I suppose there is a one in ten chances that all of this is just to get us all in one place to put us in a trap.”

“But what about the clone project and your serum?”

“That’s all those other chances that this isn’t a trap and just negligence or pure incompetence.”

“They never seemed entirely incompetent before to me.” Beomhwa observed, and there was some truth to this. After all, he had really believed that the government and the superiors were incapable of doing anything wrong, that he had been trained to kill and done everything for them because it was the right and only thing to do. The thought and belief was gone now, shattered like glass over an obsidian floor. But their lack of incompetence persisted, just in the way that the clones were sent out to clear certain situations out - none of this seemed like an accident.

“They’re not. Which is what’s concerning.” Minjoong rubbed at his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and the elevator dinged almost too brightly for the situation. Beomhwa stepped out first and checked the area.

Just as before, there was no around and that prickle of distrust continued to build inside of him. That feeling that they were not only being watched, but that there was something more to the entire situation. Something to be cautious of, afraid of…

“I hope everyone’s okay.” Woosung whispered, almost whimpering as he did. Sangwoo placed a hand on Woosung’s shoulder in an attempt to silently reassure the youngest and littlest. Though Beomhwa knew that there was no way to reassure, and no way to tell him truly that it would all be okay. None of them knew that for a certain fact. They could only try to make him feel less anxious, so that he could shoot his gun when the time came.

Minjoong took the lead once more, but now it felt as if they were moving to the gallows, down a giant hallway that was swallowing them like a large fish. They were coming upon the end of the journey and Beomhwa could not help but think of what Woosung said - he hoped everyone was okay. That in the time that it took for them to retrieve Sangwoo and Woosung - and to wake him from his surgical princess slumber - that it had not wasted too much time and that it was not too late to save everyone.

The very idea that someone in the group could not be saved was gnawing at the back of Beomhwa’s mind. It was eating him, and it felt like the back of his jaw was being slowly consumed until it was nothing but bone powder and blood. His fingers tightened their grip over the rifle he held, slung against his chest, the numbing fluid still working its gentle magic on his system. When it would wear off, they would be in a great deal of trouble.

“Shouldn’t we devise a plan?” Sangwoo asked with an exhale, sniffling once as he rubbed at his neck with the back of his wrist.

“For what?” Minjoong whispered.

“Going in.”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of plan you envisioned but if they’re being kept in there, it’s a get in and out scenario, isn’t it?” Minjoong suggested, though it was apparent that his mind was coming up with the most innocent scenario. Beomhwa was certain that there were gunmen in there. It was possible they were just stationed inside, but there was also the chance that they were not ‘just stationed’ and that they were holding the team hostage. If that was the case, they had a much bigger problem to deal with.

“We should go in quietly, or as quietly as possible.” Sangwoo proposed, looking over his shoulder down the hallway that they had come from.

“The door makes a very loud noise upon entry.” Woosung chimed in, and Beomhwa nodded - it was a decent observation.

“I don’t think a quiet entry is possible if they hear the door activate and open.” Beomhwa finally added in his two cents, though he was not certain that it mattered. They had only one way in, and they would have to try and do their best to neutralize what was inside without getting neutralized first. It was a matter of speed, more than a matter of ‘how’ they walked onto the premises.

“Once Minjoong opens the door, I will go inside first. Whatever happens, happens." Beomhwa commanded and he knew that no one would try to argue with him at the moment. Woosung certainly would not, and Minjoong held no combat authority over Beomhwa. The only one left was Sangwoo and he was far from argumentative as a personality.

“That’s reckless.” Minjoong commented, and that was all he said.

“I know, but if there are gunmen inside, we have to be quick upon entry. I have to go in and shoot first. If they are not immediately stationed at the door - and they will be more than likely - then we all move into the main room. There is no time for silence right now.”

Sangwoo let out a sigh, “I just wish there was a better way.”

“I wish there was a better way too.” Beomhwa lamented. He wished that there would be an easy way to do all of this that there was not a trail of carnage, a shower of blood that they themselves had just bathed in. But they had no choice and it was time to act, they were at the door.

Minjoong fished out his ID card and scanned it, the outside lit up green. The door was a large semi-circular mechanism that would glow a green and then a gentle blue before it opened itself up like steam from a shower and revealed to them the door. Minjoong took the handle of the door and pushed it open in one foul swoop and Beomhwa barreled his way inside. As he did, he felt his painful side surge with a shocking amount of pain when he ran himself into a body.

“Everyone get down! Now!” Beomhwa shouted as he fired off a few shots at the ground once he saw that who he had run into was a masked guard. The clone moved deeper down the corridor, poorly lit in comparison to its usual state.

He was quickly met with a man popping out from one of the rooms pointing a gun and Beomhwa backed away as he pointed his and they fired several shots at each other but it would be the man who died, his bullets grazing Beomhwa. Fortunately the drug that Beomhwa had taken was potent enough that in spite of the blood that was spilled from the wounds, he could hardly feel it at all. So he pressed on.

Each door he flung open, aside from Han’s room that had a guard stationed - who he killed quickly - leaving each room empty, ghostly, without a soul.

Beomhwa was quick to enter the main room with the gun up and found very swiftly that every single clone was occupied. All of them were tied and on their knees and they were blindfolded. A gun to their heads.

“Halt!”

One of the guards spoke from behind his mask, a finger touching gingerly against the trigger of the handgun against Jonghui’s head.

“One move and they all die.”

Beomhwa was frozen in place, Minjoong, Sangwoo and Woosung filed in behind lining up next to Beomhwa on either side.

“Han!” Woosung cried out and almost stepped forward when Beomhwa’s arm shot out to keep him from doing so.

“Woosungie!” Han pulled forward, but he was yanked back the gun pressing cold and frigid against his temple.

“Don’t-” Beomhwa threatened, his heart beating in his head.

“Now, now… Everyone.” Minjoong exhaled, showing his identification card off. “None of this is necessary.”

“Silence! Traitor.”

“I-I’m not a traitor.” Minjoong replied, shaken by the accusation.

“Then why have a gun? A traitor does not need to protect himself from the state.” The guard pointed out and Minjoong swallowed, turning pale.

Beomhwa just stared at Minjoong for a little while longer. It was like watching someone who had all the power in the world just moments ago have all of it taken away from them with only a few words. Words not even from a superior or some godly creature; no, it was taken away by some grunt that worked for the government of the lowest of the pecking order. Minjoong was rubbish to them now, to be thrown in the bin. It was painful and strange to watch it happen, and he looked back to the guard.

“Release them.” Beomhwa ordered, or at the very least he tried.

“Nobody here is being released. The four here are traitors of the state, and four more have arrived to complete the package. All eight will be transferred to a holding facility to be dealt with promptly. Your lives are all forfeit.”

“Now!”

There was no plan, but as Beomhwa cried out, the automatic rifles fired at a rate much faster than any handgun. Before the guards could react they were laying on the ground dead.

“Ugh! Took you all long enough!” Minsu complained as he grabbed at his blindfold and yanked it off. “Come help with these ropes.”

Beomhwa rushed to the kitchen and grabbed some butter knives. It was not the best option, but it was better than nothing. Everyone took to sawing through the ropes.

“How primitive.” Sangwoo commented haughtily.

“They didn’t exactly have another choice. Apparently they were just going to hold us here, but then word got out that something was happening with all the surgeries and…” Youngho shook his head. “We tried to fight them off. Jonghui broke one’s neck.”

“Sounds like you were pretty successful.”

“Can’t really fight guns with fists, at some point we just complied.”

“Right.” Beomhwa agreed.

Everyone was free in due time and each of the unarmed four grabbed a handgun that had been pointing at their heads only moments ago.

“Well, I didn’t expect all of this to happen - but here we are… Where are we going?” Youngho asked, Beomhwa feeling unsettled by how cheerful Youngho seemed.

“Minjoong?” Beomhwa asked and Minjoong blushed.

“I suppose where the vans are kept. We need a vehicle to get out of here. We aren’t going to be talking our way out of here. You saw how they treated me.”

Han scoffed as he cocked his handgun and put a safety on it.

“Yeah, we saw, alright. Let’s get out of here.” Han waved, joining up with Woosung’s side.

“Do you know where they are, Minjoong?” Beomhwa asked, rolling his eyes briefly at Han’s attitude - he knew where it was coming from, but the time for that was long gone now. Minjoong was most certainly playing for their team, of which Beomhwa had no doubts, whatsoever.

“I do. But I am not certain that my ID would have clearance to get in there. So, we will have to shoot our way through.”

“Yes, as if the way we made here has been completely peaceful.” Sangwoo sighed and Beomhwa let out a short chuckle, shaking his head.

“Right, well, lead the way. As before… Captain.” Beomhwa saluted Minjoong playfully and Minjoong blushed fiercely at the title.

“That’s my brother’s title, not mine.”

“It is now the title you both will carry.” Beomhwa amended and motioned for Minjoong to continue forward.

Minjoong obliged and the group of eight started to move.

Beomhwa who could not help but glance behind himself as they left - the last time he would ever see what had been his ‘home’ for the entirety of his effective existence. A strange feeling of bittersweet filled him, queer nostalgia that was quickly removed when he looked forward and they piled into the elevator. Minjoong entered a floor number and in a haze they were leaving the elevator…

It came out of nowhere, from the silence came a multitude of bullets firing through the air. At first the team was disoriented, and then the enemies became known. They came from every corridor it seemed, like cockroaches they filled the pathways. The team pulled back into formation, at the center they kept Woosung and Minjoong from damage and battle as they shot.

“Left!” Minjoong would shout through the din, and then ‘right’ and then two more lefts. They kept shooting, they kept barreling through and pushing at any obstacles.

A corridor opened up into a large room, and then Minjoong tore away from the battle. Beomhwa realized it a moment too late as he saw Minjoong placing his ID against a reading pad.

“MINJOONG!”

A bullet flew and it hit Minjoong in the shoulder. The biologist cried out, his body shaking as he got the door to open.

“Through the door, now!” Beomhwa commanded and they moved. They all moved like their lives depended on it. They managed to get through the door and close the door behind them. A door that automatically locked and even when bullets hit it they only ricocheted off on the outside, leaving them safe - for now - inside of this room.

“Here…” Minjoong croaked, holding onto his shoulder.

This was the room, or perhaps a room in which they often got prepared.

Beomhwa planted a kiss on Minjoong’s head, feeling how damp and sweaty it was.

“Almost there.” Beomhwa whispered and then started to dress. The team all went about this the way they usually did. They grabbed extra bullet boxes, cartridges. They found new, better weapons to supplement their escape with. Beomhwa slipped a top on and discarded the bloodied lab coat, Sangwoo did the same.

“Let’s get you dressed.” Beomhwa suggested when he was finally done, his jaw was tight because he could feel the numbing slowly wanning out of his body.

“Huh?” Minjoong stuttered as Beomhwa helped him to stand.

“You can’t just wear this when we get out there.”

A loud thumping had started up against the door - they were running out of time. If they didn’t break the door down, someone with a proper identification would come in soon and open it willfully. Minjoong was dressed quickly, the bare minimum of what he could easily move in, and a vest that would help with bullets.

Finally they all put on masks, even Minjoong to help confuse their identities. With another scan of Minjoong’s ID card on the other side of the room to a second door, they filed out into a large space. A room that was impossibly large, more of a hangar than a true room. It held multiple aircrafts, large military vehicles, vans of all sizes and varieties - all for different purposes. Men and women were moving through the area, all panicked and dressed to fight. They would be seen, and they had walked into a wasps nest, but they had to keep moving… So they did.

The entire team moved as if they were supposed to be there, Beomhwa noted how stiffly everyone moved and he himself was quite stiff. It was hard to pass this off as normal, because it felt so entirely unnatural. They were runaways, and they were wearing masks when no one else was wearing a mask. But in the chaos and panic, they were completely unnoticed, not until they were close enough to the vans that they could hop into one.

“Hey, what are you doing-” One of the soldiers called out and suddenly it dawned on that soldier that there was something amiss about these masked men in military gear.

“…THE RUNAWAYS ARE-” It was Han who had lifted his handgun and fired it at the soldier, a bullet piercing his head. The gunshot announced their presence and several dozen soldiers had suddenly turned their attention to the team of eight. Beomhwa felt a shrill piercing sound like a siren blare through his mind as they all desperately rushed to the van, grabbing at the back doors while Beomhwa grabbed at the driver's seat. They clambered in as bullets were fired off at them in dozens of numbers.

“Go! Just go!” Han screeched at the top of his lungs and after a bit of fiddling the van took off. Beomhwa had never driven one of these things, but he was going to now regardless of whether he wanted to or not. As they flew at top speeds through the hangar Beomhwa ran over several soldiers trying to block the way, and then haphazardly ran the van directly into one of the doors that operated almost exclusively at the click of a button. The van crumpled and Beomhwa was hit with a painful feeling in his sternum - the airbag of the van deployed.

Very suddenly, all of the clones and Minjoong were pulling out of the van as it was no longer driving and they were running for the emergency exit door near where they had destroyed the vehicle. Bullets were whistling through the air, too intense to be beautiful or theatrical and lyrical in any way. The medicine in Beomhwa’s system had started to wear off significantly enough that he had started to limp and grimace with every step. All the while his adrenaline was pumping, making him move in spite of all the pain that he felt.

“Go, just… just fucking go.” He motioned for the team to keep going. The entire team was moving outside into the great unknown in pairs with Minjoong refusing to leave Beomhwa’s side as the autumn air hit them but they could hardly feel it through their masks.

“Good thing they’re bad shots.” Minjoong barely managed his joke as a bullet came too close to call.

“Not right now.” Beomhwa groaned as they suffered and moved forward desperately.

“Everyone move up to that vehicle up there! It is running! Shoot indiscriminately!” It was all Beomhwa managed to say as they ran desperately for their new goal, a new van, a larger one, reinforced to keep bullets out.

Chapter Text

It was hard to believe that something like this could ever happen. An infiltration of their beloved government from the inside. The way it had happened, nobody knew thoroughly, but rumors were flying from soldier to operative to soldier, and each individual had a completely different idea of how it had happened.

Sly civilians, an inside job… San did not actually care, because he was currently on top of a van, buckled in thoroughly with gatling gun handles in both of his hands. The van ahead - with the alleged infiltrators and now escapees - was swerving quite erratically and it was difficult to pin the vehicle down. The gatling gun was not particularly accurate, and the way the van he was on top of was swerving to keep up was not making it any easier. Avoiding civilian vehicles, shooting at a bulletproof vehicle was all for nothing.

“Force them to the right!” the Captain’s voice broke through the line. A voice that comforted San in these tense moments, because it was one of the few voices that he could trust.

“Copy.” San growled and pushed the gatling gun off to the left. He pressed on a trigger and it started to fire a rain of bullets, San’s arms shook with the impact of the rapid expulsion of fire power from the gun. The young soldier grit his teeth trying to keep it as steady as possible though he knew damn well that all he could do was just do his best even with all the strength in his arms, the gun would not hold steady, not in these circumstances.

The bullets formed a crumbling line of damage in the concrete to the left of the van as the vehicle swerved off to the right and took an immediate exit.

San grabbed onto the gatling gun for dear life as the vehicle he was on top of swerved too.

“Good. Keep them moving towards Sector Five.”

“Are the civilians cleared out of Sector Five?” San called into his ear piece, though all he could properly hear through it was the wind, static and the occasional shot of a gun. The entire city was descending upon this one van with fugitives. It was by San’s standard incredibly impressive that they had managed to get this far without getting killed. Whoever they were, San thought it would be safe to rule out a potential ‘sly civilian’ craft. These individuals were trained and organized, no matter how few there were.

“Come again?”

“Are the civilians - cleared - out - of Sector Five?”

“Oh - yes the evacuation is currently ongoing. They are being filtered out into neighboring Sector Seven for their safety.”

Sector Five was not an unpopular residential area, though most of all it housed several popular markets for the city's citizens. This meant that the government would have to put in extra efforts to make sure that anything destroyed today would be returned to the citizens - more than likely through compensation. More importantly, lives had to be protected and he was glad to hear that the evacuation was ongoing though not complete.

“Don’t worry-” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the air, and it sounded like he was grinning. “Your favorite noodle place will still be there.”

San rolled his eyes and did not give Wooyoung the time of day with a response when he heard a round of gunshots nearby. A masked man - he knew those masks - was shooting out from the window of a van towards him. San tilted the barrel of the gatling gun and tried to fire it off at the mask, but the man quickly disappeared into the van which meant that San’s round of fire just chipped into the concrete and did little else. The young man hissed to himself in annoyance when the stinging pain along his upper arm became apparent.

Upon inspection, San quickly found that he had been grazed with one of the controlled bullets being fired by one of the masked ones.

“Damn…” San cursed, letting out a heavy sigh as the wind kept whipping through his hair and causing tears to blur his vision in his eyes.

“Direct them to the left now.” Seonghwa’s voice commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

San pushed the gun to the right and forced the flow of movement to the left. He listened to both Seonghwa and Hongjoong in these moments, most of all Seonghwa because he usually had a better vantage point from where he sat. As a mostly dedicated sniper - especially in this case - he had some of the best views in the city. Though San had absolutely not a single clue as to where Seonghwa was at the moment and how he was keeping up with this high speed chase that San would say was nothing short of extremely dangerous. Every time he felt the van tilt even a little, he prayed to himself, not because he believed in some deity - no one did - but because he very much did not want to meet a gruesome fate. A gruesome fate by the ways of a van toppling over and crushing him was perhaps one of the worst ways his imagination could think of having his life ending.

“Right again!”

San pushed the van to the right with a few shots. It was almost too easy, the way this van ahead was obeying his every shot. Though he had no doubt that they had figured out by now that they were being pushed and forced into a specific location. More than likely they had already come up with a plan of how to get away in the case of this happening… San could only hope not, the success of this mission and his livelihood depended on making sure that whoever these people were, that they were neutralized today. Preferably now, but he had absolutely no good shot on them and if Seonghwa had a good view he would have already shot them - if he could.

The two vehicles came swerving out towards the center of the Sector Five plaza. On the vehicle being pursued, the tires started to burn out as the fugitives made an attempt to turn away and barrel through several soldiers. But they were unsuccessful instead the van crashed into several more vehicles and was left steaming and useless.

“They crashed! They crashed!” San shouted as his own van came to a stop and he dismounted from the gatling gun.

“Hold fire!” Hongjoong made the call through the radio, but San was not certain that it was a good call. Perhaps they could just fire without any discrimination against the crashed van and a few bullets would make it inside through the reinforced vehicle? It was unlikely, but there was a chance and San wanted to take it. He yanked at his belt where a handgun sat and knelt down on the ground, pointing the gun at the back of the van where the double doors were.

Several soldiers joined San in the exact motion, and soon he saw Mingi and Jongho nearby too. The world seemed to stand still. A tire was running loosely on the van, spinning out of control, a notion of time - still and running away rapidly. San’s finger started to shake against the trigger.

“Stop it already!”

“Hurry up! Fix it!”

“I can’t! I don’t know how to fix this crap!”

Feedback, loud uncontrollable feedback pierced San’s ear, and then a chaotic symphony of overlapping voices. Voices he knew. San could not help but hold back his displeasure as he grabbed at the earpiece and forced it out of his ear so that he could be free of the voices all talking and overlapping one another.

“What was that…?” San exhaled to himself, one hand still on the gun. Then the double doors opened on the back of the van and a man in a mask stood there, though he did not come out. He was of a slight build with dark hair.

"Dear soldiers! Don’t shoot!”

San’s brow furrowed, the voice was almost too familiar…

“We come in… peace…” The man continued.

San looked between the man and the rotating tire of the vehicle and then over towards Jongho who appeared to be taking this overly seriously - with good reason. San stuck the earpiece back into his ear to try and listen. The feedback was still there but at a distance he could hear Hongjoong’s voice.

“Don’t fire. Don’t shoot. The situation is unclear, I’m getting mixed messaging.”

“Sir, with all due respect. Do you expect all of us to kneel here and listen to this ranting madman?” Jongho did not usually disobey to this degree, he preferred to go with the flow. So this had to be something serious, but San could not put a finger on it at all.

Instead, San’s attention drifted very lazily to the man speaking. He was still speaking, though his voice was unbearably nervous as if he had some disorder that did not allow him to perform public speaking.

They were all frozen, the entire circle of soldiers and operatives holding guns against their knees as they steadied themselves to fire, just waiting for the order to do so. Nobody was listening to the masked man, or perhaps someone was, but the way they all looked it was entirely unclear if they were or not. San was not listening, only occasionally picking up the pieces of what the man had to say. Talk of peace, talk of a new civilization with better opportunities for everyone, eternal life… Nothing San had any interest in-

A bullet was fired and one of the soldiers fell, dead. The masked man was hiding within the van once more and pandemonium erupted immediately. Nobody knew where the bullet had come from. Was there a traitor in the midst of all this chaos? Had the rebels that normally caused these issues arrived to put their own statement on all of this?

But in all of this shouting, men and women running for cover, San had stood and looked for his team. All he could do was look around, search for his teammates and search for who had fired the bullet.

“You shot the wrong guy!”

Another cacophony and San let out a pained grunt from the way the feedback was piercing his inner ear. He yanked the earpiece out even though it would mean he was completely disconnected from communication - it was better than to lose his hearing. Still he thought it would only be fair, only right to regale the team with what was happening on his end.

“I’m receiving feedback, familiar voices, don’t know how but cannot keep the piece in my ear the feedback disturbs my line of communication with the team. Do not respond, over.”

San was alone now and he kept searching for Mingi and Jongho…

Then he found them. Jongho was leaning over Mingi who was laying on the ground, bleeding out from the back of his head. There was not a lot that they could do for him now, as long as he was breathing all they could do was drag him to some very weak form of safety.

The two hoisted the large teammate up, San holding onto Mingi’s head and neck stabilizing him as they carried him behind a van. Just as they turned the corner, Jongho let out a cry and collapsed to the ground.

“Fuck!” San almost lost his grip on Mingi with the way Jongho collapsed forward.

“I’m shot.. I’m down!”

“Two men down!” San called into the microphone though he was not even certain that his radio was not compromised now as he placed Mingi down carefully and moved to Jongho.

“What’s wrong-?”

“My knee…” Jongho’s eyes were full of tears but he bit all of the pain back. San almost wanted to tell him that it was okay to cry, to tell him that it was okay that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to - he just grabbed onto Jongho’s shoulder and swung his arm around.

“Just rest here, with Mingi.” San whispered and gave an awkward pat to Jongho’s shoulder. Jongho wrapped his hand around Mingi’s and leaned forward, making himself as small as possible as the shooting seemed to intensify.

San resolved to go out into the middle of it all - whether it was a good idea or not, that remained to be tested. San figured it was a bad idea, but the situation was not improving and all he could was to try and take it into his own hands.

As he stepped out from behind the van, he realized what had happened. The masked individuals had formed a firing squad behind a new and working van that had been parked. They had done this while this other masked man distracted the entire military that had surrounded them. The problem was, San had not seen them get out and this was even more impressive and terrifying - they had done this without being seen by anyone until it had been too late.

What was worse was these individuals were expert gunmen. They shot with such impeccable precision that he felt even Seonghwa could be jealous. San tossed himself behind an almost broken down merchant stand, breathing hard. He placed the ear piece into his ear and listened, just radio static.

“Anyone… Anyone here, come in?” San called after pressing the button on his microphone.

“Yes, Han?”

“Han?”

“Bad time to joke around, keep shooting.”

“I am shooting!” A man shouted indignant and San felt himself recoil because the voice sounded as if it were him speaking on a recording. Once again, he yanked the radio piece out of his ear and turned himself out from behind the merchant stand so that he could shoot. Each time he shot, he felt that he missed as if the bullets were simply flying through the masked men that were stationed all in a line. Shouldn’t it have been easier? They were just standing there…

One pointed sights against San then though, a blond looking one whose hair was sticking out from underneath the mask that he wore. Blond, how strange - it was the last thing San really thought before he collided with the concrete.

From there, all he could feel was a massive amount of pain as his skull cracked against the ground and he felt a black void swallowing him. At first everything was simply fuzzy, but soon it started to become more than fuzzy. It was nebulous, the sound of bullets flying deep and uncertain, everything was deeply uncertain. San felt his fingers twitch, grasping at his own handgun as he wanted to try and make himself get up and shoot again. To be active, to participate in all of this. Was he doing enough? Was Wooyoung okay?

Oh, oh no… Was Wooyoung okay? His mind was swimming away from him, as he kept thinking about Wooyoung over and over again all as he fell into a spiral of distorted nothingness and finally, just finally, passed out.

–

“Sir, sir!” Hongjoong’s ear is pierced with the sound of bullets, from nearby and the fighting that is going on beyond where he can see. Chaos had erupted and he was pressing hard down against the earpiece so that he could try and hear.

“Yes?”

“We have three men down! Three men!”

Hongjoong’s stomach dropped - it was hard to tell in these scenarios, whether ‘down’ meant dead or ‘down’ meant just out for the count. He hoped for the latter, but there was no way to figure that out now with his stomach pressed against a concrete rooftop as he leaned forward into his stabilized rifle. It did not have a sniper attachment the way Seonghwa’s did, but he was far in closer proximity than Seonghwa. His position was purely strategic so that he could provide commands and direction, while also providing back-up to his team. When the chaos erupted, he had lost most of the team in that chaos, and was thus unable to save three of those men.

“Who?” Hongjoong called out, his finger on the trigger as he looked through the sights that he did have. There were men hiding behind rubbish vans, behind wooden crates and all that the market had to provide. But they were still being shot at, the street was still running crimson with the blood of the fallen. Too many were falling to the likes of these individuals. Whoever they were, they were trained and strong. It was unsettling to Hongjoong who had settled his gaze upon Wooyoung who was fighting tooth and nail to try and get through the many bodies that were crowding the streets so that he could engage with the rebels in hand-to-hand combat.

“Sierra Mike, Charlie Juliet, and Charlie Sierra.”

Hongjoong did not speak another word, his pulse rising as he thought of the fact that he was unable to save the majority of the youngest on the team, except for Wooyoung and it was then that his gaze shot back through the scope.

“Do not engage! Juliet Whiskey!”

Wooyoung stopped for a moment and looked around as if he were looking to find Hongjoong, but Hongjoong’s position was purposefully secluded and he shifted slightly, finding that laying on his stomach for this long against all of the padding was uncomfortable.

“Why?”

“We don’t know if these men are capable of hand to hand combat, we do not know their status at all.”

“Shouldn’t we?"

“Not now.” Hongjoong growled, irritated by the Wooyoung’s audacity to try and question the government now of all times. Now was simply a bad time to do so, especially in the middle of this shootout.

“Get under some cover and stop standing out in the middle of it all. You’re making yourself a perfect target.”

“They haven’t hit me yet.”

It was cocky but Wooyoung darted behind some crates and settled there. Hongjoong let out a sigh.

“Use your firearms if you must, but do not engage on a personal level.” Hongjoong commanded, and everyone who was impacted by the command murmured a quick ‘copy’ through the radio.

More shots were exchanged, one of the masked men had advanced forward and started to shoot quite indiscriminately against the men. When one man tried to stop him, he quickly twisted his arm, dislocating it. It was a grotesque sight and Hongjoong flinched at the bone stuck out and the man was murdered.

“Shit…” Hongjoong whispered to himself.

“Did you all see that?” Wooyoung exhaled. “Glad that wasn’t me.”

Nobody responded, but it was obvious even by the extended silence that everybody was glad that it was not in fact Wooyoung who had met the grizzly end.

Hongjoong fired his own rifle three times, hoping that the bullet would pierce, but all it did was hit the masks and bounce off of them. Though one of the individuals in question did land on the ground, hitting his head it seemed enough that it started to bleed.

“They’re retreating!” Yunho called through the radio. “Nice job whoever did that!”

Hongjoong remained silent, and watched through the scope, his lips dry and thin as the individuals grasped at the bleeding young man and started to drag him backwards.

“Did they take another van?” Hongjoong asked, clearing his throat.

“It appears as though they have indeed commandeered another van.”

“Stop them!”

“Sir, we can’t… Not without direct engagement.”

The men continued to move, dragging the young man though they were almost tender in the way they took him backwards. There was a general chaos, an attempt to duck behind crates and vehicles too.

Finally, the lines had been drawn. Seven… No, there were eight of them, one of them had never come out from behind a van. Hongjoong adjusted his scope to try and calibrate his next shot against this coward of a man - by the scarring along his mask it seemed that he was the one who had performed the dastardly speech from before. No doubt, this would be the pack's leader.

“I have the leader in my sight.” Hongjoong commented quietly, almost exhaling as if speaking too loudly in this din would alert them to the situation.

“How do you know it’s the leader?” Seonghwa chimed in.

“Just a hunch. He isn’t shooting his gun, leaders in these types of situations are usually weak.”

“You aren’t we-”

“That isn’t the point, I am not one of them.” Hongjoong murmured, interrupting Seonghwa before he could try and be overly kind to him.

“Should I shoot?”

“We should engage with the ones who are dangerous first, should we not?”

“The van is identified - it has the keys still in the ignition, and appears to be well stocked with military equipment.” Yeosang called into the radio, finally.

“Just the leader.”

“If he is well protected with all of the military gear then it is unlikely your rifle will pierce through anything. Let me try.” Seonghwa protested.

“Do you have a good angle?” Hongjoong returned, frustrated at the situation. It might be best to destroy the van, but there was no way to do so.

“Ah, one man down.” Yunho called, forcing Hongjoong to return his scope sight back to the group of men dragging the smaller bodied man into the van. They had placed him on the ground and one man was trying to tell the rest of them to back away. The young man on the ground was foaming at the mouth through his mask, and one of the larger men had started to turn him over onto his side so that the saliva could drip from his mouth. More blood dripped from the back of the masked one’s head. Strange to have someone who was in a soldier’s lineup also have this sort of issue. It seemed a liability, and it forced the fugitives to start ducking. They were on the run.

“Good. Let’s keep them in this state.” Hongjoong directed. It would be ideal if the entire group was disoriented and constantly taking on injuries. If there was no way for Hongjoong and his team to pierce through the military grade gear then the best they could do would be to take them out through injuries alone. It was not an ideal situation, killing would have been the best, but they couldn’t do that…

The larger one grabbed onto the little one once his body was done shaking and yanked him into the back of the van, leaving the suspected leader, still hiding and a few others out - it seemed like six total.

“Have we identified any more fugitives than just these?”

“No, sir. It seems that there are only eight.”

It seemed strange that a team of eight would be so capable, it would be the equivalent of Hongjoong leading a rebellion with his own team and being able to take on an army of men and women who had been trained their entire adult lives for this moment. It irritated him, it made him train his scope back onto the man behind the mask that he was most certain was their leader.

“I will be taking the leader out then.” Hongjoong concluded finally, his finger pressing down upon the trigger. But before he could squeeze it and commit to the action, a bullet, from what he could only imagine, struck the leader, right in the middle of the mask. The mask itself fragmented immediately, whatever had struck this man was nothing small. At first the man grabbed at the mask trying to hold it up, but then he couldn’t when another bullet grazed both it and the man’s fingers.

Minjoong.

Hongjoong’s breath left his lungs, it felt like his entire soul fell out of his body. It did not drift up, it died. It fell straight through the ground and all Hongjoong could do was hold his breath, his finger slowly depressing the trigger when everything in his body screamed. He could not shoot his brother. It was an unimaginable sin to commit. So there Hongjoong was, just staring at the scope, silent. The world was zooming in and out, his ears were ringing. It felt like everything was simultaneously too close and too far away. Hongjoong pulled himself away for a moment. Nausea and then bile pooled on his lips before he evacuated his stomach of his breakfast.

Tears pricked at his eyes but he bit them down as bitterly as a bitter melon that made the tongue pucker with disdain. His brother. His brother was the leader? No. No he couldn’t have been the leader. He tried to verify what he was seeing, he looked through the scope and stared, and he hoped that he had seen it all wrong. Hoped that it was not his brother. Begged the universe that it was someone else.

But no matter how many times he looked, all he could see was Minjoong. And before he could utter a word, exhale breath and force his lungs into normalcy, someone flung a grenade at the exposed young biologist and unable to react, Minjoong covered his body and face. It was not enough. The grenade exploded, it took out allies, and it created a crater. When the smoke cleared, Minjoong was laying on the ground, bleeding from his neck and the side of his head. His eyes were closed and Hongjoong let out a haggard plea, a cry that erupted from his body.

“Sir?”

It had not occurred to him that he had pressed the button down against the radio, activating his microphone accidentally as he screamed in pain, as if a piece of him was being ripped out of his body.

“No… No…”

Hongjoong could not hear anything but the ringing in his ears from the explosion, and he could not replay anything in his mind but his brother’s body being consumed by smoke, brimstone and fire. For all of the distance that had been created between the two of them in the last several months, this was not an end that he wanted for anyone he loved, for anyone that he was grasping desperately to come down back to earth, where logic and sense existed in perfect harmony.

“No…No…” Hongjoong rasped pathetically, his body feeling like it was pricked by a million knives and more. The grenade had hurt him just as much as it had hurt his brother. His twin, a piece of his soul that could not be replaced ever, not in any universe. It was perhaps the most painful thing he had ever endured, even with all of the pain that he had endured during training, during the torture that he had agreed to take on. Nothing would ever compare.

“Sir?”

Hongjoong’s throat was dry and painful, as if he had been coughing from an all consuming flu.

“What?” Hongjoong asked, all he could feel was how weak he was suddenly, even pressing the microphone button was a task too great to overcome.

“Are you alright, sir?” Hongjoong could scarcely tell who it was that was talking to him, but he looked back into the scope. The men were grabbing his brother’s body, one of them was tender in his touch. The others were desperate, trying to speedily move him to the van.

Fools. He was already dead - of this Hongjoong was certain.

“Fine.” Hongjoong responded, his voice a pale version of what it usually was. Unconvinced of even his own state. He was not ‘fine’ but he felt so numb that he could not tell where he was, or if he was doing anything at all.

His fingers pressed against the trigger. He fired the bullet that had been meant for Minjoong. It struck the earth where he had fallen, and it hit the concrete squarely.

“Are you sure?” He could tell now, Seonghwa’s voice, calling through. “Do I need to come to your point?”

“No.”

Hongjoong did not want anyone near him. He wanted to escape, he wanted to run away, a fugitive like these men.

But he didn’t. He just laid there, staring into the distance, though he was staring purely into the ground as if he was burying himself into the rooftop of the building that he laid on. Where else was there to go?

A few bullets flew by him.

“Sir! Sir they are getting away!”

The words were so distant. The sound of a drone buzzed overhead. Yeosang, more than likely. Yeosang had been doing so well after his retraining, better than he had been at least, or perhaps he had been putting on a good show. Well, it did not matter now.

“Sir!”

“Let them.”

“What?”

“Let them get away.”

To Hongjoong it did not matter now if they got away or not. It seemed that these men under the leadership of Kim Minjoong would not get very far regardless. Trained or not, willful in their escape or not, it had been Minjoong who had been the brains behind this operation. He knew that, he knew it with all of his heart. And the pain seemed to gush through him more. He closed his eyes, his forehead placed against the cool concrete rooftop beneath, flat in theory, covered in jagged pebbles and old stone in practice. The pain of it all was hardly felt, the pain of Minjoong’s death and betrayal piercing far deeper than Hongjoong could have ever imagined.

“Why?”

“They won’t get very far. Just call off the troops.” He exhaled, mostly hot air into the microphone.

“Lie-Lieutenant?”

“Do as the Captain says.”

“But-”

“We don’t have another choice. If their leader has been neutralized then there is no point in pursuing, they will not get very far as the Captain explained.”

There was a long silence, a few vans closed their doors in an attempt to pursue. But it was all in vain when the report came in that the fugitives had managed to escape out of the city through one of the many gates, leaving the military in the dust.

Hongjoong felt paralyzed and continued to lay there until Seonghwa appeared - though he did not know how long he had been laying there by the time Seonghwa showed up - and pulled him up from the ground and took him back to the government building and to his office - as if nothing had happened at all.

Chapter Text

What happened next was a blur, an endless void that never stopped spinning, dancing its colorless dance. Seonghwa desperately tried to shake Hongjoong out of that void, but he was miserably unsuccessful and left Hongjoong to sit in his office without a single thought, or perhaps a million thoughts swirling in his mind.

Hongjoong stared for a long time after that. Nothing could quite bring him back. They had been two boys growing together, and though they had never gotten along exceptionally well, they had always been brothers that were ultimately inseparable. They marched together through the world, arm-in-arm and they were supposed to be like this until they grew old, until they died.

Now there was a hole left where that plan had been. That plan of a lifetime was that Hongjoong and Minjoong would one day grow old, have families, but always be together. It had been his finger pressing down on the trigger, and though an unknown bullet had struck Minjoong down, his intention had nonetheless been there.

It might have been easier if Hongjoong had shot him down, or so Hongjoong believed. If he had shot him, killed him, then things would be different now. He would not be sitting, weightless in the void, considering all the things that might have been were it not for this moment.

“Minjoong-hyung…” Hongjoong choked on the name quietly, it was dried ash on his tongue. When he finally got feeling back in his fingers he found them gripping down on his upper thigh. In, and out, the muscles felt tense and bruised, but Hongjoong kept on squeezing himself. It was the only thing he could do to try and bring back some sensation into his numb body, his horribly numb mind. The numbness was a seal, a veil of protection against the pain that he would otherwise feel if he allowed himself to feel everything to the full extent of the loss.

He could never allow himself to feel in this manner, not in this office, not in this line of work. The government had put him up against his twin brother, there was simply nothing in the world left now that he could not accomplish. This is what Hongjoong believed, somewhere in the bitter and most distant parts of his mind that were suppressing every other feeling of pain and anguish and distress. He wanted to cry, to feel so bad, but when he allowed himself all he could taste was bile. A sensation so unpleasant that he forced himself to swallow the sour putrid saliva and force his mind onwards, like one would force a horse drawn carriage with a switch.

At some point, Hongjoong fell asleep at his desk, still in all of his military gear. In the night he ripped off his gloves, and kicked off his boots - which was nothing short of a miracle as they were laced on quite tightly.

The next morning came and no one thought to check on Hongjoong except Seonghwa who stared at him for a while before leaving him some water to drink. When Hongjoong did not respond to any attempt at activation, Seonghwa left.

Night came again.

Then morning.

“The city is going to be on lockdown for sometime, I’m told.” Seonghwa whispered and Hongjoong’s ears prickled with the sensation of listening for the first time in two days. The words were a little more concrete, almost crisp. Hongjoong did not respond, he just weakly nodded and barely managed to take a sip of water that had been left for him - water that had a prominent layer of dust forming on the top. Hongjoong did not mind, he did not care, in fact, he hardly noticed.

“They don’t think the fugitives will survive. Their leader seems to have been confirmed dead.”

The words were painful to hear, but Hongjoong was so distant there was no reaction. There was nothing visible on his features that could tip off Seonghwa that Hongjoong knew that the leader of this rag tag group was more than likely dead.

There was a prominent and extended amount of silence, Seonghwa’s words warbling in the distance, as if he were in another room entirely. Hongjoong was not certain how much time had passed, but Seonghwa was gone soon enough.

Night came.

Then morning.

Hongjoong noticed in the reflection of his computer screen that he appeared ragged, absolutely destroyed. Nothing like a glimmering beacon of a Captain. He was a man terrorized by nightmares. He stood up for the first time that day, and used one of the military locker rooms to shower and give himself a fresh comb and shave. When Hongjoong looked in the mirror again he felt a touch uplifted by his appearance, less destroyed, less distraught.

Seonghwa arrived again, a fresh cup of water.

“Sir.”

“Mm…” Hongjoong hummed, still distant but slowly returning to the world.

“The city continues to be on lockdown. Sector Five’s market has been mostly put back together and cleaned up of the mess. Much of the wreckage will still take some time to fix.” There was a pause and Seonghwa leaned forward. “You shaved.”

“I did.”

“Ah, Captain does talk.”

“Yes, sometimes.”

Seonghwa nodded, and Hongjoong finally dared to meet his gaze. For all the time that he had spent admiring Seonghwa, all that time pushing away Minjoong - had it been a mistake? A horrid mistake that was laced with erratic action that would create instability in society? Hongjoong was uncertain, but he fell softly into the safety of Seonghwa’s gaze for now that called him off to sea.

“Is there… anything else?” Hongjoong’s voice did not feel as if it belonged to him, it was so far away. It was almost like he was speaking in another room, displaced from his own body and mind. There was the sensation that he was hovering above himself, viewing the world from above - perhaps he was dead and did not know it?

“The government has reviewed the situation. I do believe that there will be a ceremony.”

“A ceremony?”

“For our team for playing an important role in the downfall of the rebels.”

“What about the other teams?”

“Some have already received their acknowledgements. Our ceremony will be separate.”

Hongjoong did not answer, he continued to sit there viewing the world from above. Slowly his fingers dug into his thighs again, in and out, squeezing until it was painful and he brought himself to reality. There he was, still sitting in his office, no longer floating. He wasn’t dead. Hongjoong’s jaw tightened firmly, his teeth pressing together until they ached against one another.

“Sir?” Seonghwa called, but Seonghwa was an echo once more and Hongjoong was forced to sit and wait until his body forced his soul out again and he was floating, staring down, viewing the world.

Seonghwa left at some point again, leaving a fresh cup of water.

Hongjoong drank it, all of it, ravenously. Rivers ran from his parched lips, down his chin, spilling down his aching neck.

Then night came and he slept.

Morning arrived all the same.

Hongjoong was still in his office, having not done a lick of work in that entire time. At some point he hauled himself off to the shower again, automatically, as if he were not human at all, but a robot that was following orders.

Wet hair and a towel around his neck, once back in the office he booted up his computer and stared at the blinking screen with a decreasing amount of interest. What a horrible thing. There was nothing to do. His team had proven themselves and now all he had to do was wait to be summoned for their ceremony. The government would likely drag out the actual date, after all they had a lot of dirty work to do after the mess that had been made.

Seonghwa arrived, but so did the rest of the team.

“We’re worried boss.” Wooyoung touched Hongjoong’s shoulder, but he could hardly feel it.

“What’s wrong?” San asked, pouting.

“Lieutenant told us you’ve been here for days, that isn’t healthy for you.” Jongho chided, politely, distantly.

“You should go home sometime.” Yeosang whispered, adding on.

“I always prefer sleeping at home.” Mingi pouted. Not unlike San, he was lingering near the door as if Hongjoong’s new persona was causing him a great deal of discomfort.

Hongjoong did not blame him, it was difficult to be around a man who had once been a modicum of confidence and was now a blown up and hollow shell.

“Whatever is wrong, you should go home and sleep on it. Being here in the long run…” Yunho tried but Seonghwa let out a loud sigh, gently interrupting the more soft-spoken Yunho.

“I am certain the Captain understands all of these sentiments. All of you are here to support the Captain, not give him words of advice on what he should or should not do.” Seonghwa had a piercing voice, powerful and commanding. Hongjoong envied it, the way it captured the attention of the room. Hongjoong was quick to become jealous, he created storms inside of himself when he thought that something might not be good enough. But the envy seemed to fall to the side like dry yearning sand, or dust with how distant he felt of the world.

“It is alright, Lieutenant. They can speak.” Hongjoong waved at Seonghwa, and though by Seonghwa’s expression the man was not convinced he did not speak out again about the worries that the team expressed for him.

“Well, on the brighter side -” Wooyoung chirped, almost smiling as he did, though for once he had read the room - now was not the time to smile. “- Tomorrow is the ceremony! I can’t wait to get a cool medal.”

“Tomorrow?” Hongjoong asked. His voice was painfully lazy, as if he were several steps behind the conversation; slow, depressed.

“I had told you sir,” Seonghwa re-iterated, though Hongjoong did not remember that Seonghwa had told him anything. Perhaps he had, perhaps he had not. It was impossible to tell, but Hongjoong trusted Seonghwa implicitly and for that reason he decided that it had been him who had not heard when the ceremony was.

“The ceremony is tomorrow, will you be going home tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” Hongjoong was not certain he remembered how to get home, or wanted to go home. Home was a dangerous place.

“How will you dress properly?” Yunho asked. Mingi elbowed him in the ribs awkwardly, causing Yunho to stutter out in pain.

“I could bring your uniform. I would just need the key to your home.” Seonghwa suggested.

“Fine.” Hongjoong did not remember where he had left the key to his apartment, but he would find out in due time.

For a long time, Hongjoong looked between the seven members of his team. It had occurred to him that all of them were here, alive, well…

“Were you hurt too bad, San-ah?”

“Oh, no sir. Just a concussion, mostly.”

“Don’t be so modest.” Wooyoung huffed at San as if he were downplaying the extent of his injuries. “He got hurt pretty bad. They had to bandage him a bunch and you know Mingi and Jongho also got good and hurt!”

“Mingi-hyung,” Mingi grumbled in correction to Wooyoung who waved his hand around at the honorific. He never did care about honorifics.

“I knew that they got hurt… Or died. I am content to see everyone here without being too worse for wear.” Hongjoong whispered, it came out of some deep part of his soul.

“Yeah, unlike those rebel guys.” Wooyoung continued, and when he did almost grinned like a cat - forgetting himself. “They’re as good as dead, say the superiors.”

“What do you know about what the superiors say?” San asked, rolling his eyes at Wooyoung's wild claims (as per usual).

“I know everything.”

“Likely story.” Yeosang sniped Wooyoung, who nudged Yeosang slightly.

There was something so strange and warm and perfect about the moment. But Hongjoong was unable to feel it in its entirety. Something was missing, a piece of him. That feeling returned to his body - that feeling where he floated away, and became no one and nothing again.

Hongjoong pressed down on his thighs, bit down on the inside of his cheeks, desperate to return himself back to the plane of his team - sturdy, grounded. But they were moving away from him and the more he reached the more he floated away.

Tomorrow, tomorrow…

Tomorrow was the ceremony Wooyoung had said, or was it Seonghwa?

Someone was supposed to bring him a change of clothes, but he did not remember who had offered.

Hongjoong watched everyone from outside of his body again. He could hear them all as if in another room, as if he were watching them all from another room, another space. He almost felt otherworldly.

“You say one more word about my word, and I’ll clobber ya!” Wooyoung shouted, showing his fist at Yeosang, an overcompensation. San grabbed Wooyoung's scrappy fist, battered as it already was and slowly pushed it down.

“Save it for another day, tiger.” San grumbled.

“Why is your dog always barking so loudly?” Mingi joked, almost allowing a smirk on his features.

“Who’re you calling a dog?” Wooyoung snapped, but there was still a playfulness left in his voice, even if it was dipped into a vat of poison - the art of a heated retort.

“You, obviously.” Mingi remarked, not so scared of Wooyoung’s barking.

“Yeesh, cut it out you two.” Yunho waved his hand between both Mingi and Wooyoung and the two leaned away from each other, no longer posturing.

“Ah, Yunho-ah, you should let them. It is more entertaining this way.” Seonghwa chimed in - though he was usually the voice of reason, there was time now and again that the sniper liked the idea of a good scrap in front of him.

“Lieutenant, you know it is not a good idea.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence, everyone seemed to chuckle, but Hongjoong could not quite make out the joy that was dancing across those features. The joy was distant, it was not in his body. He wanted it to be, he wanted to be there with them, he wanted to talk to them. He wanted the moment of warmth and perfection, a gentle anticipation for reward. But there was no anticipation, just an odd void that had caused him to slowly grow numb again and float away - again. It was irritating and he fought it tooth and nail, but no matter how many times he tried to hurt himself, to bring himself back into the conversation, into the world, he couldn’t. Squeezing his thighs didn’t work, biting his cheeks did not work.

“Boss?”

Hongjoong did not respond.

“Boss… Boss you’re bleeding!” Wooyoung yelped, fearful of the way Hongjoong’s mouth bubbled and frothed with blood.

“Alright, everyone, that’s enough now - let’s leave.” Seonghwa ushered everyone out and all Hongjoong remembered was a gentle caress as the blood was cleaned from his face.

Then night arrived.

When morning arrived there was a strange busy-ness to the office. The entire team had arrived, but Hongjoong was still so very far away as he groggily was stirred from his sleep, Seonghwa pushed him to sit up from underneath his desk, and pushed him to shower, and then to change into the clothes that he had brought from his apartment.

How Seonghwa had gotten the keys to his apartment? He was not entirely certain, though Hongjoong was hardly certain of anything at all. It was like experiencing a constant state of vertigo, soon the government would bring down the sword over his neck - they would remind Hongjoong of his place as Captain. Soon he would not be allowed to be in this strange state of existence. But for now, for days on end, that seemed to stretch in a way that Hongjoong was unable to verbalize or comprehend, they allowed him to stay here and be exactly the way he was - endlessly spinning in a hazy void. A forced lack of emotions.

Seonghwa led Hongjoong to the ceremony room, a beautiful grand space that kept coming in and out of focus. Hongjoong kept rubbing at his eyes, feeling as if there was dust there, sticking to his eyelashes making his eyes water.

They stood in line, Captain, First Lieutenant, and then the rest. They all stood. Their chests puffed, except Hongjoong’s who stood as straight as his body could manage, fatigue settling so deep into his bones that he was afraid that his muscles might break beneath him.

“Today, we honor this team. This team that only a year or so ago was presented with an opportunity to become something unique and great for the government, for the world.” A voice spoke from beyond, as if a deity had come to impart wisdom upon Hongjoong’s team. The words were wobbling, his ears were barely listening.

“There were stepping stones, things that had to be learned by this unit. But it is not these blunders that we are celebrating and honoring today. Today we are celebrating the great contribution that this team has made to putting down the rebellion that formed right underneath the superiors watch. A rebellion that would not have otherwise been formed were it not for the unrest sowed by the rebels of the desert.”

The room went silent, nobody breathed, Hongjoong forgot to do so. There was nobody that dared move, or dared to flinch. The silence continued to spread, like a ripple over an otherwise perfectly still lake. The words sunk like a stone into darkness and the voice resumed.

“With the leader of this rebellion removed, the team is being honored with a medal of Contribution. For the show of bravery and decision making skills in an otherwise chaotic situation.”

The words sunk deeper, bravery and decision making, the very thing that Hongjoong had not shown or done when he had been presented with Minjoong’s face. But now Minjoong was dead, and this was being confirmed to him, loudly, clearly. It was almost deafening, like a bullet singeing the air overhead, or a jet taking off with a boom.

Hongjoong took in a breath then, daring to do so in the silence. His breath shook, trembling like an earthquake within his body.

“Accept this medal and honor.”

A masked man in a uniform that Hongjoong had never seen walked up to him, a man next to him held a multi-layered box. Once opened it revealed a beautiful polished medal of silver, engraved with a dragon over a plum. It was a most gorgeous engraving, but Hongjoong could scarcely acknowledge it as it was pinned to his chest. The masked man and his assistant walked down the line, pinning the very same medal across eight chests in total.

“The government honors this team, so that the team may honor the world.”

The words lingered in Hongjoong’s head for a moment, like a bubble threatening to burst - then they disappeared. The meaning and impact left his mind entirely as they filed out, carefully, proudly. Seonghwa joined Hongjoong’s side once outside of the ceremony hall, he was holding onto Hongjoong’s hand for a moment, then hooked his arm through Hongjoong’s like a needle through fabric.

“Back to the office…” Seonghwa whispered, pointing Hongjoong in the right direction. Hongjoong took one step at a time, his feet fumbling and childish, as if he were a toddler freshly learning how to walk on solid ground.

“It’s so pretty!” Wooyoung cooed behind the two of them. Nobody else spoke as if in reverence to something, Hongjoong could not tell what it was in reverence to.

The group arrived at Hongjoong’s office in due time, Hongjoong’s gaze wandering around his space that smelled lightly of dust and sweat from all the days that he had slept here. Seonghwa settled him down in his chair.

“I’ll get you water.” Seonghwa uttered, a gentle pat on Hongjoong’s back as he started to walk.

“N-o.” Hongjoong stuttered out, his voice groggy as if he had just woken up.

“No? Sir, you need to drink and take care of yourself. You have not even eaten in these last several days.”

“I know.” Hongjoong knew that he did not eat, but he was also not particularly hungry. His stomach felt endlessly full for the last several days. Or perhaps it felt hopelessly empty, but without the desire to fill that emptiness at all.

“Then you should drink water.”

“I want to go home, today.” Hongjoong expressed, though humiliation seemed to lace his voice and he forced himself to clear his throat to try and clear that humiliation.

“Home?”

“Yes, home.”

Hongjoong did not know what had made him change his mind, but he could not stand to sleep in this office another day. Suddenly, he was repulsed by it. Repulsed by the medal that hung on the lapel of his dress uniform. It was a burden more than an honor. It was a reminder of who he had to be now, in spite of everything.

“I will drive you then.” Seonghwa said, and Hongjoong knew that this was not a statement that he could argue with. It was concrete, and the Captain would not dare. He allowed his mind to drift, and for the sun to slowly set. There was only the slightest glimmer of it, a reddish, orangish dust frenzied haze when Seonghwa led Hongjoong out of the office and out of the building entirely.

Hongjoong felt himself being led along by Seonghwa, and the path to the vehicle seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not quite lead himself there. The air of the car was warm, a stark contrast to the cool outside air, crisp - autumn was most certainly in full swing. Hongjoong had forgotten what the outside had been like, having been inside for so long. The light breeze almost awakened his senses until he was back inside the car, air warming his cheeks to a blistering pink as he leaned into the seat and slowly melted down the back of it.

“I’m so tired.” Hongjoong groaned, an expression that he would not have dared speak if he had still been out in the public eye.

“I can tell.” Seonghwa noted and Hongjoong felt humiliated by this as well. He knew well that Seonghwa seemed to know everything about him, as if he had a camera inside of his mind. He was perceptive, and his perception was piercing - the eyes of a hawk.

“Can you?”

“Mhmm.”

“How?” Hongjoong was surprised by his ability to talk, even if his throat felt sore.

“The way you move and talk. It is not your usual self, Hongjoong.”

“I will try to be my usual self for the team, then.”

“The mission was hard on everyone, you must take time to fully recover.”

“Yes… I suppose I do.” There was a long pause. Hongjoong was not even fully certain that Seonghwa knew the reasoning for all of this, for his dry and fatigued behavior. “I didn’t kill the leader. We don’t deserve this award.”

“No. But the grenade certainly helped. It doesn’t matter. There was simply too much going on. Take the award.”

“You didn’t see him… He was a boy.”

“I saw the back of his head. Seemed like a man enough to me.”

Hongjoong’s heart sank lower into his body. If Seonghwa only knew who he was talking about. If Seonghwa only knew that he was talking so callously about Minjoong, the small biologist that he had dinner with when they had all gotten together with his parents. If only he knew. But he couldn’t know. Not now, perhaps not ever. Hongjoong squeezed at his thigh.

“Tch, tch…” Seonghwa took Hongjoong’s wrist and squeezed it. “Don’t do that. You have bruises on your thighs as it is.”

“I do?”

“You haven’t seen your own thighs?”

Hongjoong thought about it for a moment, he did not remember seeing them and if he did he had not acknowledged the state of his thighs. Bruised, or not. Still, he obeyed Seonghwa reluctantly, letting his thighs go free in spite of how much he wanted to hurt himself, just to alleviate some of the mental burden he felt.

“They make these uniforms so warm.”

“Wool… I think.” Seonghwa murmured uncertainly.

“I wish I could return the medal.”

“Stop. We were honored, just leave it at that. The other surviving teams are also being acknowledged. There is no point in pulling yourself down. You should be happy, the team has accomplished something. We will receive better compensation and better missions going forward.”

Hongjoong felt his fingers dig into his thighs for a moment, a subtle twitch before he forced them to stop grabbing. Seonghwa was right, but truthfully he hoped for more time in the office - for the foreseeable future. Hongjoong could not imagine shooting anyone, ever again, not right now.

“I don’t want any missions.”

“What?”

“Not right now. I’m too tired.”

“We will rest, and you will rest the most. I will make certain of it.”

Hongjoong nodded limply before finally the car pulled up to where it usually stopped but instead of letting the car idle, Seonghwa turned it off. Hongjoong felt this to be an unexpected turn of events as Seonghwa pulled his Captain out of the car and helped him up to his apartment.

“Do you need help with anything else?”

Hongjoong, already thoroughly humiliated and reluctant to admit that he needed more help just looked longingly at Seonghwa. He needed companionship now more than ever, but he couldn’t say those words and so all he could do was pathetically shake his head and watch Seonghwa open the door to his apartment to let him in and then shut the door behind him, leaving Hongjoong very thoroughly alone.

It was a while before Hongjoong moved again. He stood in this very lonely apartment staring into the dust speckled abyss. The ghost of so many memories seemed to have imprinted themselves upon this space. There was Minjoong laying on the couch, there was Minjoong on the floor reading a book, and there he was again cooking. There Minjoong was standing, laughing liberally. Then there he was, kneeling in front of Hongjoong, sobbing for his brother’s return - he never would return. There Minjoong was stumbling into the apartment, bloodied and bruised and there Hongjoong was, stressed over it all.

The memories flooded him, and it had been all that he had feared. They poked, prodded and finally pierced the back of his throat where he kept swallowing and swallowing and begging for the feelings to die. But they would not, they insisted on erupting from his mouth, pushed fervently with his tongue as Hongjoong collapsed to his knees, his forehead to the ground as he grasped at his ears.

“Oh, Minjoong! Minjoong! Minjoong!”

It was the only name on his lips, the only name in his mind, and he cried, and he sobbed, and he bawled. The feeling was all encompassing, it was raw, it was so visceral that he thought his chest and stomach would explode. He thought that every single day that had passed by in the office where he had forced everything he had ever felt downwards, would make him become confetti now.

Hongjoong cried until his cheeks were puffy. He was hopelessly breathless, and his lips were sputtering saliva that dripped out and to the ground, sticky, dehydrated. He cried until his eyes were red and his nose was swollen and his chest and stomach were hyperventilating. He cried until he could not hear anything out of both of his ears anymore. He cried until he was utterly exhausted and still somehow full of energy enough to continue crying.

“Minjoong…” Hongjoong gasped for air in between the calls for Minjoong. He called for him, he wanted him, he wanted him here, to cook anything even if it was just rice.

“Minjoong… Minjoong… Minjoong…”

He called, he cried like a calf cried for its mother when it was abandoned in a storm. But like a mother terrified of the storm, Minjoong never returned the call, never came to Hongjoong’s side. No matter how much he called, no matter how much he expected in his twisted, hazy mind that he might feel Minjoong’s touch along his shoulder… Minjoong never came. The love that Hongjoong felt for Minjoong had swelled to a crescendo, it threatened to burst.

The night was long, dark, cold and treacherous. Hongjoong was a Captain lost at sea as he sought out a brother that he could never see again.

—

The sun was rising again, gold upon the waves of what seemed to be eternal sand.

“We have to find water…” Beomhwa murmured dryly. “How long can we keep driving in this thing?”

"Forever, as long as we let it charge.” Sangwoo responded, the currently designated driver. Jonghui was in the passenger seat, holding a rifle to his chest with the expectation that they would have to fight someone, or something.

“Well then drive it to water.” Beomhwa cleared his throat, feeling a build up of dried mucus.

“I don’t know how long Minjoong and Woosung can go on without food… Or water.” Youngho added - he had not moved from his place near the two who were still unconscious days later.

“Woosung longer than Minjoong.” Beomhwa fretted.

“How long can we go on without Minjoong?” Youngho lamented in return.

“We have the serum, Minjoong picked some up before we left.” Beomhwa remembered gently.

“And after that?”

“I don’t know.”

Youngho nodded and looked between the two with a worried heart.

“We’re lucky we haven’t been met with much force, but I doubt that will last long.”

“I doubt it myself.” Han chimed in as he glanced over his shoulder towards the divider beyond which Sangwoo sat and drove. “Want to switch soon?”

“Yes, please.”

They drove, and they drove. There seemed to be no end in sight, and then the wheels of the van found wet sand, leaving the van stranded with its weight in the sand.

“Uh… Everyone-” Sangwoo elongated and Han pushed open the back doors of the van. Han’s breath hitched in his throat.

“I-It’s a beach.”

The sand here shimmered brightly, endlessly, a dark tan along a sweet water beach that extended far beyond where the eye could see.

The team stumbled out, carefully and took a deep breath of fresh air, for the first time standing free.

-End of Part 1-

Chapter Text

Rain pattered overhead on a black, plain umbrella. Seonghwa had arrived to work with a quiet countenance after all that had occurred. Awarded, but not alleviated from his duties. The lieutenant had a severe expression as he shook the umbrella free of grey water droplets before sliding it to fold. He pressed it just underneath his arm, damp against his thick suit jacket. The man scanned his ID card and stepped into an elevator that shot him up to where he was to step out.

It had not been very long after the attack on the inside, a strange infiltration that no one had ever believed to be possible. The buzz in the area was still anxious, even though the word from higher up was a stricter mandate over emotions and expression. Seonghwa’s severe expression was not for show - it was to save himself. There was an anxiety in the pit of his stomach that stretched up to his throat that one of the men on his team would not be so careful.

Wooyoung.

Mingi, Jongho and San had finally been cleared by medical staff from their injuries. A new technology, San had shared, allowed them to heal the wounds rather quickly. At least this was a relief.

The Captain had not been so lucky, though he showed none of his worries. He was staying at his office for longer and longer hours. Seonghwa continued to bring him a glass of water. Even this morning, he walked through the barren corridors to reach a break room, poured a glass and then entered his Captain’s office without knocking. The man was there, asleep underneath his desk, curled up like a newborn deer. Seonghwa didn’t say a word, just left the water there, wrote a few notes and departed so that he could do his work.

He stepped into his office, he no longer shared a space with the rest of the team. It was a space all to himself that he had received not long after the award’s ceremony. The update felt strange, performative, in a way that sent shivers down Seonghwa’s spine. They wanted to isolate him, to watch him. This was the feeling he got when he had first walked into this space.

The lieutenant dropped his briefcase, and set aside the umbrella from underneath his arm in the corner by the entrance. There was a single window in this office, it overlooked the city, and filtered natural grey light into the area.

Seonghwa stared at the rain. Rain was rare, it was grim. But some rejoiced because it meant natural water for their rooftop gardens. It tapped gently against the window, the droplets sliding down in a race to the bottom. The lieutenant barely breathed as he watched them. The expression on his face never shifted, never changed. He was being watched, wasn’t he?

His fingers anxiously drifted over the skin of his hands, his palms in a self-soothing manner. He always played the part, the man who could never be shaken. But he was shaken, the ground he stood on that he considered holy had been ripped to shreds. The Captain that he had kept together, that he cared for so dearly, was falling apart and he hardly knew why. Had such an attack truly shaken his unshakeable leader?

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, and with a heavy and difficult resolve he turned to his desk and sat down at it.

“What is there to do today?” He asked the air, sifting through the paperwork as if it were sand. There was always something to do. The young man picked up a folder that appeared to be stuffed full of reading material.

Seonghwa slipped a finger through the folder and let it fall open. There was nothing interesting, it was the usual. Extra work when there were less eyes and minds to do it all. It was just another folder of assignments because there were less people working, more and more bodies, dead. The government had lost more individuals than it could feasibly replace. It almost made Seonghwa scoff as if he were on the verge of a chuckle. Not because extra work was amusing, but because the likelihood that they received those awards to placate them to make them content with doing more work was rather high.

The rain continued on as Seonghwa breathed life into the paperwork. He read it, eyes burning through the pieces of paper, stamping them when necessary with approvals or denials. A large ‘rejected’ stamp was always partially satisfying to see. At some point, the lieutenant lifted a pen and wrote a few notes, vague and non-descript. He mouthed the pen, idling on what he was supposed to do for a few spare beats, before writing again.

“It’s only temporary.” He commented under his breath, a whisper so hollow that he was not certain that he had heard himself speak. All of this was temporary, but how temporary? Was it the kind of temporary that felt like it was permanent, or would there soon be new individuals hired from the civilian forces? Or the university? It was impossible to gauge. So he continued to write, his neck craning as he reviewed the paperwork on his desk.

The work of a lieutenant, it was almost a joke. Almost.

His mind reeled from stagnation, none of this was particularly interesting in almost any manner.

At some point Seonghwa was reading the same sentence over and over again. Over and over again.

‘The retrieval of genetic and memory codes, allows for the modification of those codes which result in superior physical specimens.’

Superior physical specimens… Physical specimens…

A powerful stroke of lightning and thunder combined startled Seonghwa, who quickly realized at that moment that he had fallen asleep at his desk. His fingers scrambled hastily against the paper that he had fallen asleep on top of. He looked down at what he had been reading, the sleep falling away from his eyes.

At first, he didn’t speak, he just stared in quiet shock.

‘The retrieval of genetic and memory codes allows for the modification of those codes which result in superior physical specimens. These specimens, though not always perfect replications, carry most of the memories of their originals or ‘naturals’ minds, which allows them to enter the workforce almost immediately. They may arrive with defects, but most defects can be overlooked. Their minds are easily molded for control. They experience very few emotions and selfish thoughts - this sets them apart from naturally born humans in a positive manner.’

Seonghwa looked at the words, and read them several times over, before he flipped the page to the package. The second page possessed a diagram of a human body, and the different places from which the genetic code was extracted. It was a complicated process, far more complicated than Seonghwa was capable of comprehending with his military background. He didn’t understand this kind of science, but as he sat and read, he started to feel a hint of paranoia - the lieutenant was almost certain that this package had come to him as an accident, that he was not meant to read this.

Had the government successfully cloned people? Had they already started replacing individuals within the population? Would the government start replacing the deteriorated workforce from within with genetic replicas of other individuals? If they had already succeeded, why had they not already replaced him and the entire team? If these specimens were in fact superior, was this not the next logical step? Seonghwa felt a prickle along his scalp, as if he were not supposed to be thinking these thoughts. He was not supposed to doubt the superiors, the government, he was supposed to follow them into the sun until death consumed him. Seonghwa scratched at his head, rubbed at his temples, and then with a renewed curiosity continued to read what he knew he was not supposed to be witnessing.

The following pages unfolded before him like a tapestry, one of storytelling and scientific fact. The government had successfully cloned individuals, though there were no pictures of these individuals. They were referred to by numbers. The first one that had been created and had passed, the paperwork explained, as being an unfortunate circumstance. The next several cloning endeavors were far more successful.

1000-0002. 1000–0003. All the way up to 1000-0008. In total there were seven.

‘Defective traits may include: Hair color, eye sight and pains, other physical faults, as well as predisposition to diseases; these predispositions are often traits within the natural’s genetic code that become dominant when rebuilt into a new code. In such cases the clone is best culled or decommissioned and a new one built for more effective use.’

Seonghwa swallowed heavily as he read the words. These individuals, these clones, the government wrote of them as if they were organic robots. Seonghwa had no way to discern if they were or not. It seemed that they did not express the same range of expression and emotion, which was better for the government that controlled their emotions with an iron fist. Humans were erratic, incapable of suppressing all that they possessed in their minds and hearts. Seonghwa knew this, because he had experienced it first hand. He was experiencing it now, the strange feeling of emotion, the swell of it like an ocean wave within his throat. It was a sympathy, empathy for people that were not people, that he had never met.

The truth was that Seonghwa knew that he would have never wanted to experience what he was reading.

Then it donned it on him as he held onto this piece of paper that had more writing on it. A long essay by some young man whose initials were K.M. Anonymous unless Seonghwa wanted to try and look through government employee files, though he knew his clearance was not high enough to potentially reach this deep. The thought flicked once and then twice through his mind. The elevator that he had come across all that time ago after his promotion. It had been an unusual spot, after all, he had only ever been to the singular main elevator in the entire building. Seonghwa had been certain that there was only one elevator in the entire building - as inconvenient as that was. But there was another, it had revealed itself to him.

“Impossible.” He whispered to himself, and as his mind clicked, there was a strange pain that shot through his head. Like a piercing migraine. Seonghwa grimaced, before steeling his expression and slowly he took the entire package of paper and tossed it into the shredder that he had in the office.

“No more.” Seonghwa needed to work, he couldn’t read all of this, he couldn’t think about that elevator. Slowly he ran his fingertips around his lips, around his mouth, pulling at his lower lip in his exasperation. Had he read too much? The lieutenant looked over towards the shredder, there was a feeling of regret bubbling in the pit of his stomach, joining the feeling of anxiety. He wanted to read more, but now he couldn’t and it was most certainly for the best. He hoped it would never come to bite him.

The man returned to his mundane work, the one prescribed to him. It was a boring task, but perhaps boring was better than intriguing. Intriguing could mean being sent for retraining or even imprisonment with the way the superiors had been acting recently, after all that had happened.

Seonghwa ended up stamping something after reading it over, and chewing on the nail of his thumb in his idle inspection. The government could clone him, they could clone any one of them. But they didn’t have their genetic code, did they? Seonghwa wandered through his mind as the nail snapped between his teeth. He recalled having been to government sanctioned physicians, but he did not remember them doing anything beyond the ordinary. Basic tests of his body and mind to make certain that he was a ready and capable body.

Would they have been able to scrape genetic code off of him from a basic physical test? Or worse, a very basic medical examination? Seonghwa set a piece of paper aside and tried to focus on what was in front of him. It was too difficult. He wanted to tell someone, but if what he had shredded was certainly classified information and he wasn’t meant to share it, then there were only two options - it had been a mistake and he couldn’t talk about it, or it had been purposeful and the government was testing his resolve, his loyalty.

His stomach tensed. Loyalty. Resolve. His job was almost entirely about those things, and he had felt his loyalty waver for a moment. So much so that he had felt pain shoot through his head as if his mind was reminding him of what he was supposed to do. Serve the government, and be content.

Seonghwa doubled down on the paperwork then, and he pushed away the thoughts of clones and the government’s ability to create life all the way to the back of his mind, where it roared like a wildfire. The most important thing was to focus on what was in front of him, to not question, to not make a fuss. If he could just do that, now, he would be content with the rest of the day. And when all else failed, he would move to his Captain’s office and sit with him in almost total silence save for their warm breath filling up the space. They didn’t speak to each other as much nowadays. Seonghwa knew that something had been severely bothering Hongjoong, but Hongjoong refused to tell him. It was as if whatever had happened during the attack and infiltration had altered his Captain, completely and permanently.

No longer was the Captain the man that he had once been, anxious, but with unshakeable resolve. He was someone else, a shell of himself. He possessed little emotions, and spoke in a painfully deadpan voice. Still, Seonghwa cared for him regardless and he hoped his own presence was healing and soothing for the Captain who was struggling beneath the weight of every expectation that had been placed on his shoulders.

Seonghwa huffed air as he approved a piece that he had been reading over with a black stamp. It was probably difficult for him, not seeing his family, staying at the office constantly. He didn’t even get to see his brother with how often he stayed at the office.

Another black stamp.

The twins were probably suffering in some capacity. It would be good to suggest that the Captain spend more time at home, so that he could relax and not worry so much about his overcomplicated work life.

He did recall that they had gotten into a bit of a fight though, but as brothers such petty matters were quickly set aside - or so Seonghwa imagined in his head.

“Once I’m done…” He whispered with the scribble of a pen.

Once he was done he would go straight to his Captain’s office and he would recommend a bit of relaxation - that the man needed to go home, spend time with his brother, or get together with his parents.

Another black stamp.

Several hours slipped by like this, unfettered by anything. Seonghwa worked hard on what was in front of him, doing his best to not let his mind wander back into the past of a few hours ago when he had been reading what he was certain he was not supposed to have read. But he had now, and he hoped that if he kept his lips shut on the matter, then nothing would come of it. The superiors and government were particularly busy now regardless, after all that had happened. He hoped that his coming across some information would be the least of their worries when rebels had infiltrated the confines of this very sacred space.

Sacred, not in a religious way, or so Seonghwa told himself. Sacred in the way that it was not meant to be touched by those who were unworthy. Rebels were unclean, unworthy, because their minds did not work in the way that they were supposed to.

The lieutenant nodded to himself, his lips drawn thin as he reviewed the final bit of paperwork and looked up. A nearby clock with its glowing bright red numbers glared back at him, it was almost time to go home.

He pushed himself back, put the folders and stacks of paper away, and started to make his way in anguishing silence towards the door. It was still raining outside. He picked up his umbrella and briefcase.

As if he were being carried by nothing but a disembodied trance he found himself back in Hongjoong’s office. Hongjoong was staring at two pieces of paper inquisitively, as if comparing them to one another. A fresh cup of hot coffee steamed near his left hand.

“Captain.” Seonghwa greeted, and Hongjoong twitched, his reaction just aggressive enough that he hit the cup and all of its brown contents spilled.

“Shit-!” Hongjoong cursed, prioritizing his paperwork as he yanked it all away trying to wave it clean.

Seonghwa moved quickly, paper towels thrown on the spill to soak it up haphazardly and in a haste.

“Apologies, Captain.”

“I wasn’t expecting…”

“I know.”

“Well, either way, I should have been.”

“You should have been expecting?”

“Yes. You always come. Thank you… For the water.”

Seonghwa nodded, throwing away some of the towels into a nearby trash bin before he retrieved some napkins and used them to clean up what was leftover.

“You have to stay hydrated. I wish for you to stay hydrated.”

“Does coffee count?”

“Not particularly.” Seonghwa stifled an emotion as he straightened out his posture, more of a soldier at attention than a friend.

Hongjoong slowly lowered all of his paperwork back down onto the table, lifting the mug he had been drinking from to be upright with a delicate sigh. His pinky finger carefully muffled the sound of the mug against wood.

“When was the last time you’ve been home?” Seonghwa breached the topic, his tone was awkward, as if he were trying to poke into Hongjoong’s space hastily - which he was.

“It’s been a while.” Hongjoong admitted, seating himself in his chair and motioning for Seonghwa to do the same.

Seonghwa bowed and took the seat.

“Isn’t it time to go home then?”

“No. I don’t feel too well about it.”

“Shouldn’t you see your brother? Perhaps your parents would like to see you as well.”

Hongjoong shifted a discomfort in the way he moved that put Seonghwa on edge.

“My brother and I - we haven't seen eye to eye recently. I’m okay being away from home.”

“Is it not time to apologize, make amends?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Hongjoong looked away from Seonghwa, peeling his gaze away the way he often did when he felt uncomfortable. Seonghwa was the one who pushed Hongjoong, and Hongjoong in his constant desire to recede always pulled away.

Seonghwa could not tell if it was because he was shy, or did not want Seonghwa in his private life. Any of those options seemed possible, but he wouldn’t dare to breach it. It wasn’t his place, he would be whatever Hongjoong needed him to be, nearby or at a distance.

“Alright then, Captain.” Seonghwa responded agreeably, and only then did Hongjoong look back towards him, meeting his gaze, dark brown eyes that were so perfectly exhausted. The attack had taken a toll on the Captain in a way that Seonghwa could not have imagined it taking a toll on him. It was odd to see him falling into himself the way he was.

There was a long pause, drawn out, as if drawing breath between the two of them would have been taboo, or too strange. Then, Seonghwa’s lips parted and he let out a sigh.

“If it is too difficult to go home, perhaps you can come to my home?”

“Yours?”

“Yes. It isn’t very big, but it would allow you to sleep somewhere that wasn’t here. Something restorative. The team doesn’t want to see their Captain so worn out. You’re our leader, you have to represent us.” Seonghwa tried to make it about something realistic, something about duty and honor. If the Captain could not be well rested and serve the team, then he would not be a very good Captain at all, right?

The gears in Hongjoong’s head appeared to be turning, his fingers jittery smoothed over some wet paper, stained with tan coffee. Hopefully, it was not too important.

“You really think I look that unrested?”

“Sir, with all due respect - you didn’t speak much after, and now you refuse to go home. I’m sure you and your brother are at some kind of odds, but sleeping in a bed or at least in a home would do you a great deal of good. Mentally, as well as physically. A shower that is not here, it would be nicer. Or so I would imagine. I never did enjoy the showers here.”

Hongjoong held his breath, and then looked down and sighed.

“I suppose you are right.”

“I am, I know I am.”

“What is a Captain to do without his lieutenant?”

“I suppose a Captain cannot be without his lieutenant.”

“No. I suppose not.”

They sat in silence, it stretched on for what felt like infinity before the Captain piped up.

“Tonight then, I will go with you. Is it alright?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Perfect.” Hongjoong leaned back in his chair. It squealed gently beneath him as the man looked up towards the ceiling staring at the subtly flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

“I will drive us, as always.”

“Where do you park your car? The garage is destroyed.”

“A new place has been designated. Though it is less protected.”

“I see. And the roads, is it still alright to get your place?”

“Have to take a few back roads, but I get there alright. Just a few minutes added on.”

“A few minutes added on eventually adds up to hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Seonghwa’s previous anxieties about what he had read were swiftly melting away now that he was with Hongjoong. It was as if he never read those files, never had thought of them and the implication of their existence. It was perfect, in a way, this world, this bubble that he shoved himself into. Just to be with his Captain, it was enough, and he needed nothing more.

“Are you done with work for the day?” Hongjoong inquired, boring, polite conversation as he reviewed some now off-white paper from the earlier spill.

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Right.”

“And you, are you almost done?”

“Just a few more things.”

“Have you seen more work on your desk recently?”

“Naturally, how could I expect anything else?”

Seonghwa almost chuckled, but he stifled the urge and nodded instead, the amusement in his posture instead of his throat.

“I don’t see it stopping anytime soon, sir.” Seonghwa commented lowly, idly.

“I don’t either. Not with how things have been going.” There was frustration in Hongjoong’s tone, and Seonghwa could not help but agree with that frustration. The reality was that with the increasing attacks there was not much light at the end of this long and dark tunnel of labor. Seonghwa knew that he would see an increasing amount of paperwork too - unless the government did what he had read…

The two men became silent then, Seonghwa picking at his nails, Hongjoong finishing his work. When Hongjoong was finished he packed everything away and stored it under lock and key.

“All done.”

“Perfect.”

Seonghwa started to stand and walk towards the door.

“It’s raining.”

“Still?” Hongjoong complained.

“Yes, do you have an umbrella?”

“No. Not with me. I haven’t been-”

“-home. Right. Well, I have one so you can hide underneath it with me.”

The two filed out of the Captain’s office and moved into the elevator to go to the ground floor. Their exit was quiet and without any circumstance, Hongjoong pressed close to Seonghwa when they were out in the rain. Seonghwa’s umbrella provided a well desired barrier between them and the mighty sky above.

“I never noticed.” Hongjoong murmured, a hint of humiliation in his tone.

“Noticed?”

“You smell nice.”

“Oh.” Seonghwa’s jaw tightened with his own form of humiliation. “It’s just some oils I bought.”

“Well, they smell nice.”

Seonghwa didn’t speak another word until they got to the car. Like a proper chauffeur he opened the door for his Captain to let him into the vehicle, making certain that not a single part of him was wet before he walked himself to the driver’s side.

The lieutenant started up the car, and it turned over with a rumble and a huff. The car and the sound of the rain were the only two things that provided any sound to the situation, otherwise the two remained completely silent.

Seonghwa thought that perhaps the moment just prior had been too humiliating for them both. Hongjoong, who hardly ever showed affection and Seonghwa who wanted to show affection but did not entirely know how in a way that was appropriate in their society.

It was a long while, a long stretch of rain and road noise before Hongjoong let out a sigh, shifting slightly in his seat.

“What is it, Hongjoong?” The honorifics were dropped in these private unwatched moments, their souls unwound to become just two young men, not soldiers tied to their post.

“I just haven’t been alone in a while. Well, I am alone in my office. But I am always watched, this much I know.”

“You mean you haven’t relaxed in a while.”

“That’s right.”

“I am glad I can provide this for you then.”

“This and a warm meal, it’s all I think about, but can’t have.”

“You always have the option to go home though.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t say. Not without unraveling what we have built with each other.”

Seonghwa let out a long hum, windshield wipers breaking away the droplets of rain against the windshield.

“I hope that whatever it is that is keeping you away from home, will become resolved and you will be able to tell me in the future.”

“I don’t see it happening.”

“I will wait for you to be ready.”

“It may take forever.”

“Then I will wait forever.”

Hongjoong was silent and Seonghwa did not mind the silence. He was there to break it, now.

“If you ever need to take time away from the office, but you don’t want to go home. You are always welcome at my place. Like I said, it is not very large, but it is there for you.”

Hongjoong did not respond, he just nodded in his silent contemplation.

They drove a while longer, passing familiar streets for Seonghwa who finally turned into a covered parking space as the rain pattered over the roof of the space. Hongjoong slipped out of the car into the darkness and soon Seonghwa was offering the protection of his umbrella once more.

“The rain is soothing.”

“We hardly ever get it, so I enjoy it too.” Seonghwa agreed as they walked out into it. It was a short walk, only to the second floor of a somewhat broken down apartment building before Seonghwa was opening a door and letting Hongjoong inside.

“It’s no-”

“Not much. You said.” Hongjoong whispered as he slipped out of his work shoes and dropped his briefcase. By then, he was looking around curiously as Seonghwa turned on a swinging string light overhead.

“Sorry it’s dark.”

“I don’t mind it when it’s dim. Gives me less of a headache.” The Captain shrugged, slipping out of his suit jacket. Seonghwa grasped it quickly, hanging it up before undressing himself.

The apartment was small, it was nothing to write about. One main room, a small kitchenette attached. A mattress was laid on the floor, near the couch, but everything was clean, pristine. Not pristine in the way that it was new, but pristine in that Seonghwa kept a clean and well organized space. It did not smell, it did not appear grimy.

“Make yourself at home, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong sat on the couch soon after, a bit stiff.

“Tea?” Seonghwa exhaled, feeling immediately the need to take care of Hongjoong and his exhaustion.

“Alright.”

Seonghwa set a pot to heat up, nervously standing in the kitchen over it, lingering as if his presence alone would heat the pot up faster.

It didn’t.

The steam screamed when it was ready on its own time and soon tea was ready, a mug of chamomile curling and yawning in front of Hongjoong.

“It’s supposed to be soothing.” Seonghwa had sat on the couch next to Hongjoong, but he didn’t sit too close, instead he leaned back and held onto his own mug of tea.

“The tea or?”

“The tea.”

Hongjoong hummed in response before he slipped his fingers through the handle of the mug he had been served beginning to sip.

The two men sat in silence and sipped their respective beverages. Soon, Hongjoong felt at ease enough to lean back, sinking into the older couch. He drank until there was nothing left in his cup. Seonghwa cast his gaze towards his Captain on occasion as silence stretched on between them.

He sipped, and time continued on.

It was a moment of peace, peace that he knew they would not have again for a very long time. Not with all of the paperwork, not with all the pressure that the Captain was under. Not with all that Seonghwa knew now about the world he lived in.

But for a moment, a sip of chamomile and his Captain was all that he needed to fall entirely asleep on the couch, still holding the mug without a care in the entire world.