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@dontstoptime
Guess who survived the ticket war? Guess who's seeing BTS??!

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4Me 4Me (Fred Weasley x Reader)
Summary: Itās Easter break and instead of being home, youāre stranded at Hogwarts prepping for N.E.W.T.s. Stuck studying inside the library, you surprisingly find yourself accompanied by Fred Weasley.
a/n: inspired by Malcom Toddās ā4Me 4Meā. this was originally a George fic, but I found the dialogue and lyrics fit Fred better. also been sitting in my drafts for ages and needed to get it out lol. my early christmas gift for the Fred girlies. enjoy!
wc: 1.2k | tags: no use of y/n, gn reader, takes place during OotP before the twins take off, studying (but failing miserably), fluff, bit of angst if you squint, short cutesy one-shot.
Light poured into the library, basking the room in a golden glow; tiny specks of dust floating in the air. A light breeze slipped through the open window, bringing in the smell after the rain, earthy but fresh, mixing with the residing scent of old parchment and ink. A quiet stillness filled the room, as one would expect in a library, but the scribbling of quills against paper and the shuffling of feet between bookshelves were absent.
All, if not most, of the student body at Hogwarts had returned home for the Easter holiday. More like escaped home, away from Umbridgeās dreadful reign as current Headmistress. Those left to rot within the castle walls were a handful of fifth years stuck prepping for their O.W.Lās, and a chunk of seventh years, studying for their N.E.W.Tās or leisurely enjoying the last of their time on the schoolās ground.
You were the former. A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration sprawled half open in front of you, a stack of textbooks and loose parchments to your left, and your robe stuffed into your satchel, slung haphazardly on the back of your chair.
Head in your hands, you stare down at the same sentence youāve re-read about three times now. Something to do with the importance of transfiguring rubbish into a racoon with exactly six stripes and not eight. Prepping for N.E.W.Tās, on top of the millions of essays your teachers assigned over the break has left you confined inside the library walls for the past few hours.
Fortunately, a certain red-headed twin was keeping you company during your misery.
Least to say you were surprised when Fred accepted your invitation to study. During holiday break, no less. Even more so that he seemed to be intently focused on the work in front of him. Ā
You knew better then to think heād actually be studying, but when you asked what he was working on, heād just say it was ātop secretā or āconfidential Weasley businessā and offer a cheeky wink and thatād be it. You didnāt push, but that didnāt mean you werenāt curious.
You tried sneaking a peak at his paper, catching a glance of a page titled āBUDGET REPORTā with ruler straight tables filled with jumbles of numbers underneath. It wasnāt what you were expecting, too used to seeing silly doodles between margins or sketches of the next joke product. But you let him be.
For the first few hours, you and Fred worked in a comfortable silence, each focused on your own tasks, simply enjoying the company of one another. An hour after that, Fred seemingly finished whatever he was working on while you were still less than halfway through your pile of assignments.
You could tell he was getting restless.
At first, he tried nudging your foot under the table, trying to steal your attention away. Youād glare at him while heād just smile back at you, tilting his head to the side and feigning innocence.
When that didnāt work, heād charm spare parchment of his into paper cranes, dancing and jumping circles around your stack of books. You tolerated it for a good five minutes before you caught one, crumpled it into a ball and threw it straight in Fredās face with a huff. Fred, amused, just chuckled at your annoyance and charmed the remaining birds to fly out the window.
At some point, he settled for taking a nap while waiting for you to finish. You enjoyed a good twenty minutes or so of deep focus before Fred awoke and started fidgeting with the quill in front of him.
As distracting as he was, not once did he try to get up and leave.
He waited.
Patiently.
Trying not to toy with you too much and simply staying by your side to keep you company, no matter how bored he was.
You could feel your vision worsening. Partially from the fact that you started to see double the racoon diagrams in your textbook. You rub circles on your forehead to try and keep the forthcoming migraine at bay. Youāve been staring at the same page for far too long. A small break couldnāt hurt, right?
Your eyes drift up to the Gryffindor in front of you.
Fred sat leaned back and relaxed in the wooden chair, the quill now motionless between his fingers. His side profile out on display as he stared out the library window, chest rising and falling in even motions. Slivers of light from the setting sun settle on his face, lightening the irises of his eyes. Ā Ā Ā
It felt⦠odd. Seeing this side of him. The calmness. The side of him that wasnāt all jokes or cheers. He was just Fred.
Fred, who never stopped chasing his dreams. Fred, who makes it his mission to brighten the lives of others, despite such dark times.
Fred, who detests studying and anything closely related to schoolwork, but still willingly locks himself away in the library, just for you. Ā Ā Ā
You couldnāt help but admire him.
His eyes shift away from the window to catch your gaze.
You flush, embarrassed for getting caught red-handed staring and bury your face back into the book. You clear your throat and pretend to readjust your position, taking either side of the hardcover textbook into both hands to (not so) discreetly hide the growing redness on your face.
Fred, however, takes this as the perfect opportunity to snatch the book away from you, leaving you grasping at thin air.
āYouāre done reading.āĀ He shuts the book closed, using his height advantage to stand tall, holding it high out of your reach.
āWhat! Why? Iāve got at least two more chapters to cover if I want to be on schedule.ā You jump from your seat, stretching your limbs in a sorry attempt to regain your stolen book back.
āBecause Iām bored and ācause I said so.ā He states, matter-of-factly, grinning down at you. āI love that youāre smart, but I wanna go soon.ā He ruffles your hair playfully while you unsuccessfully swat at his hands.
āGeorge might start hanging missing personās posters with how long weāve been stuck up in this library.ā
You roll your eyes at that and slump back into your chair, realizing youāre fighting a losing battle. Despite crossing your arms in defiance, Fred can tell your contemplating his words, as he places the book back down on the table. He begins to probe at you more.
āYou deserve a break. No ā you need a break.ā He walks around the table and approaches your side in just a few strides. āYou donāt want to burn yourself out, love.ā
He grabs your hands and with little resistance, you let him pull you up from your seat, intertwining your fingers. āI just wanna spend time with you, yāknow, before the school year ends.ā
āWe still have at least another semester ā thatās still plenty of time, no?ā
You saw it instantly. A flicker of something unfamiliar crosses his eyes. You could feel it in your gut. Something he wasnāt telling you. He masks the emotion faster then you have the chance to ask.
āCāmon, suns about to set. How about a walk by the Black Lake? Or we can raid the kitchens for some treacle tarts?ā Fred suggests.
āTake a break,ā He looks at you earnestly, āFor me?ā
Your eyes soften and any defenses you built instantly perished. If you had the Fred Weasley begging for you like this, then who were you to deny him. N.E.W.T.s would simply have to wait another day.
āAlright, you win Weasley. I better not regret this.ā
His grin widens, āI wonāt disappoint.ā
Finally some good food ššš
cw: angst, mentions of death, mentions of old age
Alucard who watches reader grow old.
Imagine: You met Alucard when you were both young, two lost souls forming a connection of trust and love. You've been together for what felt like ages now, growing and learning as you traverse the passage of time together. Except as you steadily ageāhair growing whiter, wrinkles slowly appearing in places they never were, joints beginning to ache and slow you downāAlucard never does. Not physically at least.
Mentally the toll of living has already taken root, shifting his thinking from immature thoughts he once had when he was younger. Still, his appearance more or less remains the same. No wrinkles, no aching joints. He moves just as well as he did thirty years ago. Instead he's met with the realization that while he doesn't age, courtesy of his father's vampire nature, he's instead forced to watch the one person he loves grow old and wither away beside him.
You know it dampens his spirit. There are days where he will plan activities for the two of you, hiking in the woods and having a picnic like the two of you used to do, except your body doesn't work as it used to. You're forced to take frequent breaks from aching joints and weak muscles while he stands there with his hands holding you up. It's during times like that, that you see the heartbreak settle deep into his eyes even as he gives you a gentle smile.
Still, he doesn't leave you. You are his person and he refuses to leave you even as the years rush by and leave your lungs wheezing with every breath you take. Eventually you are bed bound, body too weak to allow you a proper life anymore. You're gray and wrinkled, deep smile lines proving the happy life you lived with the man you loved.
One evening after a nice dinner you two wish each other a goodnight and fall asleep together, his arms curled around you even still.
In the morning he wakes up to find a cold body beside his, a small content smile frozen onto your face.
He thinks that's the moment his heart truly breaks.
Are you becoming what you've always hated?
Isle of Dogs / Game of Thrones / Painting by Jenn Mazza / Unknown / Ancestral Memory by Hari Alluri / Unknown / Venetta Octavia / Emma Tranter / Unknown / Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo / @ machineryangel
Fountain Of Axtaliah - KSJ || Part Two ||
Summary:YouāreĀ a hacker, and aĀ damnĀ goodĀ oneĀ ---Ā if you do say so yourself.Ā A legend in underground forums,Ā the kind of person corporateĀ sharks pretendĀ donātĀ exist. Your jobĀ isĀ simple:Ā hack into the database of some spoiled CEO, dig up whatever dirt you could find and cash out. Easy money.Ā
Until itāsĀ not that simple.Ā
Genre:SY-FY, cyber-punkish, strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, a bit of espionage, fake dating, angst, action, fluff.
Word count:(Part two) 12.1k
Warnings:mature language, dark dystopian/post-apocalyptic themes (including descriptions of environmental and societal collapse), implied violence, and brief mentions of parental neglect and widespread criminality. Reader discretion is advised. Attempted murder and wounds x2, swearing. cursing, making out but nothing too serious eheh. a lot of meme references and meta humour.
notes:This continues directly from part one, so if you happen to stumble upon this one first, first part is Here! :)
āWhat part ofĀ āIĀ donātĀ want Jimin involvedāĀ canāt you get through your thick skull?āĀ
Seokjin stares at you patiently,Ā youāreĀ starting toĀ detestĀ that look.Ā ItāsĀ the gaze of someone convinced of his superior logic, calmly waiting for the irrational person---which isĀ you---to catch up. Within the past fifteen minutes of the explanation of his āplanā,Ā youādĀ gotten up and walked from the couch to the fireplace to stand, arms crossed tightly over your chest.Ā
āHeādĀ barelyĀ be involved,ā Seokjin says, as though that fixed the matter.Ā
His plan is... something, you suppose.Ā ItāsĀ audacious, dangerous, andĀ almost certainlyĀ brilliant in its complexity.Ā
The Century Gala is one of theĀ biggestĀ events of the year.Ā ItāsĀ hosted byĀ VionixĀ industries as a charity, as well as a show of pompous flare, drawing in the most influential figures in finance, technology, and media. It would be theĀ high profileĀ eventĀ TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ had planned his demise around. AnyĀ smartĀ person would find a way toĀ notĀ attend, but Seokjin is prepared to be front andĀ center.Ā
As the CEO ofĀ Vionix, he has no choice but to attend, and, you admit, it would be strange if heĀ doesnāt.Ā HeāsĀ always attended, despite himself, andĀ heāsĀ also the keynote speaker---the mandatory closer to the eveningās proceedings.Ā
He intends to use this platform, the very spot where his enemies expect to see him fall, as hisĀ launchpadĀ for revenge.Ā
The first step, he explained, had already been set in motion: an official press release was being drafted to announce that he would be using the Galaās keynote speech to unveil the biggest technological advancementĀ VionixĀ has seen in a decade---a promise so huge it would ensure every high-ranking board member, investor, and, most importantly,Ā TaejinĀ andĀ Doyun, would be present and focused on the stage.Ā
You are his next strategic move. Since the video hasĀ establishedĀ you as his reckless lover, you will attend as his official, public plus-one. He needs you close for two reasons: firstly, as an immediate distraction; secondly, because he needs your skills far more than he needs you batting your eyelashes at the elites.Ā Ā
He plans to infiltrate the Gala using your friends and his. Namjoon and Yoongi would be physically inside, disguised as high-endĀ waitstaff. This is the only way to get them into the building without violating the stringent security protocols in place for guests. Your job is data retrieval: while Yoongi hacks the main security feed from the inside to provide a crucial blind spot, you will be tasked with getting past his own security systems---the ones he uses to protect the base codes and data ofĀ Axtaliah---and downloading the necessary information. Meanwhile, Namjoonās job would be to secure the physical prototype of the technology, safely smuggling it out amidst the chaos.Ā
And Jimin? Jimin will be positioned outside the perimeter. With his command over drone systems and electronics, he will handle the aerial surveillance. Operating an array of at least fifty drones at once to watch the exterior and keep an eye out for the actual assassin, who Seokjin believes will use the chaos of the speech as a coverĀ to shoot theirĀ shot,Ā so to speak.Ā Ā
āJimin will be outside,ā Seokjin reiterates, sensing your tension. āHeādĀ manage remote surveillance and air traffic control. HeĀ wonātĀ be in danger, andĀ heāsĀ the only person who can handle that many units simultaneously without a high-level server.āĀ
How does he even know that?! It makes you wonder just how much two strangers can talk about in the span of five minutes.Ā Ā
āAnd what do you do?ā you challenge. āYou give a speech and wait for the bullet?āĀ
Seokjin smiles, a dangerous, cold expression thatĀ doesnātĀ reach his eyes. āI will be giving the speech, yes. But instead of unveilingĀ Axtaliah, I will be unveiling every single log, communication, and recorded transaction proving thatĀ TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ areĀ attemptingĀ corporate espionage and murder.āĀ
You press your fingers against your eyes, āAnd what about Namjoon and Yoongi? Mind you, I just used my favour with him,Ā thereāsĀ no guaranteeĀ heādĀ stick his neck out for you.āĀ
āNo, but he would forĀ you,Ā thatāsĀ all I need. And youĀ donātĀ have you worry about Namjoon.āĀ Ā
āDid Jimin happen to tell you whatās in myĀ underwearĀ drawer, too?āĀ YouāreĀ gonnaĀ killĀ him. Really, when you see him,Ā youāreĀ gonna wrap your hands around his throat and strangle him blue.Ā Ā
You feel likeĀ youāreĀ stuck in a movie plot. AĀ bad espionage movie where the director had the right idea but not the budget to pull it off. What is this?!Ā James Bond?! Going undercover, sneaking into fancy galas, foiling master plans. The only thingās missing is the exact moment for Seokjin to announce his name to a bad guy.Ā Ā
The gala is the comingĀ Saturday.Ā YouāreĀ no Charlieās Angel;Ā this could go wrong so quickly.Ā You justĀ have toĀ figure out how to act amongst high society within a couple of days. But you suppose, all youĀ have toĀ do, is smile and nod and be on Seokjinās arm.Ā ShouldnātĀ be too hard.Ā Ā
āYou worry too much.ā Seokjin says flippantly, waving his hand, and effectively fanning the fires of your irritation. āItāll be fine.āĀ Ā
āHave you even spoken to Namjoon about this?ā You press, brows furrowed, and when heĀ doesnātĀ answer, you sigh, āListen. ThisĀ isnātĀ some spy movie, or a fantasy where everything would go your way just becauseĀ youāreĀ Kim Seokjin. Your life is in danger, andĀ ours will be as well no matter how well you plan this. Consider people other than yourself.āĀ Ā
He looks at you then, and from his spot on the couch you could see thatĀ heāsĀ contemplatingĀ something,Ā but youĀ canātĀ tell what. Something crosses his face as his brows furrow and his mouth opens and closes. He takes a breath,Ā and then with aĀ tone that sounds likeĀ heāsĀ holding something back he says:Ā Ā
āDonāt you thinkĀ IāveĀ been considerate enough?Ā IāveĀ sacrificedĀ everythingĀ to have the misfortune of being in this situation.āĀ He scowls at you, but, like he catchesĀ himself, turns his face away,Ā staring at the wall,Ā āIāveĀ spent my life buildingĀ Axtaliah, putting everything, including my dignity, and everything my family has ever stood for, under the chopping board to achieve it.Ā ItāsĀ not an easy thing to walk in there knowing whatĀ IāmĀ asking of you and the others. IĀ know.āĀ Ā
His hand bunches the material of his pants and then releases. āIāmĀ sorry.Ā ItāsĀ a selfish thingĀ to ask of you.Ā IāmĀ sorry for bringing Jimin into it whenĀ youādĀ asked me not to.Ā I...ā He looks down at his hand,Ā frustration on his brow, āI used to wonder if everything I was doing had aĀ point...if in the end it would be worth something.Ā If humanity would see value in something that never ends.āĀ
He smilesĀ a strange smile; itĀ doesnātĀ reach his eyes andĀ itāsĀ sad. āI wonder if Hoseok was right in doing what he did. Life is meant to be unpredictable. We live, suffer a bit, and die.Ā Lifeās meaning is within that, the unpredictability, the struggle, the good and bad.Ā AxtaliahĀ would take that away. LifeĀ wouldnātĀ beĀ worth living if in the end you can just...start over without a care.āĀ Ā
He looks at you again, and the tear thatĀ rolls down his cheek catches the overhead lights.Ā ItāsĀ a crystalline thingĀ thatāsĀ slow inĀ itsĀ decent, dangling off the curve of his chin before plummeting to the fabric of his pants.Ā Ā
āI spent my childhood with my father ensuring that I would continue his work. And I spent every second of my adult life making sure it never fails.Ā AxtaliahĀ is my life. Now...IĀ donātĀ know what to do with it. The prospect of it is damning enough. A target on my back because the idea of it is too great.āĀ More tears are falling in earnest, and you make your way to him, irritation forgotten.Ā His eyes track your movement untilĀ youāreĀ standing in front of him.Ā Ā
His eyes, already reddening, and swimming in tears, looks up at you.Ā Ā He looks at war with himself,Ā unsure on whatĀ heāsĀ actually doing.Ā Ā
LifeĀ is what makesĀ life worth living. Something likeĀ AxtaliahĀ can shatterĀ the very core of what living means. On one hand, if he so wished it, Seokjin could become a god. The creator of the worldās greatest invention, something no manĀ couldāveĀ ever done;Ā achieveĀ immortality.Ā Watch everyone fall into a mad scramble for just a taste of it,Ā creating a permanent, untouchable elite who would hoard the backup servers like ancientĀ artifacts.Ā
ImmortalityĀ isnātĀ a gift;Ā itāsĀ the ultimate market disparity, ensuring that the poor suffer forever while the rich simply reset. The potential forĀ VionixĀ to hold the keys to eternal life would make them, and Seokjin, a literal economic and physical deity, controlling every single revival.Ā
ItāsĀ too much power.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ say any of this. Instead, you slide onto the couch next to him and pull him carefully against your shoulder.Ā ItāsĀ seemĀ to come easier this time, reaching for him before heĀ or you have the chance to brush it away.Ā Ā
He folds into the hug, his head heavy against your neck, and the sudden, warm wetness of his tears soaks into the grey fabric of your tee-shirt. He lets out a choked, ragged sound that vibrates through your chest, finally letting go of the composureĀ heādĀ maintainedĀ since he escaped the club. He cries hard for a few long, silent seconds, his good arm coming up tentatively to grip the fabric of your shirt near your hip.Ā
When the heavy sobs finally subside, he pulls back, wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, utterly ashamed. His face is swollen and blotchy, but the panic in his eyes has dimmed.Ā
He looks at you, his voice barely a whisper, broken and unsure. āIĀ donātĀ know what to do. Should... should I destroy it?āĀ
You let out a long, quiet sigh, your heart aching slightly for the impossible positionĀ heāsĀ in. You cup the side of his cheek gently. āIĀ canātĀ answer that for you. IĀ canātĀ tell you whether to be a god or a martyr.āĀ
You give him a gentle push back toward the cushions.Ā Despite your inhibition s,Ā and your general distaste of having to be sucked in any deeper than you already are, you really have no choice but to help him.Ā YouāreĀ balls deep anyway.Ā If you abandon him now,Ā you might as well tell him to go die.Ā Ā
YouĀ heaveĀ a long-suffering sigh.Ā YouādĀ truly put yourself on shit street in a white dress accepting that client request.Ā Ā
āIāllĀ help. Jimin will unfortunately follow, so you have us both. Just...āĀ He sniffles loudly and looks away, making you lean a bit forward to catch his gaze, āJust make sure you know what your plan is before the gala.āĀ Ā
Wiping at his red nose, Seokjin nods, āOkay...thank you.āĀ Ā
āAnd stop crying, youāre makingĀ my chest hurt.āĀ Ā
Seokjin gives a watery laugh, nudging your shoulder with his, āGuess youāre not half bad at comforting.āĀ Ā
āDonātĀ make me do it again. It was uncomfortable.āĀ Ā
The rest of the day passes in a blur. You spend aĀ someĀ timeĀ establishingĀ a secureĀ commsĀ channel from Seokjinās home security servers, ensuring that any outgoing and incoming calls and correspondence areĀ absolutely private.Ā
The video andĀ article release had successfully distracted the media, with everyone buzzing and wondering mostly aboutĀ what Seokjinās big reveal would be.Ā Ā
After he calms down, Seokjin calls Namjoon to relay his plan and set up a time for him to arrive. Jimin, who is told the plan before you, takes it upon himself---begrudgingly---to call Yoongi so youĀ donātĀ have to. Then, Jimin arrives later in the day, in a nondescript van, bringing half his workshop with him.Ā
You half expectedĀ him to bring Yoongi, butĀ heāsĀ halfway across the country,Ā actuallyĀ working, andĀ wouldĀ communicate throughĀ Holo.Ā
Jimin hugs you tightly, smelling like that god awful cologne, but familiar. Over your shoulder he eyes Seokjin up and down and pulls away to squint at you.Ā
He looks between you both forĀ a short momentĀ and then, āDid you twoĀ fuck?āĀ Ā Ā
YouĀ just about chokeĀ on air,Ā flusteredĀ and a little mortifiedĀ by his lack of tact.Ā Ā
He is staring at the marks on your neck with his eyebrows lost in his hair and the most devilish smileĀ youāveĀ ever seenĀ growing on his mouth.Ā
āNo!ā you hiss, lunging to smack his arm, the absurdity of the question snapping your fragile composure. āIt was a prop for theĀ video!āĀ Ā Ā
āVideo, huh?ā Jimin smirks. He makes it sound like somethingĀ elseĀ entirely and you wish the floor would open and swallow you. Maybe eject you into a void where you could never return.Ā āI thought you were gonna remain celibate forever.āĀ
āItāsĀ onĀ Aura.Ā ItāsĀ literally everywhere!āĀ
If Jiminās eyebrows could go any higher,Ā theyādĀ crawl right off his face. His smile only grows, until heĀ canātĀ hold his laugh anymore. āHowĀ scandalous!āĀ Ā
āIāll fucking hit you!āĀ Jimin successfully rage baited you into bickeringĀ like a child with him. Well, you were doing most of the bickering, Jimin was too busy trying to catch his breath from laughing.Ā Ā
Seokjin simply standing there watching the exchange and not denying anything only made it worse; Jimin refused to believe a word you said.Ā Ā
By Tuesday, there was some kind of routineĀ established. Seokjin, unsurprisingly, hadĀ anotherĀ garageĀ ---again,Ā nothingĀ humbleĀ about that---, which he allowed Jimin to use as his makeshift workshop.Ā HeāsĀ spent more time in there than with you, which is to be expected, if heĀ has toĀ work with fifty or so drones, andĀ on topĀ of it design a neuro-link device toĀ operateĀ all of them at once. He and Seokjin made surprisingly good friends, oddly enough, butĀ youādĀ no time to wonder about their budding buddy-ness, keeping yourself busy looking over floorplans and emergency exitsĀ of theĀ VionixĀ building.Ā Ā
Seokjin,Ā operatingĀ on the logic that any movement outside the house compromises the illusion of the āreckless loverā,Ā has seven garment bags delivered to the master bedroom on Tuesday evening via a private, automated delivery. You find the pile of silks, sequins, and structural satin laid out on the bed. You run your hands over the materials with slightĀ irritation bubbling up.Ā
You spend twenty minutes arguing with him over the redundancy of the expense, reminding him that you have your own funds, but his logic---āThis way, the clothes are untraceable to you, let me handle it.ā---isĀ frustratingly sound.Ā You reluctantly surrender to a stunning,Ā emerald greenĀ gown.Ā
Yoongi is the easiest to integrate. Securely connected through a customizedĀ HolowatchĀ protocol youĀ establish, heĀ requiresĀ no physical presence. A brief confirmation of the plan and a simple promise of an expensive dinner, paid for by Seokjin, secures his commitment to hack the Galaās main security feed.Ā He would arrive later in the week,Ā heādĀ said, wheneverĀ heāsĀ done wrapping up his work.Ā Ā
The good doctor arrives late Wednesday afternoon, bringing with him a sense of calm. Though, he seemsĀ oddlyĀ excited, rambling about a spy bookĀ heādĀ read ages ago like a kid on Christmas morning. YouĀ didnātĀ have the heart to remind him that, well, none of you are spies. You got one CEO with a death warrant, an engineer with no formal training in the eyes of the law, an off-grid recluse,Ā a doctor who probably shouldnāt be involving himself in any of this,Ā andĀ you, a hacker whoāsĀ ---frankly---in way over your head;Ā Team Get Down Mr. President.Ā
...YouāllĀ work on that.Ā Ā
Anyway!Ā ItāsĀ not very promising,Ā considering all the factors,Ā prosĀ and cons. But, at least, you have some faith in yourselves enough to pull this off and save a life, too... Hopefully.Ā
By Thursday, the entire operation is mapped out on holographic displays: the Gala floor plan, the perimeter coverage for Jiminās drone swarm, Yoongiās ingressĀ pointsĀ into the security grid, and the extraction path for Namjoon. Every step, from the moment Seokjin walks onto the stage to the moment the log files are dumped, is synchronized.Ā Ā
By Friday night, the place is buzzing withĀ containedĀ tension. Yoongi isĀ stillĀ off-grid but will arrive tomorrowĀ ---much to Jiminās chagrin---Namjoon is reviewing floor plans with Seokjin, and the dress hang pressed and perfect on the outside of your wardrobe. The silence from the outside world feels heavier than any noise.Ā ItāsĀ about eight, Jimin cooked something earlier so that you all can eat something thatĀ wasnātĀ instant ramen. Seokjin helped, now being able to hold something steady in his left hand without too much troubleĀ and getting a wearyĀ āOKā from Namjoon.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ lyingĀ in bed with the lights off, talking quietly with Jimin.Ā HeāsĀ sprawled on the duvet, finally finished with his complex drone calibrations for the night.Ā Ā
āDāyouĀ remember when we were fifteen and had a fortune bot read our palms? It saidĀ youādĀ marry a rich man.āĀ
You snort, kicking his leg gently from where it sticks out from the covers. āIĀ amĀ a rich man. And that thing was aĀ scam. We lost twentyĀ bucksĀ fooling around on that.āĀ Ā Ā
āFair. ButĀ IāveĀ been here for three days. If IĀ didnātĀ know any better,Ā IādĀ think you two were together.ā He laughs, the sound soft in the dark.Ā āYouĀ havenātĀ dated since...Ā Ā YoongiĀ ...ā He says Yoongiās name with a scowlĀ you can hear. Turning onto his side, he props his head on a fist to look at you. āItāsĀ about time you get out there.Ā CanātĀ stick with me forever,Ā youāllĀ scare away the ladies when we go out.āĀ
YouĀ bothĀ share a laugh, cackling way too loudly for the hour.Ā Ā āYouāreĀ just scaredĀ theyādĀ like me more.Ā IāmĀ a delight to be around.āĀ Ā Ā
Jimin chuckles softly, āYou know...Ā youāreĀ really sticking with this guy. YouĀ donātĀ put your head on a block for anyone.āĀ Ā Ā
āI do it for you. All theĀ time, actually.āĀ Ā Ā
āIāmĀ different,Ā stop changingĀ the subject.ā He says softly, poking your side with a finger. āYou guys bonded over the weekend or what?ā Then, he leans in to whisper likeĀ heāsĀ telling you the greatest secret he has, āDid you guys fuck for real?āĀ Ā Ā
You smack a hand over his mouth. āStopĀ saying that! No, weĀ didnāt!āĀ Ā Ā
You can feel his smile against your hand, and his muffled laugh. After a moment, you pull your hand away, and Jiminās eyes gleam in the moonlight coming through the window.Ā Ā Ā āSure, sure. You two act like you did. You should see the way he looks at you. All lovey-dovey with hearts in his eyes like you put the moon in the sky.āĀ Ā
Ā āYouāre within strangling distance.āĀ
āYouāre soĀ violent.ā He rolls away from you, star-fishing himself and taking up space worth at least two and a half people.Ā For a momentĀ heāsĀ quiet, āThis is likeĀ your biggest job ever...āĀ Ā
āI think I might retire after this. Move to the tropical districts and live disconnected.āĀ Ā
āYouāll get boredĀ in three days.āĀ Ā
āYouāre probably right about that.ā You snort, sighing loudly into the quiet air.Ā D-day is coming, andĀ youāreĀ not sure if it would be aĀ fuckingĀ good day.Ā You really should stop being so pessimistic, putting thoughts into the universe and all that. The plan is solid, justĀ gottaĀ get through everything else.Ā Ā
Easy-peasy!Ā Ā
...Never mind that!Ā Ā
You sit on the large bathroom counter, bare feet dangling.Ā ItāsĀ frankly a mess in here. One half of the counter, the other side of the sink, is fully coveredĀ with more make up things thanĀ youāveĀ seen in your life.Ā Ā
Yoongi, the only personĀ whoādĀ be coming from outside bought everything that you couldĀ possibly needĀ on his way.Ā WhenĀ heādĀ arrived, you felt like a PokĆ©mon trainer watching a wild PokĆ©mon approach when Jimin saw him. Fortunately,Ā theirĀ interaction was fine. Funny how Jimin took the breakup between you two a lot harder than you had, and still very clearly held a grudge.Ā Ā
It was a mutual separation that you and Yoongi agreed was best.Ā Though afterwardsĀ youādĀ spent a long time trying to figure out if itĀ wasĀ yourĀ doing entirely. Either way, you were better off as friends and still are.Ā Ā
The gala is three hours away, and youĀ have toĀ get ready before everyone else because Jimin, Namjoon and YoongiĀ have toĀ be there before you and Seokjin.Ā Ā
YouādĀ stared dauntingly at the spread of high-end make-up products, not knowing where to start. Luckily for you, Jimin had a knack for these things, andĀ apparently knowsĀ how toĀ dress your face for a gala.Ā Ā
You had to sit still for him, letting him work while wondering where theĀ fuckĀ he learned to do all of this.Ā YouāreĀ in no position to complainĀ or question, really. YouĀ donātĀ know shit about make up andĀ donātĀ do much with yourself besides some eyeliner and mascaraĀ and lip gloss ifĀ youāreĀ feeling spicy.Ā
āI was bored.āĀ HeādĀ said,Ā having you look upĀ to apply something.Ā āYouTube is a wonderful place.āĀ
āYouāreĀ kidding.ā YouĀ almost groan, actually, forĀ once, not trusting him.Ā Ā
He laughs softly, like a tinkling bell, āRelax. You look fine. LikeĀ someone who dates to ruin lives.āĀ Ā
By the timeĀ heāsĀ done, andĀ youāveĀ hopped off the counter, Jimin whisks himself away to oversee the transportation of his precious drones.Ā Ā
You stare at yourself in the mirror under the white,Ā fluorescent lightening, turning this way and that.Ā Ā
Your face looks like a work of art, which is saying something, considering your natural state is usually ātired and caffeinated.ā Jimin highlighted your eyes with deep emerald and smoky brown tones that perfectly match the ridiculous dress, pulling focus and making your gaze look sharp and lethal. The rest of the makeup is clean, defined, and expensive-lookingāexactly the persona Seokjin needs you to project. You look like the kind of woman whoĀ doesnātĀ carry cash because she owns the bank.Ā
You slip on a simple black robe you and head downstairs to where the final preparations are underway.Ā YouĀ donātĀ have to get dressed for another hour.Ā Ā
The living room looks like an active film set. Namjoon and Yoongi are already changed, dressed identically in crisp, black wait staff uniformsāthe kind with stiff collars and a ridiculous number of buttons. They look less like employees and more like high-end, heavily armed valets. Jimin, in simple black tactical wear that makes him look ready to climb a chimney, is busy issuing the final pieces of hardware.Ā
He approaches Yoongi first, holding a tiny, almost invisible earpiece.Ā You can barely see it even as he holds it up between his thumb and index finger.Ā Ā
āThis goes in your ear.ā He says, dropping the small device into Yoongiās open palm.Ā āChannel 8.Ā TheyāreĀ alreadyĀ syncedĀ to your watches.āĀ Ā
āImpressive.āĀ YoongiĀ whistles lowly,Ā and Jimin side eyes him as he gives earpieces to you and Namjoon.Ā Ā
āYes, some of us are actually skilled.ā Jimin quips,Ā handing you two because Seokjin wasĀ nowhereĀ in sight.Ā
Namjoon looks between theĀ both of themĀ and then at you, puzzled.Ā
You know Jimin is almostĀ vibratingĀ having to spendĀ whatāsĀ going to a be long drive into the city breathing the same air as Yoongi. You can only shake your head.Ā Ā
Yoongi and Jimin continue to bicker,Ā leaving Namjoon to play mediator. Poor guyĀ doesnātĀ know whatĀ heāsĀ getting between.Ā Ā
ItĀ wasnātĀ long after they left, becauseĀ after getting off the old road and into the city, theyĀ have toĀ do a transfer to get onto theĀ automated roads.Ā Ā
The house feels a little empty as the garage door closes behind the van. And you wonder back towards the living room and thenĀ to your room to get changed.Ā
YouādĀ have to leave soon, too, if you want to get off the road and make it to the gala in a reasonable time.Ā Ā
You re-enter your room and strip off the robe,Ā cold airĀ hitting your skin for a brief, bracing moment. The dress waits, hanging near the wardrobe. It is a stunning, expensive, and completely impractical piece of tailoring: a sweeping emerald green silk with a deep, asymmetrical neckline and a high slit that allows for necessary movement (a critical detail for someone who might have to run or fight, though you try not to dwell on that). TheĀ colourĀ is deep and rich, complementing the smoky shadow work Jimin applied earlier.Ā ItāsĀ the kind of dress that announces you have money, power, andĀ absolutely noĀ good sense.Ā
YouĀ manoeuvreĀ into it carefully. It fits perfectly, flowing around you like liquid.Ā TheĀ shoes are thankfully heels you can manage, you hardly think breaking your neck before everythingās started would be good.Ā You are now the targetās accessory, a piece of camouflage designed to distract. You feel incredibly exposed, yet strangely formidable.Ā Might as well enjoy it.Ā Ā
Click-clacking your way up the stairs, you move from your room to Seokjinās. When you knock and get the okay to enter, you push the door open to find Seokjin almost ready.Ā Ā
HeāsĀ mostly dressed inĀ aĀ flawless black tuxedo, the stark white of his dress shirt contrasting sharply with his hair. He looks every inch theĀ VionixĀ CEO, but his composure is flawed. He is holding his tieāa simple black silk oneāin his right hand, his left arm still uselessly supported by the sling hidden beneath hisĀ tuxĀ jacket. HeĀ attemptsĀ to loop the tie, sighing in frustration as the silk slips against the sling and his right hand proves clumsy for the intricate knot.Ā
You walk over to him, and without a word, take theĀ tie from his lax fingers.Ā He turns towards you, andĀ thereāsĀ a hitchĀ in his breath youĀ donātĀ miss.Ā Ā
You easily loop the silk under the collar of his shirt,Ā knotting the fabric securely at his neckĀ before smoothening it down. āThere.āĀ Ā
āThank you.ā SeokjinĀ murmursĀ softly, and then, equally as soft, āYou look beautiful.āĀ Ā
You pretend to still be busy with his tie,Ā making sure it sitsĀ just right,Ā and ignore the heat rising to your face.Ā You look up at him briefly, andĀ thereāsĀ that very look Jimin was telling you about.Ā Ā
āThanks.ā You say, looking back at his tie, which was more than fine now,Ā and you shouldĀ probably stopĀ fiddling with it. You pull your hands away, āYou donāt look too bad yourself...āĀ Ā
Seokjin smiles, all dazzling under the fluorescent lighting.Ā You smile back andĀ he brushes past you, āYou should wear these.ā He says, going over to one corner of his room out of your sight.Ā Ā
Walking out,Ā you realise that aĀ portionĀ of the wall opened into a walk-in closet. Curious, you follow behind him, and into the spaceĀ thatāsĀ filled with everythingĀ youādĀ expect someone like him to own.Ā Designer clothes, watches and rings in glass cases, an entire wall of shoes. Who needs so many?!Ā Ā
He pops up fromĀ a corner with a velvetĀ jewellery box, āAre you ears pierced?āĀ Ā
āYeah, I got them pierced years ago. Jimin and I stood in the cold andĀ stuck pins in our ears.āĀ
Seokjin watches you, confused,Ā concernedĀ and horrified all at once. āYou know there areĀ saferĀ ways to do that...right?āĀ Ā
You shrug, āYeah well...safer wasnāt an option for us back then...ā then you point, āwhatāsĀ in the box?āĀ Ā
He opens the box to reveal a set of gold, teardrop diamond earrings, and a matching necklace.Ā They catch the warm overhead lights, glittering against theĀ diamonds.Ā Ā
āOh...ā you look from the box to him,Ā andĀ thereāsĀ thatĀ lookĀ inĀ his eyes again.Ā āTheyāre beautiful.āĀ Ā
āIād help you with the necklace, but...āĀ UnderĀ the suit jacket,Ā his sling shifts.Ā You smile, taking the necklace and putting it on yourself. It rests cold, theĀ teardrop diamond, an inch or so under the hollow of your throat. And then the earringsĀ go in, and Seokjinās gaze is impossibly soft as he regards you.Ā āThey were my motherās.āĀ Ā
āOh!ā You say, looking up at him quickly and then away.Ā Your mind races with the implications of this moment, trying to analyse everything in a neatĀ little box, even though now isĀ probably notĀ the time. You both would be late if you just stood around.Ā Ā
Seokjin puts the box on a random shelf and then turns to grab a beigeĀ knee length trench coat. He folds it over his arm, still looking at you like that, andĀ youāveĀ said nothing since a minute ago,Ā but itĀ isnātĀ awkward. HeĀ seemed to expectĀ your silence and flounderingĀ and chuckles again, closer now, his hand comes up to brush against where the necklace rests.Ā Ā
āWe should get going.ā YouĀ say lowly, head tilting back to catch his gaze.Ā
Seokjin nods,Ā āYes, we should.āĀ He murmurs, breath ghosting alongĀ your lips, āWeāll be late.āĀ Ā
He takes a step closer, right hand cuppingĀ your jaw. His thumb brushes against your cheek, āIām sure we can spare a minute...āĀ Ā
Seokjinās chuckle is breathy, leaning down, and then, your watch beeps loudly in the quiet.Ā It vibrates against your wrist,Ā and you bring it up between the both of you.Ā Ā
[InspĀ Gadget]:Ā WeāreĀ on theĀ digital now.Ā WeādĀ be atĀ VionixĀ in 45.Ā Ā
Seokjin sighs,Ā brieflyĀ resting his forehead against yours before he pulls away.Ā Ā
āWe better get going.āĀ Ā
You really hate these sleek automated cars. Beetle-like andĀ flashy, even as you sit uncomfortably inside it---they come limousine-shaped, too!---sipping at a glass of whatever Seokjin had given you to quell your nerves.Ā ItāsĀ bubbly,Ā probably champagne.Ā
YouāreĀ in the upscale part of the city. AllĀ high-risesĀ and littering monuments of peopleās ambitions,Ā businesses, malls, clubs; you name it.Ā Everything here is flashing lights, and even though itĀ doesnātĀ dazzle your eye,Ā itāsĀ quite blinding.Ā LuckilyĀ thisĀ stupidĀ car has tinted windows.Ā Ā
YouādĀ developed a sudden nervousness after getting off the back roads and into the car Seokjin had hired for the evening.Ā You suppose the fish out of water-ness is finally catching up to you. This was supposed to be easy! You feel like a stick in a bowl of glass vials! Perhaps ifĀ youādĀ indulged in the lavish lifestyle your money could certainly afford,Ā youādĀ be better off doing this.Ā Ā
You thought about how many people would be there, staring, scrutinizing, making up whatever scenario their tiny heads can conjure. You wonder if someone would look tooĀ closelyĀ and realise that you and Seokjin are faking it and areĀ definitely notĀ here to enjoy the gala.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ not cut out for this fake espionage, fake dating plotline!Ā What happened to the superhero awakeningĀ bit you were worried about before?Ā Oh God, is this your canon event? You stillĀ donātĀ know any Uncle Benās for that to work out.Ā Ā
Seokjinās hand squeezes your knee.Ā Ā
āI can hear you thinking.ā He says, drawing his eyes away from the passing scenery ofĀ glittered billboards and passers-by. He scans your features with a worried brow, tilting his head towards you, āitāll be fine, thereās nothing to worry about.āĀ
You offer a smile you hope isĀ convincing, turning your head to look back out the window. You can see theĀ VionixĀ building from here, as the car turns intoĀ a long lineĀ of identicalĀ cars waiting to reach the entrance.Ā Ā
At least you have a moment to calm down, or combust, whichever comes first.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ hyper-aware of Seokjinās hand still on your knee, his thumb shifting back and forthĀ along the smooth fabric. But a glance at his face tells you heĀ isnātĀ half as conscious of it.Ā HeāsĀ staring out the window on his left, face serious. You spot the bunchingĀ muscle of his jaw and nudge his hand.Ā Ā
āAre you alright?āĀ Ā
Seokjin sighs before he answers, leaning forward to squint through the front of the car,Ā probably assessingĀ how much longer it would be.Ā Ā
āYes, Iām fine.āĀ Ā
You raise a brow,Ā staring at him pointedly.Ā Ā
He glances at you, does a doubleĀ takeĀ and then smiles sheepishly, āReally.Ā IāmĀ fine.āĀ Ā
He catches your hand;Ā heatĀ rises upĀ your neck when he brushes hisĀ lips against your knuckles. He looks down at your hand with a slight frown, āI shouldāve given you a ring.āĀ Ā
You sputter through your next sip of champagne,Ā setting the glass down in the secure holder. āPretending to be your girlfriend is far enough, no?āĀ
āPeople wear rings for loads of reasons. You think too much.ā He says with a laugh, āYour hands are bare, thatās all.āĀ Ā
He quiets for a moment, eyes drawn towards the window again.Ā āIām thinking of destroying it...Axtaliah.ā He says softly, looking down at your hand in his, āPerhaps... itās not such a grand idea...āĀ
ThereāsĀ aĀ tonĀ of media to support this.Ā Immortality, even the prospect of it is never a good thing. But Seokjin looks at war with himself again, and you know how difficult of a decision it must be.Ā Ā
Before you can say anything more, the car slows to a stop. Through the tinted windows, you can see theĀ red carpet, the elites and their guests walking along itĀ andĀ the flashing cameras.Ā
A uniformed attendant opens the car door. The noise is instantaneous and deafening---a physical wall of sound made of shouting names, camera shutters, and a thousand tiny whispers.Ā
Seokjin is out first. He isĀ immediatelyĀ recognized, and the lights intensify, blinding even through the brief protection of his body. He turns, offering his right hand.Ā
You take it, stepping out onto the thick, pristine red carpet.Ā Ā
You are instantly exposed. Every eye is on the disgraced CEO and the unknown woman inĀ emerald green.Ā
Seokjin, now fully in his public persona, is a rock. HeĀ immediatelyĀ adopts the necessary posture, keeping his arm securelyĀ aroundĀ yours, guiding you forward. He forces a smile for the crowd---a practiced, charming expression thatĀ doesnātĀ quite reach his eyes.Ā
He stops at a designated marker, pullingĀ you gently, positioning you on his right side so he can easily put his arm around your waist.Ā
The cameras are relentless. You stare straight ahead, your smile feeling wooden, trying to channel bored, but mostly achieving terrified,Ā youāreĀ sure.Ā You feel the diamonds on your ears and throat burning with the reflectedĀ light.Ā
The shouts are a thick, unintelligible soup, but you can hear the aggression in their toneĀ and demands for attention.Ā
You have absolutely no clue how people could get used to this sort of thing. These damn paparazzi and journalists are relentless.Ā Ā
Seokjin leans down, his cheek brushing your temple. HeĀ doesnātĀ move his mouth much, his voice a low, steady murmur against your ear, āRelax.Ā Focus on me.āĀ
YouĀ glance up at him with a faint smile, and the cameras eat it upĀ the flashing lights grow even more frantic, if possible.Ā The moment seems to stretch on forever, before Seokjin leads you away, downĀ whatāsĀ left of the carpetĀ and into theĀ VionixĀ building.Ā Ā
āGottaĀ say, IāmĀ kindaĀ jealous.ā Yoongiās voiceĀ crackles into your ear, making you jump. You try to play it off just in case anyone aroundĀ you noticed. āYou two look nice.āĀ Ā
āI do try, thank you.ā Seokjin says his voice a lot louder in one ear asĀ heāsĀ standing right next to you.Ā YoongiĀ probably hasĀ eyes on the live feed from his watch.Ā
āDonāt you haveĀ food to serve, Min?ā Jiminās unimpressed voice filters in next. You could practically hear Yoongiās eye rollĀ beforeĀ thereāsĀ an almost silent clock and they both go quiet.Ā Ā
The inside of theĀ VionixĀ building is nothing short of grand. AndĀ youādĀ expect nothing less. You step into a monument to corporate power and technological ego. The lobby is a cathedral of modern architecture: an echoing, cavernous space where the temperature is precisely regulated and the lighting is a cool, sterile white. The floor is polished black stone, reflecting the impossibly high ceiling, and the walls are vast, seamless displaysĀ showcasingĀ shimmering, silent holograms of complex automated systems. You wonder if the person that designed this place also designed Seokjinās house.Ā
A sleek, uniformed usherĀ immediatelyĀ directs you and Seokjin toward the grand staircase. You pass figures whose faces you recognize from financial news feeds. They nod to Seokjin asĀ you both go by, the greetings overly polite and stiffly formal, precisely because they view him as a figurehead whose wealth demands respect, but whose intellect does not. Seokjin handles it with an air of practiced, almost vacant charmāhe is the beautiful, untouchable Porcelain Prince, and he plays the role perfectly. Again, wasted in the Tech Industry, he could be an actor if he wanted.Ā Ā
You ascend aĀ spirallingĀ staircase of frosted glass. The heavy security presence is noticeable: guards in immaculate suits are stationed at regular intervals, their eyes constantly sweeping the crowds.Ā Ā
YouĀ emergeĀ onto the main event level where the Century Gala is being held. The Century Ballroom is immense, designed to intimidate with its sheer scale.Ā Ā
The ceiling is dominated by a complex kinetic light sculpture---thousands of tiny, programmable drones that slowly shift, forming geometric patterns that cast soft, shifting mood lighting over the sprawling expanse of polished white marble. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows of reinforced glass offer a dizzying view of the cityās skyline, though the stars outside look like mere decorations compared to the dazzling interior.Ā Ā
The walls are draped in heavy, midnight-blue velvet that absorbs the sharp-edged laughter of the crowd, while dozens of circular tables covered in lilac silkĀ and cottonĀ sit like islands across the room. Each one is topped withĀ centrepiecesĀ of rare white orchids that seem to glow from within, adding to the roomās sterile, high-end glow.Ā Ā
At the far end, a stage of dark, brushed steel stands ready, backed by a seamless digital screen rippling with theĀ VionixĀ logo in silver light. The room is filled with the cityās elite: bankers, venture capitalists,Ā actorsĀ and singers here to serve face and old rivals ofĀ Vionix.Ā
The constant murmur is a low, sophisticated buzz that seems to be mostly gossip and networking, all of it thick with the scent of expensiveĀ cedarwoodĀ and cold champagne.Ā
Seokjin guides you through the fringe of the crowd, heading toward a beverage station. Just as you arrive, a stout man in an impeccably tailored suit, steps directly into Seokjinās path.Ā
āKim,ā the man says, his voice patronizingly friendly. āItāsĀ a relief to see you, son. Up and about and looking well.ā His eyes linger pityingly on Seokjinās shoulder before settling on you, āA beautiful companion, as always. Keeping your spirits up, eh?āĀ
āMr. Kwon,ā Seokjin replies, his professional smile clicking perfectly into place. He tightens his hand on your arm. āA pleasure. I assumeĀ youāreĀ enjoying the caviar?Ā ItāsĀ the best money can buy, you know.āĀ
āIndeed. Though, the real excitement, I suspect,Ā is still coming, no?ā Mr. Kwon lowers his voice slightly, as if talking to a child who needs prompting. āThe official post about the āProject Unveiling.ā YouĀ havenātĀ revealed a thing, not even a patent leak. Come now, Seokjin. Give us a hint!Ā WhatāsĀ the new toy going to be? Something shiny, I trust?āĀ
Seokjin laughs, a clear, ringing sound of utter charm that you know is entirely fake and designed to make him seem frivolous. āMr. Kwon, you wound me! We areĀ Vionix. WeĀ donātĀ unveil projects;Ā we start new eras.Ā WhereāsĀ the fun if I just tell you,Ā hm?ā He bats his eyes slightly, making the dismissal sound like a charming, petulant refusal to share a secret.Ā
Oh,Ā heāsĀ good.Ā You almost made an impressed expression before catching yourself.Ā ItāsĀ likeĀ heāsĀ flipped a switch, orĀ perhaps thisĀ comes as easy as breathing for him.Ā Ā
Mr. Kwon chuckles,Ā clearly satisfied that Seokjin is prioritizing melodrama over strategic thinking. āVery well, very well.Ā DonātĀ keep us waiting too long, then. Enjoy the evening, the both of you.ā He pats Seokjinās good arm, a gesture of almost paternal condescension, before moving on.Ā
SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ pause until he reaches the relative quiet of the corner. HeĀ immediatelyĀ reaches for a glass of champagne, offering one to you. The glass is cold and steady in your hand. HeĀ doesnātĀ say anything, but the professional mask slips for a fraction of a second, revealing the tiredĀ man underneath the charming faƧade.Ā
You feel bad looking up at him now,Ā heāsĀ been doing this for years.Ā Ā
He gives you a half smile,Ā āIāll be expected to socialiseĀ for a bit.ā HeĀ hadnātĀ taken a dip of the drink, setting the glass down.Ā The warmth of his handĀ meets your waist,Ā and he guides you towardsĀ the nearest table.Ā āI wonāt be long.āĀ
Seokjin effortlesslyĀ weavesĀ his way through the throng and disappearsĀ among the men in suits. With nothing to do, you sitĀ with your glass of champagne and people watch.Ā Ā
More people are coming intoĀ the room,Ā finding their places amongst their peers, some of them giving you curious glances.Ā TimeĀ seemsĀ to stretch on forever as the gala begins, and Seokjin makes his way back to your tableĀ with something for you to nibble on.Ā Ā
EasyĀ peasy, so far. You spot Namjoon and Yoongi around. NamjoonĀ seems to beĀ concentrating far too hard to balance a tray of drinks, and Yoongi looksĀ mighty bored, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. They blend right in, thankfully.Ā Jiminās voice came into your earĀ ---and no doubt the othersĀ ---every thirty minutes to announce thatĀ thereāsĀ nothingĀ happening.Ā
Seokjin had taken to whispering gossip about the gala-goers to you.Ā HeāsĀ probably asĀ bored as you are,Ā pushing the fancy finger food around on the little silver plate.Ā HeādĀ point outĀ DoyunĀ andĀ TaejinĀ five or so tables over, laughing heartily together with their companions hanging on their arms.Ā Ā
Crazy that they can sit there with whatĀ theyāveĀ planned around this gala.Ā Ā
If Seokjin steps away at any point,Ā heāsĀ intercepted.Ā You watch from a distance as he plays the part of the Porcelain Prince to perfection, offering bright, shallow smiles to board members who treat him with a frustrating mix of feigned respect and blatant dismissal.Ā Ā
When they ask about his arm, he leans into the persona, waving a hand dismissively and spinning a vague tale about āan unfortunate incident involving a pulled ligament and a very stubborn vintage cabinet.ā They chuckle and pat his shoulder, their eyes already moving past him to moreĀ importantĀ players, convincedĀ heāsĀ just a fragile, lucky heir playing at beingĀ a businessman.Ā
Eventually, the house lights begin to pulse, a signal that the formal presentations are about toĀ commence. The room settles into a hushed, expectant silence as the drone sculpture above begins to glow with a brilliant, focused silver light. Seokjin straightens his jacket, the playful glint in his eyes vanishing as he prepares to step back into the spotlight for the final timeĀ this evening. He gives your hand a quick, firm squeezeĀ before standing up to make his way toward the stage.Ā
Your heart gives an uncertain, harsh beat against your ribs and you will yourself to relax asĀ he disappears again.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ left picking at finger food and sipping at roomĀ tempĀ champagne.Ā Ā
As the official announcer for the gala makes his way through his announcements, a man approaches you from another table.Ā His hair is dark under the ambient lighting;Ā the purpleĀ lights make the red of his suit jacket look even darker.Ā Ā
You raise a brow as he stops before you, āDo you mind?āĀ Ā
You want to tell him that, yes, you do very much.Ā ButĀ heāsĀ staring at you patiently with such an open, kind expression that youĀ donātĀ have it in you to be rude, so you nod.Ā Ā
He smiles brightly, pulling out the chair that Seokjin had occupied.Ā He offers a hand to shake,Ā his smile is fondly heart-shaped,Ā as he leans closer to introduce himself.Ā Ā
āJung Hoseok.āĀ Of course, you knew that.Ā You do hope itĀ doesnātĀ show on your face. Though, he frowns, his mouthĀ forming a little triangle,Ā and then glances towards the direction that Seokjin disappeared.Ā āHeĀ hasnātĀ told you about me? Great, now I feel like the other woman.āĀ
āHeās mentioned you...ā you say, laughing despite yourself.Ā Hoseokās frownĀ doesnātĀ move.Ā Ā
āI donāt know if thatās worse...ā he mutters, and youĀ realise, all his emotionsĀ showĀ on his face.Ā āOh well...ā he sighs, and then his smile comes back, āIāve been wanting to meet you.āĀ Ā
YouādĀ bet.Ā You try to keep your smile neutral. This guy sold hisĀ friend like a gun for hire, his best friend, mind you! And heĀ doesnātĀ seem to have a care in the world!Ā Actually, heĀ doesnātĀ seem to be bothered at all. Strangely, as he rambles on about one thing or another, you get this acute feeling ofĀ wrongness.Ā Ā
ItāsĀ a...strangeĀ thing. Staring at him as he talks, you catch Seokjinās name, and the expression that comes with it.Ā ThereāsĀ no malice at all.Ā Peopleās eyes tell, and his eyes are clear.Ā HeāsĀ talking aboutĀ the projectĀ rather vaguely, as ifĀ heāsĀ not sure if you know about it or notĀ or ifĀ itāsĀ okay for him to do so.Ā Ā
ā...HeāsĀ usually so open about his flings! I was curious becauseĀ heādĀ only told me he was going out to meet a date last week.Ā HeĀ didnātĀ tell me anything about you,Ā so I assumed you two were serious!ā He says,Ā lookingĀ almost exited that Seokjin wasĀ apparently seriousĀ about someone.Ā Should you be offended being compared to a fling? Is that allowed?Ā āAnd then thatĀ urm...video...ā he blinks at you and then looks away,Ā clearing his throat.Ā Ā
Again,Ā itāsĀ right on his face.Ā Ā
You suspect that if you were ever in a situation whereĀ youāreĀ facing an officer...giving this man the weed to holdĀ wouldnātĀ beĀ a good idea.Ā Ā
You wonder briefly, howĀ heādĀ managed to doĀ anything,Ā much less be around Seokjin with contemptĀ being unable to hide his emotions.Ā HeāsĀ rather openĀ and isĀ most likely aĀ terrible liar.Ā Ā Ā
āFunny I found out that way...I suppose, never know whatĀ heāsĀ thinking. You two look happy, which is all that matters, anyway.ā He shakes his head, smiling,Ā āheās been avoiding me all evening.āĀ
His smile is gone again, lookingĀ rather despondent,Ā andĀ hurt.Ā Ā
āAnyway!ā HoseokĀ smiles wider at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, āI should get back to my table.āĀ Ā
He says goodbye to you,Ā and you stare after him with a frown.Ā Ā
The speaker was halfway through talking about the charity organisations that tonightās contributions wouldĀ go to.Ā Ā When someone else sits next to you.Ā Ā
The man is an older gentleman, withĀ grayingĀ hair at his temples. Dressed in a beige and black tuxedo, and a caneĀ that favours the weight of his right side.Ā Ā
He looks wary of the nightāsĀ activities,Ā so youĀ donātĀ bother paying him mind, still perturbed by HoseokāsĀ lack ofĀ snakeĀ vibes.Ā He leans his cane against the table, and the above head lights glint dimly off theĀ lionās headĀ design of the knob handle.Ā Ā
The lights shift colours again, turning a cool blue as Seokjin walks to the podium.Ā Your damn chest is starting to hurt.Ā Ā
āHumans are such fragile machines.āĀ Ā
Is thatĀ a...Ā Detroit: Become HumanĀ quote?Ā Ā
You glance at the man from the corner of your eye, butĀ heāsĀ not looking at you. Instead,Ā heāsĀ staring intently forward at SeokjinĀ who was just beginning to address the audience.Ā Ā
He chuckles softly, āDoĀ you think theyāre aware...ā heĀ begins, turning to look at you. His eyesĀ are startlingly mismatched; one a pale, artificial blue, and the otherĀ a dark brown.Ā He tilts his head at you and watches you so intensely you feel the urge to scoot your chair back and away.Ā āThat they are all mice inĀ hisĀ maze?āĀ
āIām sorry...who are you?āĀ Ā
āOh, where are my manners?ā he chuckles, pressing a hand to his chestĀ before extending it to you,Ā āEthan Callaway, my dear.āĀ
Having no other choice, you shake his hand. His grip isĀ rather gentle,Ā and his hands are uncalloused.Ā He gives you a closed lipped smile and returns his gaze to Seokjin.Ā Ā
ā...You know, whenĀ youāreĀ not young anymore, the bonesĀ arenātĀ as flexible. IĀ gottaĀ be more careful these days.ā Seokjin says,Ā motioning at his arm,Ā his voice slightly echoing through the voice amplifier device attached to the collar of hisĀ dressĀ shirt.Ā A chorus of chuckles ripple through the crowd.Ā āThank you all for attending this yearās Century Gala.āĀ Ā
Ethan Callaway hums softly next to you,Ā āHeās a good actor,Ā isnāt he?āĀ Ā
A sudden chill runs down your back,Ā andĀ itāsĀ nothing to do with the slightly cool air of the room.Ā Ā
āForgive me, you must be terribly confused.ā He says, laughing to himselfĀ in a kind of cynical way thatĀ doesnātĀ sit right with you.Ā You wonder if heĀ knowsĀ Seokjin. āI was a friend of his Father.Ā We were quite close.āĀ Ā
ThatāsĀ aĀ yes, then.Ā
You blink at him. Is this the part where you get lore thrownĀ at you? BecauseĀ youāreĀ reallyĀ notĀ in the mood and should be getting ready to move.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ something in his eyes when he looks at you then, a predatory look that sends alarm bells wailing in your skull.Ā
āWe were closeĀ too.Ā Until he decides his idealsĀ didnātĀ align with mine.āĀ He says airily, waving a hand as though it was nothing in the grand scheme.Ā Ā HeādĀ saidĀ your name; with an air of familiarity might you add! Slowly, you turn your head.Ā HeāsĀ already looking at you, his gaze cold and the smile he gives you is even more so.Ā
āExcuse me?ā You breathe.Ā
If you had a penny for every time a man knew you before you knew him,Ā you'dĀ have two pennies,Ā you think with a hysterical edge ofĀ humour.Ā WhichĀ isn'tĀ a lot, but itĀ sure as hell isĀ strange thatĀ it'sĀ happened twice.Ā
Like a bolt ofĀ lightning, realisationĀ hits youĀ and sends a wave ofĀ goosebumpsĀ up your arms.Ā You make to stand, but Callaway presses something againstĀ your hip.Ā It pokes just lightly into your skin, sharp, and you look down to see a daggerĀ attachedĀ to theĀ knob head of his cane.Ā Ā
YouĀ hadnātĀ seenĀ him move.Ā YouādĀ be lucky if he simply thinksĀ youāreĀ Seokjinās accessory.Ā ItādĀ buy you some time at least, you hope.Ā Yet,Ā heādĀ used your name when youĀ havenātĀ given it, chances are looking rather grim.Ā Ā
āNot so fast, my dear.ā He says,Ā eyes twinkling, āIād hate to ruin this lovely dress.āĀ Ā
āIām sure you would...ā YouĀ bite out, jaw clenching,Ā and heĀ simplyĀ smiles,Ā as thoughĀ youāreĀ telling him how lovely the weather is outside.Ā āWhat do you want?āĀ Ā
āLetās see what our dearĀ PrinceĀ does, first,Ā hm?ā He says sardonically.Ā
Seokjin is doing his thing, successfully keeping his audience enraptured. Yoongi hasĀ probably alreadyĀ made his way to the security room while theĀ guards rotate, and Namjoon isĀ probably onĀ the other side of the room waiting for the other shoe to drop so he can go to the lower levels as planned.Ā YouāreĀ stuck at this table with Callaway.Ā Ā
Seokjinās voice projects through the room, steady and resonant. āVionixĀ has always stood for the future,ā he says, his hands gripping the podium. āBut the future my father envisioned was built on a foundation of silence and buried truths.āĀ
Beside you, CallawayĀ doesn'tĀ even flinch at the words.Ā HeāsĀ looking at Seokjin with a terrifying, paternal sort of pride. āHe sounds just like his father,ā Callaway murmurs to you,Ā almost fondly. āStubborn. Principled. And entirely too slow to realize whenĀ heāsĀ been outmatched.āĀ
He leans in closer, the scent of his expensive cologne clashing with the cold metallic tang of the blade pressed against your hip. āYou see,Ā AxtaliahĀ wasn'tĀ just aĀ project. It was an insurance policy. A way to ensure that men like me---men whoĀ actually understandĀ how this world runs---never have to step aside for idealists.āĀ
MurmursĀ rise across the room, heads swivelling left and right as they absorb Seokjinās words.Ā Your heart is a frantic bird in your chest. You look at Seokjin, who is nearing the end of his address, his eyes scanning the crowd with a hidden intensity. YouĀ have toĀ tell him. If he goes through with the reveal thinking Hoseok is the one to watch,Ā heāllĀ never see Callaway coming.Ā
āFound our guy.ā Jiminās voice comes alive in your ear, āYoongiĀ I'mĀ directing the feed to you.Ā The police are three minutes out.Ā Birdie, you with Namjoon?āĀ
YouĀ canātĀ answer him. With Callaway so closeĀ thereāsĀ no way you can do so unnoticed.Ā Think, think,Ā think!Ā
You glance down at the dagger thatās justĀ a hairās breadthĀ away from making a home in your skin, and the distance between you and Seokjin.Ā Callaway has a cane and an uneven gait. You can takeĀ em.Ā Ā
"VionixĀ isn't just a tech company," Seokjinās voice drops an octave, losing the playful lilt of the Porcelain Prince. The transition is jarring. The room starts to go quiet, the forced laughter dying out as the guests realize the tone has shifted. "It has been a shroud. A shroud for men likeĀ Doyun, likeĀ Taejin... and the man who truly pulled their strings."Ā
"Today," Seokjin says, his voice booming through the speakers, "the era of secrets ends."Ā
The screens behind him flicker. The silverĀ VionixĀ logo vanishes, replaced by a jagged, high-contrast video feed of a man in tactical gear on a rooftop, and a scroll of bank transfers,Ā encrypted emailsĀ and the private chat betweenĀ TaejinĀ andĀ Doyun. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath that sounds like a physical blow.Ā
"What is heĀ doing?" Callaway hisses, the blade pokes harder into your side.Ā
When it finally clicks collectively what Seokjin was showing on the screen, multiple things happen at once: The man on the rooftop, who appearsĀ to be in the middle of laying on hisĀ stomachĀ and putting his eye up to the scope of his long-ranged rifle, visibly recoils.Ā
TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ stand up from theirĀ tables butĀ seem to be in a state of shock and has said nothing in the two seconds that has passed. Namjoonās called your name twice, asking where you are. You stand quickly from your chair as security begin to pour into the room,Ā you barely register the dagger cutting a shallow line along your skin and through the silk of your dress.Ā Ā
People start clambering about, trying to get out of the way and out the doors and you, darting around the table, try to put as much distance between yourself and Callaway.Ā Security pour into the room, butĀ theyāveĀ seemed toĀ loseĀ their targets asĀ DoyunĀ andĀ TaejinĀ disappeared in the scramble.Ā Ā
āSeokjin!ā You shout, shoving your way throughĀ the bodies of frantic people. In the chaos, you see Seokjin step away from the podium to catch sight of you.Ā āHoseokĀ isnātĀ your mole! ItāsāāĀ Ā
YouāreĀ yanked back by your hair,Ā Callawayās fingers curl tightlyĀ against your scalp and tugsĀ hard.Ā Ā
The jerk of your head is violent, snapping your neck back as Callawayās fingers wind deep into your hair. The world tilts, the ceilingās drone lights spinning into a frantic blur ofĀ silver and blueĀ andĀ red asĀ youāreĀ hauled backward against his chest.Ā
āāCallaway!āĀ
The name is torn from your throat, lost to the ears of the wider crowd but cutting through theĀ commsĀ like a jagged blade.Ā ThereāsĀ a sudden sharp pressure just below your ribs, a cold sensation spreading from that one spot before a burst of hot, blinding pain.Ā Ā
Time seems to slow down, your vision tunnelling to Seokjin. He leaps from the stage, his landing heavy and ungraceful, stumbling over a chair as he lunges toward you. It feels like someone has punched you with the weight of the entire building. The air is driven from your lungs in a sharp, wet gasp.Ā
It feels as though your brainĀ canātĀ quite catch up, in a sort of shock, focused entirely but not at all on that one spot. You hear yourself make a shrill sound as Callaway twists his wrist, but you barely feel it, as though no more pain can make it any worse.Ā Ā
Seokjin is yelling your name, you think, butĀ itāsĀ blurred together with the other sounds all around.Ā ItāsĀ all coalesced into an undercurrent of muddled noise, likeĀ youāveĀ stuck your head underwater. Your legs feel like jelly, or rather, youĀ canātĀ feel your legs at all, youĀ arenātĀ sure.Ā Ā
Callaway shoves youĀ forwardĀ again, and the daggerās blade slides out of your skin wetly. He turns to flee into the chaos of streamingĀ bodies butĀ doesnātĀ make it two steps away before Namjoon---appearing out of nowhere like a dark knight---slams into him from the side. The clatter of the dagger, stained with your blood is drowned out under the noise, and so is the wheezing breath Callaway lets out as he hits the marble floor hard and is pinned there by Namjoonās knee on his back.Ā Ā
You stagger unsteadily, tripping over your feet and the ends of your dress before collapsing forward. Seokjin is there to catch you, and you think, a little distractedly, that heĀ probably shouldnātĀ have taken off his sling to do so.Ā Ā
He sinks to the ground with you, his grip is bruising, you feel it like an odd sort of pressure.Ā Ā
āNo, no,Ā no,āĀ heāsĀ chanting, the words a frantic, broken rhythm. His hands are everywhereāyour face, your shouldersābefore they settle with desperate, trembling force against the side of your dress. The emerald silk is turning a dark, heavy black.Ā Ā
āSeokjin...ā You try to breathe, but it feels likeĀ youāreĀ trying to inhale water. You reach up, your fingers clumsy and cold, catching the lapel of his jacket. āIt... it wasnāt Hoseok...āĀ Ā
āI heard you. I know. ItĀ doesnātĀ matter.ā He says, pressing down on the wound. You feel it this time, a sharp, burning pain unlike any other. Like trying to pee with an STD, but one thousand times worse. You cry out and try to push his handsĀ away,Ā but he only presses down harder, āI know it hurts,Ā IāmĀ sorry. Keep focusing on me.āĀ Ā
Funny he saysĀ thatĀ you think wistfully, your head feeling heavy and clouded;Ā youĀ canātĀ focus on anything at all. Is this how you die?Ā YouāveĀ been stabbed, andĀ itāsĀ definitelyĀ notĀ a flesh wound.Ā Ā
āIs...is it bad?ā You mutter, trying to raise your head. You look up at Seokjin, and he looks blurry and far away. The tear that drips from his eye when he blinks lands on your cheekĀ isĀ scorching hot,Ā or perhaps, youāreĀ just cold. You feel cold. Oh,Ā youāreĀ bleeding out,Ā alright.Ā Ā
āNo.ā Seokjin lies. You knowĀ heāsĀ lying;Ā you can see it in the colourĀ thatāsĀ drained from his face, in the way he looks up and away, shouting Namjoonās name. He looks back at you, his brows furrowed, āItāsĀ just a scratch!Ā YouāllĀ beĀ fine.Ā YouāreĀ gonna be fine!āĀ Ā
The lights above you, red and blue, seem toĀ merge togetherĀ into blurred purple, andĀ itāsĀ so pretty, you just focus on that instead. The frantic calls of your name, the stomping boots of the security guards, the screaming people, fade in and out of your ears. YouĀ donātĀ feel much at all, really.Ā Ā
You just make out Namjoon in your darkening vision, the change of pressure at your side.Ā HeāsĀ saying something to Seokjin that youĀ canātĀ catch, and Seokjin is yelling back but...youĀ canātĀ hear a damn thing. Is this whatĀ itāsĀ like to spontaneously go deaf?Ā ItāsĀ frightening, but you have half a thought to spare for that.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ feel anything at all...Ā Ā
The first thing you realize is that your side feels likeĀ itāsĀ being gnawed on byĀ a very small, very persistent shark. The second thing you realize is that you areĀ extremelyĀ high. The ceiling tiles are moving in a way that suggests they might be planning a choreographed dance routine, and the air smells like a hospital-grade lemon.Ā
You try to move your hand, but it feels likeĀ itāsĀ made of lead. OrĀ maybe itāsĀ just trapped. You look down, your vision swimming, and find Seokjin.Ā
HeāsĀ slumped in a chair that looks like it was designed by someone who hates backs. His head resting on the edge of your bed, fingers loosely tangled with yours.Ā
HeāsĀ still in that white dress shirt, though the sleeves are shoved up his forearms and the top three buttons are undone. He looks like heĀ hasnātĀ slept since the turn of the century.Ā
You try to clear your throat, but it just comes out as a pathetic, dry rasp.Ā
Seokjinās head snaps up instantly. He looks at you, his eyes wide and bloodshot, and for a second, heĀ doesnātĀ say anything. He just stares, his chest heaving as ifĀ heāsĀ forgotten how to breathe.Ā
āAre you---āĀ
āWater...ā your mouth feels likeĀ youāveĀ swallowed cotton or ate sand; your voice is rough and scratchy. SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ let go of your hand as he reaches for a small, half-empty bottle that sits on the bedside table.Ā
He opens the bottle, using his knees to keep it steady and his fingers to unscrew the cap. His hand releases yours only to help you lift your headāwhich feels oddly heavyāand to hold the bottle to your lips with the other.Ā
āEasy.ā He says softly as you greedily drink the water down.Ā
This water isĀ literally theĀ best thingĀ youāveĀ tasted your whole life. And you say as much whenĀ youāveĀ drained the bottle. Seokjin chuckles lightly, though the sound is fragile.Ā
āThey got you on the good stuff,ā he murmurs, and you feelĀ kind of badĀ that heĀ wasnātĀ on theĀ good stuffĀ when he got shot.Ā
āWhere are we?ā you ask. You try to sit up with some effort, but a sharp, white-hot tuggingĀ sensation inĀ your side makes you gasp and fall back against the pillows. It feels like a thick wire is pulled tight inside your abdomen, threatening to snap if you move an inch.Ā
Seokjin is on his feet instantly, his hands hovering over you. āDonāt---donāt try to move yet.ā He quickly grabs the remote to adjust the bed for you, the motor humming as it raises you into a slightĀ incline,Ā so youĀ donātĀ have to use your core muscles. āYouāve got aĀ lotĀ of stitches in there, and theyāre very fresh.āĀ
You wait for the dizzying throb in your side to settle into a dull, hot ache. āThis looks way too nice for a public hospital.āĀ
Seokjin lets out a weak, tired chuckle,Ā sitting back down in his uncomfortable chair.Ā āThe Meridian Pavilion.āĀ
You make a face, even though the movement of your facial muscles feels like work. āThe expensive one? Good thingĀ youāreĀ rich, then.āĀ
āBetter for you, I suppose.ā Seokjinās thumb runs along the back of your hand, and you look down to stare at the motionĀ blankly. Then his shoulders shake with a laugh,Ā he stares at you fondly,Ā āGod, youāre loopy.āĀ
You feel quite dizzy, though---too much of one thing,Ā as they say. Your brain feels likeĀ itāsĀ floating about three inches above your skull. Seokjin leaves briefly to get you more water and to call a doctor.Ā
You spend the day in the hospital, and Seokjin hardly leaves your side for most of it. You found out that this hospital is the one Namjoon works at, and he was luckily the doctor that patched you up.Ā YouāreĀ happy for it. ItĀ wouldāveĀ been mildly upsetting if some stranger poked around in you.Ā
SpeakingĀ of,Ā your stab wound wasĀ rather serious. You find this out the hard way every time you try to breathe too deeply or adjust your hips;Ā thereāsĀ a heavy, liquid heat in your side that reminds you CallawayĀ was quite literally trying to kill you.Ā
Pain in the ass, it would be.Ā YouādĀ be here for a long while yet. Luckily for you, this place got the best hospital food around!Ā
It occurs to you over the course of the dayĀ that you almostĀ died. If Namjoon or Seokjin had reached you but a secondĀ later,Ā youĀ wouldnātĀ be here.Ā Ā
The days following the gala blur into a haze of sterile white and soft-glitzy transitions. The Meridian Pavilion is less of a hospital and more of a fortress of recovery, but even its reinforced glassĀ canātĀ keep the outside world away. High on the wall, a massive, frameless holographic display flickers with the relentlessĀ runĀ of the 24-hour news cycle. The headlines are a dizzying scroll of the scandal that rocked the city:Ā VionixĀ Coup Thwarted, The Prince Breaks the Glass Ceiling, and inevitably, Mystery Companion Still in Critical Condition.Ā
The fallout was swift. With the data Yoongi dumped and the live footage Jimin captured,Ā DoyunĀ andĀ TaejinĀ were intercepted by police before they could even reach the parking garage.Ā HowĀ theyādĀ manage to evadeĀ securityĀ for so long is a wonder to you.Ā Callaway, however, is the name the news anchors speak with a mix of awe and horror; the patriarch of corporate strategy is currently facing a litany of charges that ensure he will never see the sun from anything other than a prison yard.Ā
It was during the quiet hours of your second night that the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and it left a bitter, metallic taste in your mouth.Ā
While Yoongi wasĀ scouring the recoveredĀ VionixĀ servers,Ā heĀ foundĀ aĀ breachĀ youādĀ miss. ItĀ hadnātĀ been HoseokĀ as Seokjin had so suspected; it wasĀ hisĀ own hardware. CallawayĀ hadnātĀ just been his fatherās friend; he had been a digital parasite.Ā HeādĀ had a high-level tracking bug embedded in Seokjinās phone forĀ months,Ā monitoringĀ his location---which explained how the assassin knew to follow him toĀ The Lumen---and more importantly, intercepting his messages.Ā
The momentĀ youādĀ reached out to Seokjin asĀ Shade,Ā youādĀ been hand-delivering your identity to Ethan Callaway. HeĀ hadnātĀ known you because of a leak;Ā heādĀ known you becauseĀ heādĀ been watching the screen from the other side while you worked. For a professional of yourĀ calibre, the realization stung worse than the stitches in your side.Ā YouādĀ been compromised from the very first text, a fly caught in a web youĀ didnātĀ even know was there.Ā
ThereāsĀ no use crying over spilt milk now, you suppose.Ā ItāsĀ all worked out.Ā
The roomĀ isnātĀ always quiet.Ā YouādĀ been awake for less than twelve hours when the door was nearly kicked in by aĀ furiousĀ Jung Hoseok. The fondly heart-shaped smile was long gone, replaced by a face flushed with a mixture of betrayal and protective rage.Ā
The argument that ensued between him and Seokjin was explosive---a crescendo of raised voices that left the nurses hovering nervously in the hall. HoseokĀ hadnātĀ just been hurt; he wasĀ devastatedĀ that his best friend, his brother, could ever believe he was a snake in the grass. It took hours, and a great deal of uncharacteristic apologizing from Seokjin, before they settled into a grim, shared resolve.Ā
When Jimin was finally allowed to see you, the roomās energy shifted again. HeĀ didnātĀ say much at first. He just stood by the bed, holding a bouquet of echinacea and lavender that Yoongi sent, looking at your bandages with a haunted intensity.Ā Ā
When he finally took your hand, his grip was tight, his voice thick as he promisedĀ heādĀ never let you go on a ādateā ever again.Ā HeādĀ cried a bit and apologised needlessly about not being able to do anything and you had to remind him that he wasĀ outsideĀ the whole time.Ā
But the real work happened in the hushed whispers between Seokjin and Hoseok over the foot of your bed.Ā TheyādĀ thought you were sleeping and Seokjin had refusedĀ to leaveĀ your room.Ā Ā
The dream ofĀ Axtaliah---the unnatural, cold immortality Callaway craved---was dead. They had agreed to scrub the servers, to burn the patents, and to dismantle the Project Unveiling before it could ever breathe. Instead, they spoke of redirection. Using the research not to cheat death, but to better life. Things that helped the āfragile machinesā of humanity, rather than trying to replace them.Ā
By the fifth day, the room is finally empty, the TV muted to a soft glow. Seokjin is back in hisĀ chair;Ā his hand once again anchored to yours. Namjoon had made it his mission to ensure Seokjin left and got some rest orĀ ate orĀ take care of himself. Or sometimes just lay into him in a very doctor-like manner about the overuse of his still healing shoulder.Ā Ā
"You're thinking again," he murmurs, his eyes tracing the wayĀ you'reĀ staring at the muted news report of his own face. "I can hear the gears turning from here."Ā
"I was just thinking about my rates," you say, your voice finally losing its gravelly edge. "Getting stabbed wasn't in the initial quote. I thinkĀ I'mĀ going to have to charge you a premium for 'physical trauma and ruining a very expensive dress.'"Ā
Seokjin lets out a soft, genuine laugh, leaning forward until his forehead rests against the mattress near your hand. "Name your price.Ā Vionix'sĀ accounts are finally under my control. I think we can afford it."Ā
He grows quiet then, the playful air evaporating. He lifts his head, looking at you with a terrifying amount of honesty. "Thereās a lot of work to do.Ā IĀ have toĀ gutĀ the entire leadership tier. Every department, every manager, every legacy hire---theyāreĀ all being vetted. Iām making sure that the people who work under my name actually deserve to be there."Ā
"Sounds like a lot of paperwork for one man," you mutter, the exhaustion already pulling at you again.Ā Not only that,Ā but itĀ wouldĀ alsoĀ takeĀ a lot of work for the public to take him seriously.Ā
"It is," he agrees, his grip on your hand tightening. "Which is why Iām not doing it alone. I want to hire you. For real this time.Ā AxtaliahĀ might be dead, butĀ VionixĀ is going to need a Head of Cyber-Security who isn't afraid to tell the CEO he's being an idiot."Ā Ā
You look at him, at the man who jumped off a stage into a riot just to get to you. "Is this the part where you tell me you like me? Because the suspense is actually worse than the stab wound."Ā
Seokjin smiles, and for the first time since you met him,Ā it'sĀ probably theĀ easiest thingĀ he'sĀ ever done.Ā ItāsĀ just him---exhausted, relieved, and entirely yours.Ā
"I think I've made it quite obvious. But if you need it in writing, I can have a contract drawn up. I hear you're a fan of those."Ā
"Shut up, Seokjin," you whisper, pulling his hand closer.Ā
"Make me," he replies, leaning in until the space between you disappears.Ā Ā
The kiss is soft, careful of your stitches, and tastes likeĀ a very expensiveĀ apology. For a second, the persistent shark gnawing on your sideĀ actually stopsĀ to take a break.Ā
When he eventually pulls back, heĀ doesnātĀ go far, resting his forehead against yours with a heavy, relieved sigh. You look at him and realize that for a guy who just survived a corporate coup, an assassination attempt, and a hysterical argument with his best friend, he still looks unfairly good.Ā ItāsĀ annoying, really.Ā
As the exhaustion finally starts to drag you back down into the pillows, you watch theĀ silent news crawl across the screen.Ā Ā
A steady job with a dental planĀ wasnātĀ on your bingo card butĀ youāreĀ not complaining. You can use your skills for something other than getting rich---the legal way, now, goĀ you!---and a scarĀ thatāsĀ going to look badass in a bikini.Ā
If you had a penny for every time you walked into a job for aĀ random, anonymous clientĀ and walked out with a boyfriend and aĀ really dramaticĀ anti-climacticĀ canon event...Ā youādĀ have exactlyĀ oneĀ penny.Ā
WhichĀ isnātĀ a lot, but honestly? You thinkĀ youāllĀ keep this one.Ā
tags: @dontstoptime @themwordsblog @haru-jiminn @yukina0521
please, please, please. A lot of effort and time went into the creation of this fic, taking the time to write a comment would be so nice! Don't be a silent reader!! Ask questions, rant, anything at all is appreciated. Also!!! Reblog! rebloging is very important for visibility and for other folks that enjoy these types of fics to discover em!
It's a damn shame Tumblr didn't allow you to put this whole thing on one post.
But I'm not complaining haha. Such brilliant work oml. Y/n has me DYING.
Troughout this entire fic she's mentioned canon event three times. And don't think I miss that D-day reference in there š "D-day is coming and you're not sure it's going to be a fucking good day." Yoongi would giggle.
I've been compiling the references I saw!
James Bond
Charlie's Angel
Supernatural: team free will.
I am a rich man - Cher
Inspector Gadget
Detroit Become Human (the way this one was so blatant had me š)
Jimin and Yoongi's beef
Namjoon is just happy to be there lmao
Y/n is incapable of taking anything seriously. Mind you, girl has just been stabbed and her thought goes "it's like peeing with an STD but 1000x worse" like sweetie you're bleeding out š
I CAN'T BELIEVE IT WASN'T WHO JIN THOUGHT?!? BRO CAME OUTTA NOWHERE TOO š what a moment. But it was sAURRRRRR GOOODDDDUHHHH you never miss Dani!!!! Gosh really this was brilliant. All the memes aside, this was so awesome!!

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Fountain Of Axtaliah - KSJ
Summary: YouāreĀ a hacker, and aĀ damnĀ goodĀ oneĀ ---Ā if you do say so yourself.Ā A legend in underground forums,Ā the kind of person corporateĀ sharks pretendĀ donātĀ exist. Your jobĀ isĀ simple:Ā hack into the database of some spoiled CEO, dig up whatever dirt you could find and cash out. Easy money.Ā
Until itāsĀ not that simple.Ā
Genre: SY-FY, cyber-punkish, strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, angst, action, fluff. A bit of espionage and fake dating.
Word Count: (Part One) 27.6k
Warnings: mature language, dark dystopian/post-apocalyptic themes (including descriptions of environmental and societal collapse), implied violence, and brief mentions of parental neglect and widespread criminality. Reader discretion is advised. Attempted murder and wounds x2, swearing. cursing, making out but nothing too serious eheh. a lot of meme references and meta humour. The reader is sometimes called Birdie.
Notes: unfortunately...because of Tumblr's limitations on text posts, i have to split this into two parts, and part two would be posted tomorrow or, a bit later!!! I'll add the link to it at the bottom of the post!
Okay HELLO!! Happy Christmas to those who celebrate and good day to those who don't!! A little gift for you all :)) This was meant to come out much much sooner, but I wrapped it up super late. It also was NOT gonna be this damn long >:((. I'd planned for 20k at least but the plot said no and now we're here...!! This fic had been sooo much fun to write, i hope you guys find all the meme references i put in there. Enjoy!!!
masterlist
If you were wondering---just a tad bit---how exactly the world would look a couple hundred years from now,Ā letāsĀ just sayĀ itāsĀ probably notĀ whatĀ youāreĀ thinking.Ā
If your thoughts wentĀ along the lines ofĀ world peace, zero crime, and Mother Nature finally getting her moment to do some mother-ing---youādĀ be wrong.Ā
See,Ā EarthāsĀ always been aĀ shithole.Ā ItāsĀ in the archives---whatāsĀ left of them, anyway. Environmental collapse. The rich preying on the desperate. Overpopulation so bad cities started building up instead of out. The ice caps melted in ā25, half the world drowned---the Great Flood 2.0, except NoahĀ didnātĀ give a damn---and the rest choked on its own smoke. Snow fell in deserts. Acid rain burned through skylines. Humanity watched, cursed, then adapted---becauseĀ thatāsĀ what it does best.Ā
AndĀ thatāsĀ how the Rise began.Ā
They called it a new dawn. But you know how people are with pretty names. What it really was, was a scramble. A desperate attempt to build higher, dig deeper, wire the world until even the dirt had a login.Ā
Fast-forward aĀ couple dozenĀ or soĀ generations, and the world hums different now. The skyās owned by corporations, the ground by data farms. Cities glow like circuit boards---veins of neon running through towers that never sleep. The air buzzes likeĀ itāsĀ carrying a thousand conversations at once.Ā
Land of freedom, they call it.Ā DonātĀ like your face? Get a new one. Want to date that robot server downtown? Go for it, Jan. No one bats an eye at anything anymore.Ā Ā Want to take a holiday on the Jupiter resort? SpendĀ millionsĀ for your gate pass to fly out of orbit---youādĀ be lucky to getĀ perksĀ with that. Kids can get tattoos at twelve---yeah,Ā thatĀ one threw you for a loop...well, itĀ isĀ aĀ relatively newĀ thing.Ā
WhenĀ youĀ were twelve, your head was buried in books because you had aĀ dad that stepped outĀ forĀ milk andĀ didnātĀ look backĀ and a mother whoĀ couldnātĀ care lessĀ that you wereĀ bothĀ starving.Ā Too smart for your own good,Ā theyādĀ said, although itĀ didnātĀ get youĀ very farĀ when you were littleĀ andĀ college was just as hard to get into as it was two centuries ago.Ā
The worldās still the same, no matter how much it twinkles. The strong eat the weak. The richĀ donātĀ give a damn about anyoneĀ andĀ theĀ governmentāsĀ still lawless.Ā
InĀ lessĀ words---itāsĀ an evenĀ biggerĀ shithole.Ā
But hey!Ā At least the lights are pretty.Ā
At least for people like you,Ā that made your own way -----thereāsĀ always something to get by on. The world runs on circuits now. Wires breathe in every corner you look, systems locked tighter than the Pentagon.Ā
Well⦠not for you, anyway.Ā
Hackers are criminals---or so the governmentĀ would tell you in their oppressive propaganda.Ā TheyāreĀ rats chewing through the wires of your brand-new TV set. But you? You can get intoĀ anywhere. No challenge is a challenge for you.Ā
YouĀ probably couldāveĀ used that big brain of yours to solve world hunger, or cure whatever plagues are still chewing through the slums.Ā
Instead, you used it to get rich.Ā
SometimesĀ itāsĀ petty: lift a street vendorās bogus card reader logs so she can steal back a weekās pay from a local courierĀ whoāsĀ been skimming fares. Swap a jealous exās social feed for an embarrassing loop of their own old speeches. Patch a friendās rent account with a tiny, invisible micro-transfer that keeps them fed for a month. Those are the scripts you run before breakfast---cheap,Ā cleanĀ andĀ satisfying.Ā
SometimesĀ itāsĀ elegant: ghost a senatorās public schedule so their bodyguard chases a ghost appointment while you slip a protest group past checkpoints. Reconstruct a deceased artistās lost archive from corrupted shards and sell the restored files to a private buyer who wants the exclusivity. You trace fingerprints through six layers of obfuscation and stitch a reputation back together like it was never torn. Those jobs pay in more than credits---they pay inĀ favours and stories that sell your name.Ā
And then there are the big ones. The jobs that leave scorch marks on yourĀ trail.Ā
YouāveĀ rewritten corporate balance sheets,Ā so a charity got a controversial multi-millionaireās hidden philanthropic fund. You made an absolute liability vanish from the police servers long enough for an innocent person to get out of jail. Once, forĀ a very specificĀ client, you built a smell-proofĀ blackboxĀ that let them ferry a person past biometric tolls using nothing but a sequence of fake heartbeats and a rewired thermal signature. That one paid for a year of luxuries---and some mistakes you keep in a locked subroutine.Ā
YouāveĀ breached private vaults where people store notĀ jewelleryĀ but memories---stitched consciousness backups saved under dead names. YouĀ donātĀ always take them. You admire how fragile those files are, how people tuck their whole lives into folders likeĀ theyāreĀ safe. Sometimes you return them, sometimes you sell them to collectors who like owning other peopleās pasts.Ā
You flirt with danger becauseĀ youāreĀ good at it. You like the artistry of a clean breach: a cascade of permissions peeling away like onion skin, a final tunnel that opens into a vault no one was meant to see. You write your own keys. You know where to press.Ā
And when the job is uglyĀ you still take it. Not becauseĀ youāreĀ merciless, but becauseĀ youāreĀ pragmatic. A job has parameters: scope, risk,Ā payout. You estimate, you execute,Ā andĀ you disappear. The worldās laws are suggestions; your contracts are guarantees.Ā
So,Ā when the anonymized ping hits your client list that morning---no face, no rep,Ā andĀ one hell of aĀ payĀ check-----surprisingly,Ā you hesitated. You stared at it for a good long while, fingers pressed against your lipsĀ and your brows furrowed. Where theĀ client'sĀ name should be---or whatever fake name they canĀ come up with;Ā you never question-----was just a string of number. Which marks the account being used as temporary.Ā It'sĀ nothing unheard of,Ā youāveĀ seen plenty of them.Ā Ā
It was about just past four am when it came in.Ā ThatāsĀ what you callĀ ātheĀ desperate hourāĀ becauseĀ itāsĀ just afterĀ threeĀ am, when any normal person with too much time on their hands would be done wallowing in their overthinkingĀ and decideĀ toĀ do something.Ā
You lean back into your chair,Ā the wheels squeaking as you push away from your desk.Ā Using your feet, you guide the chair back towards the door to your work room before pushing it open.Ā Ā
āCali!ā you shout,Ā listening to the quiet. Somewhere aboutĀ thereāsĀ a giggleĀ and the unmistakeable sound of a palm striking skin. IrritatedĀ now, you call again,Ā āCalico!āĀ Ā
A girl with ash blonde hair stumbles out of a room down the hall. Knee high silver chrome boots in her slack fingers,Ā matching skirt riding up enough that her ass cheek peeks at you, red and no doubt smarting. You watch with mild disgust as she swaps spit with your partner in crime.Ā Ā
His hairās a mess, shirt missing, well...itāsĀ on the girl, hanging on forĀ dearĀ life by a single button.Ā TheyĀ donātĀ seem to be stopping,Ā and you smack a hand against your door.Ā Ā
āYo!āĀ Ā
The girl springs away, giggling like a blushing virginĀ caught in the act and have the balls to actĀ bashful. Your friend half glares at you as he leads the girl past your room -----she fuckingĀ winkedĀ at you -----and up the stairs. After a moment you hear the door slam shut andĀ footsteps coming back down.Ā He stands at the bottom of the metal staircase and stares at you like a disappointed father.Ā Ā
āYou are the biggest cock-block known to man.āĀ
āHow many times do I have to tell you, Jimin? Play with your toysĀ upstairs.Ā AndĀ youādĀ better not have fucked in my room.Ā IāllĀ skin you alive.āĀ YouĀ grumble,Ā wheeling your chair back to your desk as he comes closer. He stands in theĀ doorway,Ā frowning at you.Ā ItĀ wouldnātĀ have been the first time Jimin had drunkenly stumbled into your bedroom and not the spareĀ you had set up purely because he sleeps down here most of the time.Ā You wish thatĀ wasĀ enough to save you from seeing his perky ass one too many times.Ā You point at the dark marks scattered across his chest and neck, ādid you even use protection? I heardĀ thereāsĀ a new thing going around.Ā It'sĀ like stage fiveĀ Gonorrhoea.āĀ Ā
āGinaās clean.āĀ Ā
āHer nameāsĀ Gina?ā you laugh, andĀ it grows into a cackle when you feel Jimin kick the back of your chair.Ā āI didnāt even hear you come in last night.āĀ Ā
āThat was... probably for the best.ā JiminĀ smiles, the look in his eyes makes you shiver.Ā Ā
āYouĀ couldāveĀ said that without the look.Ā Ew. NowĀ IāveĀ got an image in my head.ā YouĀ scowl,Ā and then, using your empty water bottle, you poke it into his tummy,Ā āCan you go shower or something?Ā YouāreĀ contaminatingĀ my precious air.āĀ Ā
āExcuse you, I smell amazing.ā He protests, laughing.Ā
āYou smell like old man cologne, sweat andĀ Gina.āĀ You push harder until he steps back, swatting at your hand. āIāll tell you what I was calling you for afterĀ you donāt smell like a nightclub.āĀ Ā
Jimin flicks your forehead before sauntering away.Ā Ā
Unfortunately, youĀ canātĀ sell him for a corn chip. IfĀ āIāll do it if you do itāĀ were people, it wouldĀ probably beĀ the both of you---two brain cells sharing one bad idea at a time.Ā
Jimin is yourĀ bestestĀ friend in a five-hundred-mile radius, born and bred in the same gutter as you. Two rats from the slums, gnawing at wires and bad decisions. You used to joke that thereĀ mustāveĀ been something in the drinking water when you were kids;Ā youāreĀ two peas in a pod, just a shot off each other in intelligence. Jimin was also too smart for his own good---dangerously smart, like the kind that could take apart a government droneĀ and put it back togetherĀ with a butter knife and duct tape.Ā
When the government started handing out scholarships to the underprivileged, Jimin was first in line. But he refused because they had no place for your talent in codingĀ (looking back on it now, they wereĀ probably lookingĀ down their noses at you).Ā You still think that was the dumbest thingĀ heāsĀ ever done---brilliant,Ā loyalĀ andĀ infuriatingly Jimin.Ā Ā
He had such a bright future ahead of him.Ā AĀ mind built for blueprints and machines, someone whoĀ couldāveĀ designed the next generation of tech. Instead, he chose to give it all up to stick with you.Ā You know, like anĀ idiot.Ā CouldāveĀ been sitting prettyĀ and retired atĀ twenty-five.Ā
ButĀ youāreĀ doing fine. Really, you are. The dirty work pays enough to keep the lights on and the fridge humming. YouĀ donātĀ have to suck up to anyone in a suit or beg for scraps in a cubicle farm.Ā YouāveĀ carved out your own corner of the world---illegal, sure, but yours.Ā
WouldnātĀ change it even if you could go back in time and pimp smack your mother.Ā Ā
Sighing, you decide to clear the cluttered mess that is your table. Cleaning it free of emptyĀ water bottles and cup ramen containers, listening to the soft whirring of your computer system and the little bleep-bloopsĀ of the off-grid server monitor.Ā Ā
Most of your set up, you and Jimin designed and built yourselves.Ā From junk parts and dumpster diving in the back alleyway of aĀ tech factory. WhenĀ youādĀ first started hacking, it was risky, two kids with nothing better to do and absolutely nothing to lose. When you got your first pay out, it was small, because no one wanted to trust a little kid with big work, you were lucky that guy took a chance on you.Ā Ā
With the little bit of money you earned back then,Ā youādĀ managed to get you and Jimin out of the slums and into the gutter. Just a little higher from nothing, but it was everything to you both back then.Ā Ā
You earned your way, and when you got your first big gig,Ā youādĀ used the money to buy an ancient warehouse.Ā It had an underground system that worked wonders for you.Ā You left the upperĀ portionĀ for Jimin to do what he liked, and with the money you were earning,Ā heādĀ made something of the old place.Ā Ā
The outsideĀ exteriorĀ still lookedĀ veryĀ much an abandoned old warehouse. Sure,Ā you and Jimin liveĀ cushyĀ now, butĀ on the down-low for obvious reasons.Ā Ā
You shove the last empty cup into the bin and stretch, feeling the ache between your shoulders. The rest of the warehouse is quieter. When you step out, the light changes from cold blue to a softer amber glow.Ā Ā
Your section of the place is clean, modern, but never sterile---wide couches, a cracked digital photo frame that cycles through half-broken pictures of you and Jimin from when you both had nothing. YouĀ donātĀ replace it. Feels wrong to.Ā
When you first bought the place, you and Jimin busted out the walls to make a wider space for an open plan living room area with theĀ kitchen.Ā Ā
The walls are raw concrete, softened with threadbare rugs and a scattering of mismatched shelves, some made from reclaimed wood, others from polished scrap metal Jimin insisted on keeping. Here and there,Ā youāveĀ tucked in small personal touches: a jar of pressed flowers, a few sketches pinned with magnets, a single potted plant struggling toward the faint amber glow of the overhead lights. You may have let Jimin set most of the tone---smooth floors, clean counters, streamlined furniture---but subtle evidence of you lingers, stubborn and unpolished, likeĀ yourĀ handwriting on the edge of a notebook.Ā
Above, pipes and conduits stretch across the ceiling, some exposed, some woven into the woodĀ panellingĀ Jimin added. Thin strands of amber LED filament weave among them, low and warm, tracing gentle arcs that outline the living space without ever feeling like a light show.Ā ThereāsĀ a soft hum of life from the tech tucked into the corners---servers, work consoles, a holographic workspace that folds down from the wall at your command---but nothing flashy, nothing meant to impress anyone but yourselves.Ā
A long table dominates one side, scarred from years of projects and meals alike. Chairs and stools around it are an eclectic mix---some polished, some splintered---brought together by necessity and taste rather than design. The kitchenĀ islandĀ is smooth steel with subtle neon inlays that glow faintly when you place your hand near sensors embedded in the surface.Ā Ā
Couches sink deep, their leather cracked and supple, cushionsĀ moldedĀ to the memory of those who lounge there most. Behind them, one wall is a patchwork gallery of sorts: framed schematics, notes in your messy handwriting, a few scratched-up vinyl records.Ā Ā
The absence of windows gives the space a certain intimacy---no city to intrude, no sky to distract. Instead,Ā itāsĀ a world unto itself, lit by gentle amber and flickers of holographic displays when needed. You can feel the weight of the ceiling, the subtle coolness of concrete underfoot, and the warmth from the heating pipes that run along the walls. Every item, every surface, is carefully practical yet carries a trace of memory, of small victories, of stubborn pride.Ā
It is your underground sanctuary: warm, quiet, and unpretentious, a place that reflects both the lifeĀ youāveĀ clawed together and the small joys you refuse to let go of.Ā
You cross the living space and grab a protein bar from theĀ box on theĀ kitchen counter,Ā rippingĀ itĀ openĀ with your teeth. The wrapper hits the bin with a soft crinkle just as Jimin comes down the stairs again.Ā
Hair damp, shirt clean, and---thankĀ God---smelling likeĀ soap.Ā He drops onto the couch with a groan,Ā towel still hanging around his neck.Ā He shifts, looking at youĀ from over the backrest of the couch.Ā
āAll good?ā heĀ asks,Ā pulling at the hem of his grey tee-shirt, damp spots clinging to his skin.Ā
You take a biteĀ of the protein bar, chewing.Ā The chocolate underside smears against the warmth of your fingers,Ā āGot a job offer.āĀ
He raises a brow, interested. āBig one?āĀ
āYeah.Ā Real big.ā You toss theĀ other half into your mouth, licking the chocolate smudges from your fingers,Ā andĀ swipe open yourĀ HolowatchĀ console. The holographic message flickers, blooming in a shade of chrome blueĀ and enlargedĀ asĀ itāsĀ projected upwardsĀ from your wrist.Ā You walk over to the living room area, pointing at theĀ message.Ā āDidnātĀ even say what it is. Just⦠payment details.Ā ThatāsĀ it.āĀ
āThatās weird,ā Jimin says, sitting up, leaning forward squinting.Ā He studies the message with a slight frown,Ā and then his eyes flicker up to yours,Ā āYouĀ takingĀ it?āĀ
You shrug, pretending to think about it. But the truth runs deeper than that.Ā
YouāveĀ got enough money. Real accounts, fake ones. TheĀ onesĀ thatĀ keepĀ the lights on,Ā andĀ theĀ onesĀ that stay buried where no one can sniff them out. You could retireĀ tomorrowĀ and live three lives without blinking. But greedĀ isnātĀ about need.Ā ItāsĀ muscle memory.Ā You see, whenĀ you grow up hungry, you never really stop chasing the next meal---even whenĀ youāreĀ full.Ā
āItās a lot of money, Jimin.āĀ
āItāsĀ alwaysĀ a lot of money,ā he counters, tilting his head and then his eyebrows disappear into his bangs.Ā He waves his hand, wrist rolling,Ā āThatāsĀ usually the part whereĀ I tell youĀ itāsĀ too riskyĀ and you agree with me.Ā This could beĀ anything.āĀ
You glance at the screen again. ThatĀ those numbers feelĀ likeĀ bait, shiny and deliberate. You know it. He knows it. Still, your fingers twitch at the thought of it---another code to break, another secret to steal.Ā
āThatāsĀ true. OnlyĀ oneĀ way to find out.ā you say finally,Ā nodding more to yourself,Ā āGuess Iāll take it.āĀ
Jimin groans, dragging a hand down his face. āYouāre insane.āĀ
āMaybe.ā You grin. āBut at leastĀ IāmĀ rich.āĀ
He throws the towel at your head, laughing. āAnd morally bankrupt.āĀ
āOccupational hazard.āĀ
You toss the towel back, softer.Ā He catches it, shakes his head withĀ a half-smile, āI still donāt think itās a good idea...itāsĀ reallyĀ vague.āĀ
āWonāt be the first time.ā You shrug, and then wave a hand, āItāll be fine.āĀ Ā
You turn off theĀ holo, the jobās digits still glowing faintly in your mind.Ā JiminĀ doesnātĀ look too convinced but gratefully says nothing.Ā
You wander back in the kitchen tapping on the fridge monitor interface.Ā Great invention really,Ā less of a practicality, more of a cure for standing in front of your open fridge syndrome.Ā Scratching at your tummy, youĀ stare blankly at theĀ displayĀ ingredients stackedĀ neatly inside.Ā Ā
The TV turns on and Jimin surfs the channels before settling on some ancient ass reality show.Ā Something out ofĀ ā21, bunch of people on an island trying to find love amongst themselves. YouĀ donātĀ knowĀ howĀ he finds that entertaining.Ā Ā
āCali,Ā wannaĀ cook something?ā you call,Ā head swivelling like a bird to look at him across the room. His head ofĀ darkĀ hair pops up just to scowl at you.Ā Ā
āYou got two hands.āĀ Ā Ā
āJust say you hate me,Ā damn.āĀ You rollĀ yourĀ eyesĀ and move towards the cupboards instead.Ā Ā
Jiminās voice floats over, āI swear to god if you make cup ramen again...āĀ Ā
āWell.ā You snort, pulling the cupboard open,Ā eyeing the various flavours,Ā āIf you cooked something,Ā you wouldnāt have to worry about that.āĀ Ā
Jimin sucks his teeth,Ā and you turn to face him with aĀ mockĀ expressionĀ of abashed shock, āPark Jimin.Ā Did you justĀ tell me to kiss your ass?āĀ Ā
āWhy,Ā do you want to?ā He fires back,Ā and then he stands, laying out the towel along the back.Ā āIāve been doing squats.āĀ Ā
You make a face,Ā āI donāt know where youāve been.āĀ Ā
He walks over,Ā smacks yourĀ handĀ and closes the cupboard. He stares you down and you can already see him caving, āWhatāre you feeling for?āĀ Ā
YouĀ make aĀ sound thatĀ was far more gremlin under a bridge than it needed to be.Ā He squats down to rummage through the pots and pansĀ in the cupboards below.Ā
āThree courses.āĀ Ā
He turns his head slowlyĀ to look up at you,Ā eyes narrowing, āYou better be joking.āĀ
āYeah, but itās just a suggestion.āĀ Ā
He pulls a couple pots from the cupboard, raising to his full height, āYou should know that I hate you.āĀ Ā
āThatās not news.ā You wrap your arms around his middle, clinging to his back as heĀ moves to the stove embeddedĀ into the island counter.Ā He taps on the interface; sleekĀ black and fine silver chrome, it flares in purple, temperatureĀ lines rippling alongĀ the glass.Ā Ā
He turns and you turn with him,Ā he fills the pot with waterĀ and sighs loudly, āYouāreĀ like a damnĀ nanite. Get off me.āĀ
Laughing you release himĀ and let himĀ work. Before long,Ā you had stir-friedĀ noodles andĀ friedĀ chicken in bowls. You would argue thatĀ itāsĀ definitelyĀ notĀ breakfast, butĀ who the hellĀ cares?Ā YouĀ even letĀ himĀ convince you to eat with him rather thanĀ ācrawl back to your caveā.Ā Ā
āMi, this isnāt even entertaining...whatĀ am I looking at?āĀ with your mouth full of noodles and just-right veggies, you point the gnawed end of your drumstick bone at the TV.Ā Ā
āThis was all the craze back in the day.āĀ He shrugs.Ā Ā
YouĀ think if youĀ stayĀ there and zoned out hard enoughĀ itādĀ make a bit of sense to you. Eventually, you get back to your work, abandoning Jimin to his...show.Ā Sipping on water, youĀ actually contemplateĀ theĀ client request.Ā Ā
Sighing, you accept it. At the bottom left of the screen, an encrypted text box appears.Ā It blinks for a while, all but three seconds before the first message comes it. The personĀ mustāveĀ been sitting at their devices waiting for you to accept.Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Hello.Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā IĀ requireĀ your services.Ā Ā
Who talks like that?Ā You blink, staring at the screen before your fingers fly across the keyboard.Ā Ā
[Shade]:Ā What can I help you with?Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā I need informationĀ about someone.Ā Ā
This guy is taking forever to get to the point, you sigh, watching theĀ chat indicator blink and stop and then start up again.Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā A CEO. All you need to do is get into his company serversĀ and tell me what you find.Ā Ā
Thatās...it?Ā You squint at theĀ initialĀ client request, the amount of money offered and then back at the taskĀ theyāveĀ asked.Ā Well...this person clearly has money they have no idea what to do with, and who are you to tell them how to toss it around?Ā Ā
[Shade]:Ā I can do that.Ā WhoāsĀ the guy?Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Perfect. His name is Kim Seokjin.Ā IāmĀ sureĀ youāveĀ heard of him.Ā CEO ofĀ VionixĀ Industries.Ā
Your brows go up,Ā a sharp laugh bubbling from your lips.Ā Kim Seokjin?Ā TheeĀ CEO of CEOs? EveryoneĀ whoāsĀ anyone knows the guy.Ā Granted,Ā not forĀ anythingĀ remotelyĀ good...well,Ā thatāsĀ reallyĀ from an objectiveĀ viewpoint.Ā Ā
VionixĀ Industries is theĀ GodfatherĀ of tech. Its nameĀ practically synonymousĀ with innovation. Founded during the third wave of the digital revolution, it began with prosthetic integration tech: cybernetic limbs that moved like flesh, nerve-linkedĀ andĀ seamless. Within a decade, they expanded into planetary data mapping;Ā launching orbital satellites thatĀ didnātĀ just photograph terrain, but read energy grids, water veins, fault lines, and atmospheric changes in real time. It changed everything from agriculture to climateĀ modellingĀ toĀ warfare.Ā
When the world needed to see itself clearer,Ā VionixĀ gave it vision.Ā
When governments wanted control,Ā VionixĀ sold them omniscience.Ā
Their breakthroughs built the infrastructure of the modern age;Ā neural-link interfaces, biomechanical AI companions, self-evolving operating systems, the first functioning digital consciousness. Their name was in every boardroom, every orbit,Ā andĀ every surveillance act. They had patents in every field that mattered.Ā
And at the heart of it all was legacy.Ā KimĀ Hye-Shinās precision. His sonās ruthless expansion.Ā DecadesĀ of brilliance.Ā Ā
Then cameĀ Kim Seokjin.Ā
The golden heir.Ā Ā
Where hisĀ forefathersĀ builtĀ anĀ empire, Seokjin built a reputationĀ one scandal at a time. The media called him theĀ PorcelainĀ Prince ofĀ Vionix: all polish, no substance. His name was on every tech journalāsĀ lips,Ā and they never had anything nice to say,Ā notĀ that the manĀ gaveĀ them anything nice to say about him.Ā Lavish parties sprawling across penthouse floors, champagne baths and guests who woke up withĀ their names inĀ headlinesĀ for one thing or another.Ā
Every week,Ā aĀ newĀ photo: him laughing, glass in hand, silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down, some new socialite on his arm.Ā NotoriouslyĀ difficultĀ to work with, but somehow always available for a magazine shoot and interview.Ā
The most recent scandal? A professional interviewĀ forĀ Tech Visionary,Ā he arrived at still drunk from the night before;Ā hungover, reeking of whiskeyĀ andĀ unable to string a coherent sentence together. The footage went viral withinĀ the hour.Ā
AĀ disgraceĀ to his name.Ā
A mockery of the dynasty that built the future.Ā Practically spitting in the face of his Great-Grandfather that startedĀ VionixĀ and built it from the ground up.Ā
And yet, for all hisĀ incompetence⦠the world still watched him.Ā You would think the publicĀ wouldāveĀ grown bored of the man by now.Ā HeāsĀ done the same thing every damn week, youĀ donātĀ understand the appeal.Ā HeāsĀ as exciting as watching paint dry.Ā
YouāreĀ not sure ifĀ heāsĀ gotĀ anything to dig up.Ā OneĀ Google search will get you everywhere.Ā
[Shade]:Ā Information on that guy isĀ practically free?Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Are you refusing?Ā Ā
[Shade]:Ā Did I say that?Ā IāllĀ do it.Ā Ā
āEasy money.ā You mutter, shaking your head.Ā Again,Ā youāreĀ not gonna tell anyone how to spend their hard-earnedĀ cash.Ā TheyāreĀ probably afterĀ his secrets orĀ whateverĀ that man could keep hidden.Ā WhichĀ probably isnātĀ much.Ā UnlessĀ theyāreĀ interested in his party guest list.Ā
[Shade]:Ā I would need 24 hours.Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Great.Ā IāllĀ be in touch.Ā Ā
The chat box winks closed,Ā and you lean back into your chair, shaking your head again.Ā The twenty-fourĀ hoursĀ wasnātĀ something you necessarily needed,Ā itāsĀ simply becauseĀ youādĀ be hacking intoĀ Vionix. A huge companyĀ that, without a doubt, would be crawling with securityĀ codes and trip sensors. YouĀ actuallyĀ haveĀ to be careful.Ā Ā
You spend the first hour buried in public detritus;Ā an archaeologist of press releases. Investor decks that read like motivational posters, product spec sheets for consumer neural implants, glossy campaign videos tagged with too-many hashtags, API docs so painfully dry they couldĀ anesthetizeĀ a server. Career postings forĀ VionixāsĀ summer intern program. Customer support logs about a dozen people whoĀ canātĀ figure out why their companion-botĀ wonātĀ stop singing lullabies inĀ strange languages.Ā
You skim, you archiveĀ andĀ you yawn. This is the boring scaffolding of an empire: perfunctory and tidy.Ā
When it was clear that there was nothing of interestĀ on the public servers, you move inward.Ā Ā
The map of the network folds up and you push deeper---private VLANs, R&D sandboxes, legal partitions. The company smells different here: less curated press, more human sweat. Meeting minutes with sticky-note sarcasm. Project timelines with blank spaces for ācontingencies.ā Expense requests with obscene line items. A messy folder of internal chat logs where someone named Mina complains about the coffee and the head ofĀ logisticsĀ schedules a golf weekend. Little domestic things that make a corporation feel like a large, neurotic animal.Ā
You let yourself be bored a little longerĀ -----really,Ā thereāsĀ nothingĀ interesting---until you stumble across a doorway somebody forgot to stone over.Ā
ItāsĀ a private cluster under an innocuous tag:Ā /board/secure/comm.Ā That one is not supposed to exist in the placesĀ youāreĀ poking.Ā It looks like a stub,Ā actually,Ā aĀ placeholderĀ so that the more inexperienced can find it whenĀ theyāreĀ looking.Ā Handy.Ā Ā
The encryption is polite and aggressive.Ā youĀ easilyĀ slip through it,Ā like water finding a hairline crack in glass. Authentication tokens misrouted, an old admin key cached in a deprecated node, a service handshake that still answers an old secret phrase---nothing dramatic. YouĀ donātĀ need to narrate the theft; you just get in.Ā ThatāsĀ the art: make it look like it belonged there the whole time.Ā
The room opens like a private salon.Ā
Thread titles are clinical:Ā Board.Topics.Q4,Ā Exec.Private,Ā Legacy.Transfers.Ā At the top of the list is a chat threadĀ labelledĀ simply: āDoyunĀ & AssociatesĀ -----Private.ā The head of the board---HanĀ Doyun---heāsĀ the one who smiles in photos with his hand on Seokjinās shoulder and says the right things at shareholder dinners.Ā You can find out a lot about a person by their eyes, they tell, after all, HanĀ DoyunĀ always gave you such shark vibes, likeĀ heāsĀ in the wrong profession. He should be in one that demands a lot more from people who has a lot less.Ā
The messages areĀ certainly...something.Ā ItāsĀ clear these two hadĀ no ideaĀ how to properly encrypt shit or else youĀ wouldnātĀ be here staring at it.Ā It wasĀ dated a month and a half ago:Ā
[Han.Doyun]:Ā HeāsĀ a fool. Every quarter he burns through more capital, every headline drags us further down. IĀ donātĀ know how much longer the shareholders will tolerate him.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: Public sympathy still clings to the family name. But the board is restless. They want control returned to adults.Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Control will return onceĀ heāsĀ gone. Quietly. We keep the legacy intact. No scandal, no blood on paper. Just an unfortunate accident.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: Do we even need subtlety? The man can barely spell his own title half the time. A little nudge, and gravity will do the rest.Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Subtlety prevents questions.Ā WeāllĀ arrange the contractors. External. Disposable.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: And the inheritance?Ā ThereāsĀ talkĀ heāsĀ beenĀ funnellingĀ funds into something privateĀ off record. Some secret project.Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Yes.Ā IāveĀ heard. A tip came in last weekĀ aboutĀ something enormous. IfĀ itāsĀ real,Ā from whatĀ IāveĀ heard,Ā itāsĀ worthĀ trillions. And that idiotĀ doesnātĀ have the sense to guard it properly.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: HeĀ probably thinksĀ heāsĀ building a toy. Still, ifĀ thereāsĀ even a fraction of truth to itā¦Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Then we take it. WhateverĀ heāsĀ working on becomesĀ VionixĀ property the momentĀ heāsĀ out of the picture. The contracts will transfer posthumously. Simple.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: And if he somehow lives long enough to open his mouth?Ā
[Han.Doyun]: HeĀ wonāt. Schedule it for the gala. The cameras will be our alibi.Ā
You read it twice because your brain refuses to stitch theĀ sentencesĀ together the first time: quietly gone. Contractors. Trillions. A secret project.Ā TheyāreĀ talking about erasing a man likeĀ theyāreĀ adjusting the lighting in a boardroom.Ā
Your palms go cool. Not fear, exactly. More the hollow, surprised stillness of a body that just learned the floor it stands on is gone. You blink once, then the edges of annoyance sharpen. TheĀ audacity. The clumsy sanctimony. The complacent certainty of men who thinkĀ theyāreĀ owed what theyĀ didnātĀ build.Ā
You scroll. There are attachments. A roster of contractors---black-market brokers with names scrubbed into hashes, transfer windows, an account flagged for a āspecial operationsāĀ payout. Flight manifests. A timeline that pins the āfateful accidentā to a high-profile event where Seokjin will be seen surrounded by cameras and crowds. They outline contingency plans: if the cameras fail, a staged accident; if thereās suspicion, a medical misread; if worse comes, an alibi old enough to go viral and disappear into noise.Ā
You let the words settle. Corporate language, budget lines, murder plans. Polite monsters in tailored suits.Ā
Your first instinct is stupid and immediate:Ā WhoĀ the hell hired you? The anonymized client who tossed you the gig without a spec? Are they trying to outsource conscience? Are they doing surveillance? You scroll back up to the chat header. No extra tags. No breadcrumbs. Whoever messaged you knew exactly what to sendĀ and exactly how little to say.Ā
You should close the window. Delete the evidence. Walk back to the sofa, eat the leftoverĀ chicken, pretend you never sawĀ anythingĀ that could get your hands dirty with a marked manās death. That would be the pragmatic move.Ā Safe.Ā
Instead,Ā your mouth tastes like iron. You sit very still and let a new machine start in your head: problem recognition shifting into something that looks suspiciously like planning. The money flickers in the corner of your mind---the obscene number that brightened the clientās offer---and you think, not for the first time, about what you value and where you draw the line.Ā
YouĀ arenātĀ a martyr, but yourĀ inaction can cost a man his life.Ā ItāsĀ not your business, but nowĀ youāreĀ here and you feel likeĀ you'reĀ staring down the barrel of a gun andĀ someoneāsĀ telling you to walk aĀ tightropeĀ over uncertainty.Ā
You copy the thread into a locked buffer, a ghost of the fileĀ youāllĀ need.Ā Then you mull over it for hours, the same thought running through your mind:Ā What would Jesus do?Ā You can warnĀ him, maybe.Ā Ā
You sit with your head propped up on your fist, staring blankly at your screens with a frown.Ā Your ass is starting to ache, and you wiggle your toesĀ in your socks to bring feeling back to your legs.Ā Ā
You sit very still and let the cityās neon buzz gloss over you while your fingers map the problem the way you map networks---nodes, points of failure, empathy as a nonfactor. The questionĀ isnātĀ whether you warn him.Ā ItāsĀ how to do it without turning your life into a headline.Ā Is there a way you can do that without getting in too deep?Ā
First: get him alone. You ghost into the public routing, trace theĀ commĀ nodes that bounce his traffic, and find the thin threadĀ thatāsĀ more forgiving than the rest---a personal line he never thought to harden because, of course, heĀ probablyĀ neverĀ thinks.Ā ItāsĀ ugly beneath his gloss: an old number tied to a vanity carrier, a lazy auto-forward that still points to a disposable handset. Amateur hour. Perfect.Ā
You craft the message likeĀ youādĀ craft an exploit---short, cold,Ā andĀ no flourish. The sort of thing that reads like a warning,Ā youādĀ hope.Ā
SeokjinĀ -----meetĀ tonight at The Lumen, east mezzanine. Midnight. Come alone.Ā DonātĀ wear your watch.Ā -----A friend.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ say who you are. YouĀ donātĀ tell him you crawled through his companyās veins and found men in suits arranging his funeral as if it were paperwork.Ā YouāreĀ not trying to be noble. You want one thing: him breathing the morning afterĀ and a clear conscious.Ā
Sending the ping is mechanical.Ā YouĀ slip itĀ throughĀ the feed his concierge checks---one of those soft, stupid pipelines the rich assume is safe becauseĀ itāsĀ cushioned by service contracts and smiling faces. The message slides into his screen.Ā You watch the delivery tick fromĀ greyĀ to green. Then you watch the tiny double dot that says āreadā and hold your breath likeĀ itāsĀ some kind of superstitious ritual.Ā
He reads itĀ and heĀ doesnātĀ reply.Ā
Second: satisfy the client without burning the trail. You compile everything public---press kits, investor slides, ordnance on product releases, the usual corporate fluff. From the private layers, you pull meeting minutes, expense statements, HR whining, a folder of the R&D timelinesĀ thatāsĀ mostly mundane but useful for anyone looking for leverage. You scrub metadata,Ā resequencingĀ the logs so the files look tidy and unremarkable, then encrypt the package with a keyĀ forĀ the clientĀ to useĀ and push it to the drop. You include a tidy little checksum note delivery confirmed, files intact.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ include the board chat. YouĀ donātĀ include the contractor roster or the payment windows or the line that reads like a murder memo. You copy it, lock it in a secondary buffer, and bury that buffer behind five different dead drops and fake identities. If anyone asks, youĀ didnātĀ see anything youĀ werenātĀ paid to see.Ā Ā
The client paysĀ immediately, because thatās how obscene offers work---cash first, conscience later. You feel the number in your accounts like a bad aftertaste.Ā This became less about the money when you got into the private servers, youĀ donātĀ even want it anymore.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ tell Jimin. YouĀ donātĀ tell him becauseĀ heāllĀ either try to talk you out of it,Ā andĀ talk sense at you, orĀ heāllĀ plant that smug, inevitable āI told you soā like a flag in a battlefield.Ā It would be best thatĀ heāsĀ not involved in...Ā whateverĀ this is. And hopefully, this turns out to beĀ nothingĀ at all... Let him sleep. Let him keep being the idiot who distrusts scholarshipsĀ to stick with you.Ā
You lock the buffers, purge the ephemeral traces,Ā put everything on a flash driveĀ and then you sit with the after that sounds like a drumbeat behind your ribs. YouĀ didnātĀ do this to be a hero. You did it because you have a mirror and you clean it when it gets too dusty. You did it because, profit aside, the idea of men with spreadsheets schedulingĀ someoneāsĀ death like a budget line is obscene in a way that makes your stomach clench.Ā Ā
Thereās selfishness in the choice, yeah---clear conscience is a currencyĀ youāveĀ hoarded at times. ButĀ itāsĀ not the ugly kind.Ā ItāsĀ the kind that lets you sleep with your eyes closed two nights in a row. That matters. Small mercies matter whenĀ youāveĀ learned not to trust anything bigger.Ā
You slide your chair back, feel the mechanics click, and stand. The warehouse smells faintly of oil and noodles and the kind of detergent Jimin likes. You walk to the windowless wall where theĀ holoĀ frame sits and watch the city pixels smear into a smear of indifferentĀ colour.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ know how this would work,Ā maybeĀ heādĀ thinkĀ itāsĀ phishing, and ignore it.Ā Somewhere where a man who drinks too much will thinkĀ heāsĀ invincible and a ghosted message will feel like a prank.Ā
You refill your water. You tell yourselfĀ youāllĀ do two things next: sleep, and plan.Ā
Plan what? YouĀ donātĀ know yet.Ā Rescue, maybe.Ā Maybe exposure,Ā that is...if you can do it without becoming a target.Ā MaybeĀ youĀ shouldĀ doĀ nothingĀ at all andĀ quietlyĀ watch from the shadows.Ā Thatās...not an option, no matter how tempting it seems to you.Ā The job changed. The brief turned into aĀ choice. Consequences will follow, whether you like them or not.Ā
You go back to the console and open the locked buffer. The boardās chat sits there,Ā patientĀ and stupid and criminal. You unplug the external drive, slide it into a Faraday pouch, and tuck itĀ in a drawer under loose sheetsĀ ofĀ paper.Ā
YouĀ end up not sleeping.Ā You pull up the city feeds and watch the time until midnight tick closer, and you feel, absurdly, like a kid waiting for fireworks to start.Ā
When it was about eleven pm, youĀ shower and get dressed in something simple; jeans, a plainĀ tee-shirtĀ and a dark-wash denim jacket.Ā The Lumen was a prime party spot smacked in the middle ofĀ downtown;Ā some placeĀ youāveĀ only ever seen from the safety of passing cars and live streams.Ā It'sĀ not your scene.Ā
Jiminās been there more times than he could count on his stubby little fingers.Ā YouāreĀ certainĀ thatāsĀ where he metĀ Gina.Ā
You wonder at your outfitĀ in the mirror of your bedroom, frowning.Ā YouāreĀ certainly underdressed for whereĀ youāreĀ going, but you very wellĀ couldnātĀ tell the guy to meet you in a back alleyway.Ā Besides,Ā youāreĀ going there for no other reason than having a clear conscious.Ā YouāveĀ already been paid, so afterwards you can move on with your life and pretend youĀ hadnātĀ seenĀ anything at all.Ā Ā
Your boots scuff along the floor, clinking softly against the black steel steps as you head upstairs.Ā YouĀ patĀ your pocket every few seconds to make sureĀ the external drive is in there.Ā
You push the door open and let it swing closed behind you.Ā The door to your section of the warehouse sits underneath a steel landingĀ that cuts the space in half. The stairs that lead up towards it is a spiralling thing off to your rightĀ that goes up toĀ Jiminās bedroomĀ space.Ā Ā
To your left isĀ aĀ kitchenĀ and dining hybrid,Ā separated from the rest of the room byĀ a panelled glass wall.Ā It looks a lot warmer than your mostly dark scheme below; white speckled granite countertops and beige wood.Ā Where youĀ hadĀ limitedĀ your space to only the basic needs of todayās technology, Jimin embraced it.Ā Ā
During the day, most of the light comes from the slantedĀ sunroof above Jiminās bedroom loft.Ā HeādĀ stripped the ceiling to install windows there,Ā so that he could seek the sky onĀ itsĀ less cloudy nights.Ā
The middle of the outer space beyond is dominated by a large couch set,Ā leather and brown that cages the space in a boxy semi-circle. TheĀ soft white light comes from the pendant lamps hanging from above on impossibly thin wiring.Ā It makes the dark rug that covers theĀ concreteĀ flooring seem even darker.Ā A large TV sits against the wall,Ā one that Jimin barely ever uses.Ā Ā
A smallĀ portionĀ of the room is taken up by Jiminās office-work space. Like the kitchen area,Ā itāsĀ sectioned byĀ floor to ceilingĀ panel glass walls. Though, these ones are frostedĀ and can be made clear at the touch of a button.Ā
His workbench stretchesĀ almost theĀ entire length of the wallĀ -----an altar of organized chaos. Spools of filament, soldering irons, precision cutters, and a charred anti-static mat scarred by a thousand prototypes. Half-assembled drones hang from ceiling hooks like metal bats in stasis, their wings sleek and skeletalĀ -----chrome,Ā graphiteĀ andĀ midnight blue.Ā
Two monitors float above the desk on mechanical arms, hydra-like, their screens filled with code and thermal readings. A third screen sits lower, dedicated to schematicsĀ -----components blown apart and annotated in neon handwriting only Jimin understands.Ā
In one cornerĀ -----a charging rack of palm-sized exploratory bots, all glossy white and faintly humming, light strips breathing softly likeĀ theyāreĀ asleep.Ā
It smells faintly of ozone, copper, and burnt plastic. Sometimes it takes days for that scent to get out of your nose and out of Jiminās hair.Ā Ā
HeĀ does all his work there, andĀ itāsĀ whereĀ he sits now,Ā tinkering with a drone.Ā The stick of a lollipop pokes out the side of his mouth, glasses with a magnifying toolĀ perched on his nose as he pokes an electric screwdriver about.Ā His tablet lays near his hand, which he turns to him and slides around for a minute before muttering to himselfĀ and going back to the drone.Ā Ā
As you walk across theĀ living room, he catches your visage and looks up. āHey, Birdie.Ā WhereāreĀ you off to?āĀ Ā
His right eye looks impossibly large with the magnifying tool, and then he tilts his head, peering at you above the frame. ā...Dressed like that?āĀ
You wave a hand, āOut.āĀ
AlbeitĀ itāsĀ for his own good, you feel guilty thatĀ youāreĀ keeping it from him.Ā Ā
āIĀ wonātĀ be too long. Just gonna grab a drink.āĀ
Jimin raises a brow, and before you can get tooĀ far, he slips off the stoolĀ heāsĀ sitting on and takes off his glasses. He walks over to the doorway of hisĀ workshop, work forgotten.Ā āAs in...Ā outsideĀ outside?Ā Is the sky falling?ā he squints behind you, ducking his head a little toĀ look up at the windowsĀ above his bed.Ā Ā
His eyes trail back to you, a twinkle there. A smileĀ curls the cornersĀ of his mouth upwards,Ā plush lips parting around his crooked front tooth. āAre you going on a secretĀ date?āĀ Ā
āSure, Cali, letās call it that.ā YouĀ pull your keys from the pocket of your jacket, wrapping your fingers securely around the cold metal.Ā Ā
āShit,Ā really?ā He eyes you up and down with scrutiny this time,Ā butĀ thereāsĀ a certain mirth there,Ā ādressed likeĀ that?āĀ Ā
You sigh and he goes on, āWhereāre you going?āĀ
āLumen.āĀ Ā
āDressedĀ lik---āĀ Ā
āJimin.āĀ Ā
HeĀ puts his hands up in surrender,Ā āJust wanted to make you aware that you look like youĀ havenātĀ seen the light of dayĀ ever.Ā YouāllĀ scare off your date.āĀ
You give him the finger,Ā and he blows you a kiss, watching you as you walk towards the door.Ā Ā
āBe safe! AndĀ donātĀ do anything IĀ wouldnātĀ do!āĀ He calls out, wiggling his eyebrows with a smile.Ā
āThatāsĀ notĀ a very long list, Jimin.āĀ Ā
When you get outside, the steel door closes behind you andĀ the biometric lock system beeps.Ā The warehouse sits on the cityās fringe, where the skyline begins to bruise the horizon and the ground still smells faintly of machine oil.Ā Ā
Your car waits where you left it---yourĀ car, not one of those chrome, self-driving pods that swarm the highways like obedient insects. You hate those. The design isĀ ugly. It looks exactly howĀ a kidĀ from ages ago would imagine a car in the future to look;Ā smoothĀ and silver and kind of round.Ā YouāreĀ pretty sureĀ itāsĀ a passion project for someoneās grandkid.Ā Ā
Your carās an old thing by everyone elseās standards---Jimin likes to stand and make fun of it for kicks---: a deep green coupe with manual locks, chipped paint, and an honest-to-GodĀ steering wheel. You bought itĀ yearsĀ ago, back when the idea of ownership still meant something. People stare when you drive it through the city---half in disbelief, and the other half turning their noses up becauseĀ how dare?Ā Ā
You chuckle to yourself as you slide into the seat, the leather soft and familiar under your palms, and start her up. The engine rumbles awake, purringĀ whileĀ turn the heatĀ on,Ā you rubĀ your fingers together.Ā The vents make a little rattling sound asĀ the fans sputter to life; you should fix that.Ā
The drive downtown takes twenty minutes if the roads behave. Neon arteries run through the city, pulsing with holographic ads that ripple across glass faƧades. Giant screens shimmer with faces of pop idols and politicians, voices selling perfection in thirty-second bursts. Drones skim overhead, their red sensors blinking like restless eyes.Ā
The world is bright and glittery, and nothing dazzles your eyes anymore.Ā Ā
You stick to the old roads of the city, thankfullyĀ youāreĀ not the only person with an older model car. Mostly elderly folks keep āemĀ nowadays, butĀ thereāsĀ even less of them on the roads.Ā
Luckily forĀ you, that meansĀ itāsĀ less of a hassle to drive to the centre of downtown. An old song plays on the radio as you stop at a red light, you tap your fingers to the beat butĀ youāreĀ not really listening to it.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ know exactly whatĀ youāreĀ going to tell Seokjin if he does manage to show.Ā Somehow youĀ donātĀ think, āHey so someone paid a shit load of money for me to hack into your company,Ā and I found out that your own board wants you dead,Ā ha-haāĀ would fly.Ā HeādĀ probably callĀ theĀ cops.Ā Or, at the very least thinkĀ youāreĀ bat shitĀ insane.Ā Ā
You sigh, leaning your head against your hands on the steering wheel. You turn your head to look out the window, at the people walking up and down the sidewalks despite the hour, the old shops that have long been boarded over. Eaten up by time or left behind by peopleĀ seekingĀ greater, more modern things.Ā Ā
The green light glows against your dashboard, and you push your car forward.Ā Ā
You pull the coupe into a tight space between two silent, black-glass autonomous vehicles. They look down their metaphorical noses at your chipped paint and rattling vents, but you ignore them. They might be sleek and safe, but yours has aĀ soul, and the soul smells faintly of gasoline, notĀ sterilizing spray.Ā
The LumenĀ is a vertical wall of chrome and light, bleeding neonĀ rainbowsĀ into the smoggy night sky. It looks like an extruded corporate symbol. You park, hit the manual lock, and slide out,Ā immediatelyĀ feeling the city pressure hit you---theĀ cold air, the distant pulse of bass, the faint, sweet-chemical scent of recreational use already drifting from the heavy, automated doors.Ā
You walk toward the entrance. You know what you look like: a ghost in a denim jacket and decent jeans, surrounded by a herd of creatures wearing materials that cost more than your car. Their fabrics shimmer with self-cleaning polymers, their footwear glows softly, and their hair is styled with impossible, architectural precision. They look like expensive, genetically optimizedĀ goldfish. You feel like a rat that snuck in through the ventilation shaft.Ā
Inside, the sound hits you like a physical wall---a deep, resonant thud that vibrates in your chest cavity,Ā and nearlyĀ turnsĀ your teeth loose. The main floor is a sensory obscenity. The ceiling is too high, the light is too rapid, and the air is thick and hot with the smell of cheap ambition and expensive champagne.Ā
āTacky,ā you mutter under your breath.Ā ItāsĀ too loud to hear anything else, which isĀ probably theĀ point.Ā
The crowd is dense, a sluggish river of polished plastic and oiled skin. Everyone is either laughing too hard at nothing or staring blankly at the floating, three-dimensional holographic projections of stylized dancers that drift through the air like transparent, blue phantoms. You push through the crush, annoyed by the sheer inefficiency of these bodies---they take up too much space, they move too slowly, and their focus is criminally diverted. They are the same idiots who click phishing links and leave ā1234ā as their network password, just in better clothes.Ā
You make your way to the back perimeter, seeking the stairs. The mezzanine is your target, the east mezzanine---elevated, slightly more exclusive, but still offeringĀ a great viewĀ of the inevitable fall. The irony is not lost on you: the perfect spot for a subtle exchange, or for an assassin to ensure a clean shot.Ā
Climbing the stairs, the air gets marginally cooler, and the bass becomes slightly more directional;Ā less overwhelming.Ā You arrive on the mezzanine level.Ā ItāsĀ less crowded up here, featuring velvet couches and small, private booths protected by thin, shimmering kinetic-light screens that flicker with distracting, abstract patterns. The patrons here are older, quieter, and the dealsĀ theyāreĀ closing areĀ probably farĀ dirtier than anything happening on the dance floor below.Ā
You scan the area, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, feeling the solid outline of the external drive.Ā
ItāsĀ midnight.Ā YouāreĀ on time. You look at the spot you specified:Ā a small, low wall overlooking the main floor, slightly shielded by a potted, glowing plant. You lean against the railing, feeling exposed but professional.Ā
Alright, porcelain prince, you think, ignoring the dizzying lights below.Ā Your turn.Ā
You wait, watching the crowd, trying to blend into the shadows of the gaudy architecture. The airĀ smells a headache inducing mixture of different perfumes. You want to be home, where the smell is ozone and burnt copper and Jiminās questionable cologne, not thisĀ fragranceĀ of imminent disaster.Ā
The music hammers on, the lights flash, andĀ youāreĀ calculating the odds of getting out of here without a full security scan when a voice, smooth and perfectly pitched to cut through the din without shouting, speaksĀ right behind you.Ā Ā
āYou look rather underwhelmed, considering you have a private meeting with the most sought-after man in the hemisphere.āĀ
You rotate slowly on your heel,Ā years of living with Jimin has forced you to be preparedĀ to be snuck up on, and thankfully, itĀ doesnātĀ make you jump out of your skin.Ā Ā
The man standing before you is undoubtedly Kim Seokjin,Ā dressed impeccably in a white turtleneck sweaterĀ -----which somehow makes his broad shoulders look even more soĀ ---tucked intoĀ sharp black slacks. TheĀ shine of his leather shoesĀ reflectsĀ theĀ club'sĀ neon floor lights.Ā His hair rests perfectly,Ā a side partĀ that shows off his forehead and lets justĀ a bit sway above his left eyebrow.Ā Ā
He should start suing for photos, honestly.Ā DoesnātĀ do him justice at all.Ā NowĀ isnātĀ the time for thoughts likeĀ that, though.Ā Ā
Confusion furrows your brow;Ā you look off to the side and thenĀ turn to check if there was anyone behind you and thenĀ point at yourself.Ā LikeĀ theĀ one meme of that white kid. AbsoluteĀ classic.Ā It'sĀ still around today if you look in the right places...getting off topic.Ā
Seokjin lets out a chuckleĀ thatāsĀ more a puff of air than a roll of sound, āI got your message.āĀ
You know how in those silly kidās cartoons where thereās tens of littleĀ youāsĀ running around keeping everything going? You feel likeĀ theyāveĀ all frozen up with a red,Ā flashing warning alarmĀ blares on.Ā Ā
Your brain stutters. You blink, staring at him. He was supposed to be confused,Ā maybe indignant, certainly defensive. NotĀ knowingĀ who you were, let alone acknowledging the anonymous ping you sent.Ā HeĀ shouldnātĀ have approached youĀ first. What the fuck is this?!Ā
āExcuse me?āĀ Ā
A slow, sweet smile curled his plush lips, revealing a flash of genuine, unexpected amusement. He tilted his head, the posture making him look less regal, more predatory.Ā
He takes a step towards you and leans into your space. The scent of his cologne was dizzying; sharp and cleanĀ and something slightlyĀ fruity. The warmth of his breath races down your ear and the side of your neck and sends and involuntary shiver chasing after it.Ā Ā
āI trust theĀ paymentĀ was satisfactory?ā he asks, his voice smooth like velvetĀ and he pulls away, smiling patiently likeĀ heāsĀ waiting forĀ youĀ to catch up toĀ him.Ā Ā
It takes a good few seconds, where you brainĀ has toĀ stop and push the powerĀ button for your frontal lobe.Ā You have a strange, unnerving feeling likeĀ youāreĀ a teenĀ whoāsĀ just beenĀ pantsedĀ in the middle of a full cafeteria.Ā Or a joke just flew over your head like an airplane.Ā Ā
āYou...Ā youāre ---āĀ Ā
āCorrect.ā He says,Ā and then he turnsĀ away from you, eyes scanning the mezzanine. With a gentle hand on your arm, he turns you towards a booth in a far corner,Ā near a decorative water feature thatĀ wouldĀ mercifully muteĀ some of the noise.Ā
āWe shouldnāt discuss corporate treason standing next to the raw sewage of high society,ā he murmurs,Ā his tone dry as dust. He gesturesĀ toward the booth, inviting you go in first.Ā Ā
Your brain is working double time as he sits opposite you. Youāve half a mind to reach for yourĀ watch and scan him.Ā ThereāsĀ absolutely no way that this man and the man running rampant in the tabloids are the same.Ā His eyesĀ arenātĀ dulled by substance or alcohol,Ā theyāreĀ wide and bright, a deepĀ brown, almost black that looks far too intelligent to belong to him.Ā Ā
EitherĀ youāreĀ talking to an android replica,Ā orĀ The Porcelain PrinceĀ is just a perfectly curated mask donned to hide the man sitting before you now.Ā Ā
āYouāve found something in the servers, yes?ā He asks, andĀ youāreĀ not sure if he picks up the placard menu just to have something to do with his hands, or if he was genuinelyĀ browsing.Ā āIt'sĀ why you asked to meet.āĀ Ā
HeĀ chuckles to himself as thoughĀ heādĀ told a funny joke, āWell,Ā āaskedāĀ is a bit of a stretch. Ominously demanded is more like.Ā Very misleading,Ā by the way.āĀ
āYouāreĀ my client?āĀ YouāreĀ still trying to process, and he raises his eyes from the menu to frown at you.Ā Ā
āYes, I thought I made that clear.Ā Keep up.āĀ Ā
You blink, and then take a deep breath, because if you just startĀ wailingĀ on him,Ā youādĀ probably getĀ kicked out. And arrested.Ā Ā
āWhy would you hire me to hack into yourĀ ownĀ company?āĀ Ā
Seokjin lets out an almost disappointed sigh,Ā āIt was the fastest way to get an unvarnished security audit, wasnāt it?ā He puts the menu aside,Ā āVionixĀ is too porous. Anyone insideĀ could beĀ compromised. I needed proof of internal malice, delivered by someone with no allegiance to the name.āĀ Ā
A laugh bubblesĀ itsĀ way up your throat before you can stop it,Ā slipping past your lips with a shake of your shoulders. WhileĀ youāreĀ laughing it up, Seokjin looks decidedly unimpressed, leaning back into the soft leather cushions of the booth to watch you.Ā Ā
āIām sorry...ā you put up a hand and then smack it down against the polished table. The small, circularĀ tabletopĀ rattles a little,Ā āI just have a hard time believing all of this.āĀ
āHm, well.ā SeokjinĀ begins, waving his hand as though your words and confusion was a mere fly.Ā āI do cut a perfect picture,Ā donāt I?āĀ Ā
He winks at you and nowĀ itāsĀ your turn to look unimpressed. He shrugs when youĀ donātĀ swoon,Ā apparently, and then he taps a finger on the glossy menu.Ā Ā
āWould you like a drink?āĀ Ā
āNo,Ā thank you.āĀ Ā
He shrugs again, and all he has to do is raise a hand and a server comes over hurriedly,Ā āSuit yourself, then.Ā DonātĀ complain to me whenĀ youāreĀ thirsty after all the talkingĀ weāreĀ gonna do.āĀ Ā
He orders a gin tonic...virgin. YouĀ donātĀ know why that shocks you more than anythingĀ youāveĀ found out tonight.Ā Ā
āSo.ā HeĀ begins, plucking the wedge of lime off the rim of the short glass. He sets it aside neatly on a napkinĀ and sips at his drink, āTell me what you really found on the servers.āĀ Ā
You take a deep, steadying breath, surveying the man across from you.Ā A man, not asĀ foolish as he makes himself to be for the public,Ā whoāsĀ utterly oblivious toĀ the immediate, visceral dangerĀ youādĀ discovered.Ā Ā
You dip your hand into the pocket of your jacket, pulling out theĀ external drive that sits in its safe littleĀ pouch and slide it across the table.Ā āIt'sĀ all on there.Ā I think internal maliceĀ is the least of your worries.āĀ Ā
āHow so?ā He carefully lifts the flap of the pouch and wiggles his fingers aroundĀ inside,Ā āA flash drive?āĀ
āDoesĀ the namesĀ HanĀ DoyunĀ and MinĀ TaejinĀ mean anything to you?āĀ Ā
Seokjin chuckles, āOnly that one is theĀ ChairmanĀ of the Board,Ā and the other isĀ theĀ Chief Financial Officer. They were both appointed by my father before heĀ stepped down.ā He says, narrowing his eyes slightly,Ā but otherwise,Ā doesnātĀ seem too bothered by your question.Ā āTheyāveĀ been with me for years, and my father even longer.Ā It'sĀ no secretĀ that they want me gone.āĀ Ā
āTheyāre planning toĀ have youĀ killed.āĀ You blurt out, and Seokjinās hand pauses halfwayĀ lifting his glassĀ to his mouth.Ā Ā
He looks past you for a second and then his eyes refocus, ā...Really?āĀ Ā
He looks genuinely shocked, and for a moment, he loses the flippant arroganceĀ heādĀ been displaying. He sets the glass down with a barely audible clink against the polishedĀ table. āI was expecting a coup orĀ a cumulative voting, anything...āĀ
He looks distressedĀ now, a crease forming between his perfectĀ brows. His Adamās apple bobs when he swallowsĀ and he nods, more to himself, you notice, āWhat else?āĀ Ā
āThe chat log was datedĀ for a month and a half ago.Ā TheyāreĀ planning to do it at some high-profile event.ā You knock your knuckles against the table, āThey alsoĀ talked something about a project.Ā TheyāreĀ knowĀ youāreĀ working on something and they want it.āĀ
āIs that all they said about it?ā his very real death threat hanging above his head isĀ seemingly forgotten, and he looks almost desperate when he asks.Ā āThe project?āĀ
āNo...Ā theyĀ didnātĀ mention anything else. Just that it costs a lot and they thinkĀ youāreĀ ---āĀ Ā
āA fool?āĀ He scoffs.Ā Ā
That wasĀ notĀ what you were going to say...Ā Ā
Seokjin sighsĀ and rubs his thumb against his plush bottom lip.Ā He looks at you likeĀ heāsĀ considering something, āThat project is myĀ life.Ā It was my grandfatherās, then my fatherās and nowĀ itāsĀ mine. The kind ofĀ work it is...I would kill me out of curiosity to get my hands on it too.āĀ Ā
āWhoa, whoa,Ā whoa! Why are you telling me this?ā you put your hands up,Ā and look around, butĀ youāreĀ certain no one can hear your conversation over the club music, āI donāt want to be involved in...whateverĀ this is!āĀ Ā
āFunny youād say that---āĀ ThereāsĀ a sharp sound that whistles past your ear,Ā andĀ a hot, burningĀ sensation that spreadsĀ from your earlobe to yourĀ cheek.Ā Ā
The kinetic privacy screen of the booth shatters into a thousand shimmering shards, the sound barelyĀ audibleĀ over the clubās bass but terrifyingly real.Ā It rains over you in little black shards.Ā Ā
Seokjin letsĀ out a ragged, guttural grunt of pain. His hand fliesĀ to hisĀ leftĀ shoulder, a sudden, blossoming shock of red staining the perfect white turtleneck. HeĀ hadnātĀ screamed, but the sound he made---pure, involuntary animal distress---was worse. He shovesĀ the small table aside, collapsing toward you, his body a heavy, muscled weight of high fashion and rapidly failing adrenaline.Ā
The second shot slamsĀ into the velvet cushion where your head had beenĀ momentsĀ before. Chaos eruptsĀ on the mezzanine; the club music drowned in a wave of raw, panicked screaming.Ā
Blood, shockingly bright, was already soaking the shoulder of your denim jacket.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ hesitate. Survival was a simple choice, and the variable currently contaminating your jacket with his blood was the one you had to move.Ā YouĀ scramble to grab at the pouch on the ground, among the shards of black glassĀ and shove it into your pocket.Ā Getting to your feet, you shove aside a couple paralyzed with terror and, grippingĀ Seokjinās good arm, beginĀ hauling the bulk of him off theĀ leather seat of the ruined booth, dragging him toward the exit sign flashing red behindĀ theĀ decorative water feature.Ā
HeāsĀ stumbling, leaning against you, his breathing shallow and rattling.Ā
The exit door leads you to a hallway, the music inĀ The LumenĀ had been cut off and all you can hear is the panicked screams of the patrons.Ā The hallway stretches towards another exit, which spits you out on the opposite side of the carpark where your car is.Ā Ā
Seokjin is thankfully cooperative, his good arm slung over your shoulder,Ā heāsĀ holding most of his weight himself.Ā Though, his steps are less than ideal.Ā Ā
You rush over to your car as quickly as you can, trying to not be distracted by the screaming, confused people coming out of the club in droves.Ā You yank the car door open and get Seokjin inside, he slurs something to you as you buckleĀ him in.Ā
You slam the door shut, scrambleĀ around andĀ into the driverās seat, and shove the key into the ignition. The engine catchesĀ with a loud, protesting rumbleĀ and you barely give it time to warm up.Ā You peel out of the parking space with a screech, forgetting about traffic and direction, caring only about the distance between the club and the life you were desperately trying to protect.Ā
TheĀ scent of bloodĀ isĀ instantly overwhelming. You risk a glance at the man slumped beside you.Ā HeāsĀ clutching his shoulder, his skin pale and slick with sweat, but thankfully awake.Ā YouāreĀ not sure how much longer that would be for, though.Ā Ā
You need to think.Ā Think quickly!Ā Ā
You realise after a moment, thatĀ youāreĀ just tearing down the street,Ā and belatedly, a thought comes to mind:Ā YouĀ canātĀ go home.Ā Ā
If someone saw you getting into this car with aĀ veryĀ obviously injured and bleeding man, you could be followed.Ā YouādĀ lead them right home and put Jimin in danger.Ā Ā
āI canāt go home...I...IĀ donāt know what to do.ā You say, voice quiet, but your hands grip the steering wheel tightly.Ā You take a breath and then another all too quickly, the speed gauge is just climbing. You frantically check your mirrors,Ā voice pitching upwards in your panic,Ā āWhat theĀ fuck!āĀ Ā
You feel like your ears are suddenly filled with cotton and youĀ canātĀ get a decent string of thought to settle.Ā ThereāsĀ a man actively bleeding out in your damn car, you haveĀ nowhereĀ to go andĀ heāsĀ probably goingĀ to die before anything else,Ā and youĀ donātĀ know!Ā
āCalm down!ā SeokjinĀ snaps,Ā and you hear him over the ringing in your ears,Ā āYou needĀ to calm down, or weāreĀ bothĀ going to die.āĀ Ā
You glance at him, and he looksĀ worse.Ā HeāsĀ even more pale and the blood stain is eating up the white of his sweater even more. His breaths are shallow, and heĀ isnātĀ putting enough pressure on that wound.Ā
You ease your foot off the pedal, and the car slows marginally.Ā Ā
āWhat do I do?ā you ask, staring straight ahead. YouĀ donātĀ know where you should go.Ā āYou need to get to a hospital.āĀ
āNo.ā Seokjin grunts,Ā āNo hospitals.āĀ
āYouāre bleeding out!āĀ Ā
āDo you know the...ā Seokjin closes his eyes and takes a coupleĀ breaths,Ā and him not addressing your panic isĀ probably bestĀ for the both of you,Ā ātheĀ 312 Overpass?āĀ Ā
āY-yeah.āĀ Ā
āFind DraytonĀ Street.Ā ThereāsĀ a lock-up.āĀ HeāsĀ very clearly trying to stay conscious long enough to tell you what he needs to. His voice is soft,Ā and you can just barely catch his words,Ā āYouāreĀ looking...for Kim...Ā Namjoon.Ā Doctor.āĀ
His eyes flutters and his headĀ giveĀ a little thump against the window.Ā That wakes him a little, but itĀ isnātĀ for long as his head then lolls forward.Ā Ā
āOh god, are youĀ dying?!ā You cry,Ā reaching your clammy hand over to smack sharply at his cheek, āPlease donāt die in my car!āĀ Ā
His eyes blink warily open, and he lifts his head.Ā He lets out a weak laugh, āImagine...ā he mumbles, āmaking this terribleĀ upholsteryĀ worse?āĀ Ā
He blinks hard and wincesĀ as the wheels go over a speed bump. YouĀ maintainĀ your speed, pushing the engine to its limit.Ā Ā
The streets here are darker, older, less patrolled by autonomous cars and flashing billboards.Ā You roll the windows down a crack, hoping that the slight chill would help keep you calm or keep Seokjin awake a little longer.Ā TheĀ airĀ smell of damp concrete and neglect. You grip the wheel, your eyes constantly flicking between the road ahead andĀ Seokjin.Ā
āYouāre...ā HeĀ doesnātĀ open his eyes, just forces the air past his throat. āYou could at least... tell me where we are. Or let your GPS handle the route.āĀ
āIt doesnāt have a GPS,ā you snap, the cold necessity of the situation keeping your panic pinned down. āI use the old municipal grid.āĀ
He lets out a slow, wet sigh that makes you flinch. āNo GPS. Manual ignition. A person of your...talents,ā he whispers, a thread of contempt pulling through the pain. āShould have access to something less likely to leave my blood all over the pavement.āĀ
āMy car is reliable,ā you bite back, theĀ defenceĀ automatic. āAnd itĀ doesnātĀ log my routes. Unlike your fancy self-driving pods.āĀ
āNo logs,ā he murmurs, his head lolling. āAdmirable. But inefficient.Ā Youāre...Ā youāreĀ driving blind.āĀ
āIām using the old municipal grid maps,ā you explainĀ again, already running a mental trace on the 312 Overpass.Ā āTheyāre rarely maintained, but they work.āĀ
āOf course,ā he manages, the sound laced withĀ quietĀ disdain. āThe only kind of map aĀ ratĀ would trust.āĀ
āAnd the only kind that getsĀ youĀ out alive,ā you retort, the exchange firing a small, necessary burst of focus into your brain.Ā
His breathing hitches, and he goes quiet.Ā
You wait for the next sarcastic critique, but itĀ doesnātĀ come. You risk a full glance. The man is slumped against the door, his head pressed against the glass. The blood stain is vast and dark, and his skin is an alarming shade ofĀ greyĀ under the intermittent streetlights. His eyes are closed, his face slack.Ā
The absence of his voice is instantly more terrifying than the sound of the gunshot. Your hands, briefly warmed by the pointless argument, turn icy cold on the steering wheel.Ā
āHey,āĀ YouĀ prompt, your voice tight, pulling your gaze from the road to check on him. āSeokjin!?āĀ
No response.Ā
āFuck!āĀ
HeāsĀ out. Completely passed out. The silence is deafening, broken only by the loud, protesting rumble of the engine.Ā
A moment more and you finally spot the overpass; aĀ monumental arch of forgotten infrastructure. You brake hard, slowing for the off-ramp into the industrial periphery. The area is dark, dominated by blocky warehouses and the shadows they cast. This is the old city limits.Ā Ā
You check the street signs---faded, chipped enamel signs that the cityĀ largely ignoresĀ now.Ā Drayton Street.Ā
You slow the coupe to a crawl, navigating the pitted asphalt. The air here smells stale, like old metal and industrial runoff. He had called it a ālock-up.ā This implies secrecy, a hidden workshop, not a public facility. You scan the buildings---mostly blank, windowless walls, cheap composite metal siding, and heavy steel doors, all blending into one uniform line of neglect.Ā
Why would a doctor be staying outĀ hereĀ of all places?Ā I mean,Ā youāreĀ not one to judge...much. But itĀ isĀ a strange place for a doctor to be in.Ā You feel likeĀ youādĀ just wandered onto an old zombie movie set.Ā
You have the nagging feeling thatĀ youāreĀ running low on time, or that could just be your paranoia about SeokjinĀ actually dying.Ā So,Ā you pull over on the dark street and kill the lights. You roll up the sleeve of your jacket and tap at the small screen of yourĀ Holowatch. SeokjinĀ hadnātĀ told you exactly where to look, soĀ youāreĀ going to have to use your brain.Ā Ā
HolowatchesĀ are simple in design and can be used forĀ pretty much anything.Ā It was a walk in the park toĀ modifyĀ to suit your needs,Ā and despite not having the foresight to find yourself in thisĀ particular situation,Ā youāreĀ thankful,Ā nonetheless.Ā Ā
The interface comes up dimly,Ā casting a pale blue glow over most of the dark space. You do a comprehensive scan of the local grid.Ā TheĀ initialĀ results are useless; standard industrial drone recharge stations or dormant warehouse HVAC systems. This area is mostly offline.Ā
You switch the search parameters, isolating the sector grid and filtering for indicators of an off-grid facility:Ā Any unusual power consumption spikesĀ wouldĀ suggestĀ high-endĀ medical or research equipment.Ā Or even archaic, segmented network trafficĀ that would help you narrow it down.Ā
The grid flickers in your display overlay. Most of the dataĀ remainsĀ quiet, but then a faint signature appears---a small, steady power draw coupled with a high-volume, highly encrypted data stream, localized to a single building about three blocks down the street.Ā ItāsĀ a network running its own rules, completely divorced from the main city traffic. A strong, isolated line.Ā
There.Ā Ā
You start your car upĀ againĀ andĀ drive slowly down the pitted asphalt until you reach the building corresponding to the trace: a large, ugly steel-sided warehouse, indistinguishable from the others. No windows, no signs. The main door is a massive, bolted plate of reinforced steel.Ā
You unbuckle your seatbelt and clamber out of the car.Ā ThereāsĀ anĀ old ---ancientĀ ---looking coms system set up beside the steel door.Ā YouĀ clumsily press the button,Ā and it buzzes loudly in the quiet.Ā You wait impatiently forĀ twoĀ minutes before pressing it again and holding it down for good measure.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a click and the buzzing cuts short, and a groggy, sleep-filled voiceĀ crackles through.Ā Ā
āYes?āĀ Ā
āDr Kim?Ā ThereāsĀ an emergency.āĀ Ā
āSāitĀ urgent?ā the guy sounds about ready to fall asleep again.Ā Ā
You glance atĀ theĀ emergencyĀ passed out in your passenger seat,Ā probably oneĀ foot through the pearly gates.Ā āYes.āĀ Ā
āGive me a minute.ā The line crackles to deathĀ and you pace the short distance between your car and the door.Ā Not three minutes had gone by when the steel door wasĀ lifting, rollingĀ ItsĀ way up soundlessly.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ really have much brain capacity to spare taking in theĀ large expanse of room the door reveals. The good doctor takes up much of your visionĀ anyways.Ā HeāsĀ tall and powerfully built, dressed in soft cotton sweatpants and a thick, dark shirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair is tousled, and his features---mono-lidded,Ā thoughtful eyes and a strong jaw---are currently dominated by sleepy annoyance at being woken atĀ whatāsĀ probablyĀ twoĀ in the morning.Ā Ā
Then his eyes drop to the blood-soaked shoulder of your jacketĀ but follow the length of your arm when you point to the car. āSeokjin told me to bring him here.āĀ Ā
ThatĀ seems to wakeĀ him up,Ā and suddenlyĀ heāsĀ walking forward and peering into the window.Ā He pulls the door open quickly, and curses, leaning in to unbuckle the belt and haul Seokjin and all his weight out.Ā Ā
He grunts with effort as he half carries, half drags Seokjin into the warehouse.Ā āBring your car in.ā And then he disappears into a sectioned off area.Ā Ā
You do asĀ youāreĀ told, driving your carĀ in and parking it, and then finding the switch to send the door back down.Ā Ā
The large steel door shutsĀ with a heavy finality, severing your connection to the dangerous streets outside. The sound echoes in the cavernous space, replaced by a sudden, intense silence broken only by your strained breathing.Ā
You stand for a moment, letting the silence settle the frantic ringing in your ears, finally taking in the vast expanse of the warehouse. It is surprisingly sterile and organized, a stark contrast to the grimy industrial exterior. The floor is smooth, polished concrete, segmented by strips of clear, directional LED lighting.Ā
The main bay serves as a garage and staging area. Against one wall, a complex rack of server stacks and specialized equipment hums quietly, the source of the private network traffic you traced.Ā
Your eyes sweep across the open space, and you see the true structure of the ālock-up.ā Running along the far side of the warehouse, nestled against the back wall, are three prefabricated modular offices, side-by-side. Boxy, functional structures built with matteĀ panellingĀ and large, continuous horizontal windows.Ā
Namjoon disappeared into the central module. You walk toward it, drawn by the faint sound of rattling metal.Ā
This central structure is clearly the working module. Its windows offer a glimpse inside, revealing a long, organized space. There are beds visible; simple, clean cots with monitoring equipment set up off to one side. Further down the room, through another internal partition, you can see the bright, focused light of the surgical zone where Namjoon is currently working.Ā Ā
Through the gauzy partition you can make out the leg of Seokjinās pants, and you turn away, trying not to think too hard on it.Ā YouāreĀ sure SeokjinĀ wouldnātĀ have told you to come here if heĀ didnātĀ trust this guy.Ā YouāreĀ sure he knows whatĀ heāsĀ doing,Ā and youĀ donātĀ have to worry about being hunted down by the police forĀ essentially puttingĀ KimĀ fuckingĀ SeokjinĀ right in the middle of a bear trap.Ā Hahaha.Ā Ā
You try to focus on somethingĀ else. The modules on either side are dark and silent. You can onlyĀ speculateĀ on their purpose, but their presence reinforces the feeling that this place is self-sufficient and entirely separate from the world outside.Ā ThereāsĀ a small,Ā labelled plaque on the first one,Ā PRIVATE, in little bold lettering.Ā Ā
The warehouse itselfĀ isnātĀ a large thing, might be a coupleĀ feetĀ wider than yours and Jiminās. You drag your feet back to your car to lean against the hood, the adrenalineĀ thatāsĀ finally beginning to crash has you exhausted, or that just may be the factĀ youāveĀ been awake since the night before. You go to press the heel of your palm to your eyes, and spot the blood on your hand, already crusted and gone brown. Your other hand is miraculously clean of it, but your right hand has Seokjinās blood underĀ theĀ fingernails. Your hands shake.Ā Ā
You almost got a man killed tonight. Never mind that,Ā youĀ almost died. That second bullet was obviously meant for the outlying variable. If youĀ hadnātĀ told Seokjin to meet you there,Ā heĀ couldāveĀ probably beenĀ partying it up somewhere right now.Ā
Ā Safe...maybe...and youĀ couldāveĀ been sleeping in your nice warm bed and JiminĀ wouldāveĀ crawled in by now like a kid that āfrewĀ upā and refuse to leave.Ā Safe.Ā Ā
No,Ā youāreĀ standing in the weird ass warehouse of some doctorĀ youāveĀ never heard of all because you wanted to play hero. This was not the origin story you wanted to have! You really hope your canon eventĀ doesnātĀ sneak up on you. YouĀ donātĀ even know any Uncle Benās!Ā
Maybe youĀ shouldāveĀ taken that drink offer.Ā Ā
You let your hands fall listlessly to your lap and take a deep breath.Ā Ā
Soft footstepsĀ makeĀ you raise your head, NamjoonĀ has come out from the module, wiping his hands with a disposableĀ wipe.Ā Ā
āHeās stable.ā He says when he catches your gaze and tosses the wipe into a nearby bin.Ā āLuckily, the bullet when straight throughĀ theĀ muscle and missed everything.Ā HeāsĀ lost a dangerous amount of bloodĀ though,Ā soĀ IāmĀ giving him a transfusion.Ā HeāllĀ be fine.āĀ Ā
Why does he say that like Seokjin getting shot was some regular Friday occurrence?Ā Does he have another secretĀ mask to wear?Ā A secretĀ life, or something?! YouĀ canātĀ even handle the fact thatĀ heāsĀ clearly not what everyone knows him to be...well,Ā almost everyone. Either way! This is crazyĀ enough.Ā Ā
He squints at you, āYouāre injured.ā He points at your cheek, and you raise your hand, fingers brushing against the driedĀ crust of blood there. The bullet had whizzed past your ear, but itĀ didnātĀ missĀ your cheek.Ā You remember the sting of it when it grazed you.Ā Ā
āItās nothing...ā you dismiss, but Namjoon was already disappearing back into the centre module before he was out again with a first aid kit.Ā Ā
āI still have to clean it.ā He says, laying the kit out on your car hoodĀ He cleans the wound with a sterile wipe,Ā gently turning your cheek towards the light as he applies a gelĀ antiseptic and aĀ band-aid.Ā āItās superficial, wouldnāt leave a scar.āĀ Ā
Whoever took that shot is a damn good shoot to have onlyĀ unintentionallyĀ grazed you.Ā Ā
āHeās lucky you were there.ā Namjoon says softly, and the gratitude in his tone is oddly overwhelming. You only nod as he finishes putting things back into the kit.Ā āIām Kim Namjoon, are you a friend of his?āĀ Ā
YouĀ give him your name in a soft murmur, though youĀ shake your head.Ā YouāreĀ not sure how to answer that. Seokjin may trust him,Ā but youĀ donātĀ knowĀ zilchĀ about the guy, so youĀ donāt. You barely knowĀ whatāsĀ even happeningĀ anymore.Ā Ā
NamjoonĀ doesnātĀ say anything about your lack of words, instead he smiles at you.Ā Dimples sink into his cheeks,Ā and you manage just half of one.Ā Ā
āWhen was the last time you slept?ā his eyes dart between your own,Ā a serious look on his face.Ā Ā
āOh...um...āĀ Ā
HeĀ points over his shoulderĀ to the centre module, āBeds are that way, you look exhausted.āĀ Ā
You turn, leaving the comforting presence of Namjoon for the cold, clinical safety of the warehouse. You cross the open garage floor and step into the central modular building.Ā
The space is quiet now, the atmosphere heavy with the clean scent of antiseptic. Immediately to your left is the Observation Area.Ā
Seokjin lies on the farthest cot, positioned against the back wall. He is stripped of the blood-soaked white turtleneck, covered by a sterile white blanket up to his chest. His shoulder is heavily bandaged, and an IV line runs from his arm to a stand where a blood bag hangs, steadily dripping life back into him. Nearby, a small heart monitor beeps rhythmically, a steady, reassuring sound that confirms his continued existence.Ā
You move to the corner nearest the door, where a deep stainless-steel sink is positioned forĀ general useĀ before the surgical partition. You peel off your denim jacket; the fabric is stiff and heavy with dried blood. You drop it onto the clean floor without a second thought, the garment already a casualty of the night. You turn the tap on and thoroughly scrub your hands, chasing away the metallic tang of Seokjinās blood that had dried beneath your fingernails. The water runs pink, then clear.Ā
Relief is a sudden, dizzying wave. You choose the cot directly opposite Seokjin. You watch him for a moment---bandaged, pale, but breathing deeply and steadily. He looks like a high-end statue wrapped in linen, utterly unlike the man who was justĀ thirty minutesĀ ago gasping in the seat next to you.Ā
The constant beep of the monitor is now the only soundĀ accompanyingĀ your exhaustion. You shed your shoes, kicking them carelessly onto the floor, and sink onto the cot.Ā Ā
You close your eyes. The chaos of the gunshots, the screech of tires, and the metallic smell of blood fade, replaced by blessed silence.Ā
Sleep claims youĀ immediately.Ā
When you wakeĀ itsĀ well pastĀ noon, you sit up in bed, rubbing at your eyes.Ā The bed opposite you is empty, theĀ blanket folded neatly at the end of it. As you swing your legs over the side of the bed,Ā thereāsĀ a vibration at your wrist. YourĀ holowatchĀ lets out a soft beep,Ā and when you raise your hand,Ā you see the missed calls from Jimin and the one textĀ heādĀ sent over an hour ago.Ā Ā
[Insp.Gadget]:Ā you better be getting your back blown outĀ for you to miss four callsĀ >;(Ā call me!!Ā Ā
YouādĀ call him later, you promise. For now, you simply send him a text,Ā so he knowsĀ youāreĀ alive.Ā Ā
WhenĀ youāveĀ woken enough,Ā youāreĀ a little more than embarrassed toĀ remember you just dropped your jacket on the floor, but itĀ isnātĀ there. YouĀ make your way out of the module to the main bay of the warehouse, where Namjoon moves in and out of theĀ module on the left.Ā ThereāreĀ about two dozen brown boxesĀ stacked neatly near a steel side door, and Seokjin isĀ standing off to a corner, talking lowly.Ā Ā
He looks better, at least; showered and not covered in his own blood.Ā Wearing a threadbare hoodie and sweats and thankfullyĀ doesnātĀ look likeĀ heāsĀ on the brink of death.Ā His arm is in a dark blue sling,Ā held close to his chest and he gestures this way and that with his other hand.Ā Ā
Namjoon sets the last of his boxes downĀ and straightens to his full height. He looksĀ rather indignantĀ about whateverĀ theyāreĀ discussing,Ā brows drawn together in a frown, jaw working.Ā Ā
Seokjinās eyes flicker to yours and he goes quiet, and it causes Namjoon to turnĀ to face you fully.Ā He smiles at you, expression softening before he carries on with his work.Ā Ā
He eases open the side door,Ā and it unlocks with a metallic clank.Ā ThereāsĀ a murmur of voices when it pushes open,Ā and Namjoon quietly greets the waiting people outside. He hands out box after box, smiling all the while.Ā Ā
āHeĀ comes out here for two weeks every month.ā Seokjin says, voice low, āHeĀ uses this space as a free clinic andĀ support distribution for people who canāt afford it.āĀ Ā
This man must be some kind of angel, you think.Ā ThereāsĀ not manyĀ that would even look at the lower, struggling class, and here he isĀ risking his security for the underprivileged. A mixture of respect and awe blooms in your chest asĀ you watch him smiling and speaking softly to the owner of a pair of dirty young hands.Ā Ā
āBathroomās in there.ā Seokjin says,Ā effectively breaking your little awe-based spell. HeĀ points to theĀ first module with the little private plaqueĀ on the door.Ā āNamjoon put some clothes out for you.āĀ Ā
āMight have to roll the sleeves and pants a bit, though.ā Namjoon nods his head,Ā turning to you just slightly as he picks up another box.Ā Ā
āHave any of you seen my jacket?āĀ You ask, pointing a finger over your shoulder.Ā Ā
āI threw it in the wash...itās pretty much ruined now.āĀ Namjoon says and then looks at Seokjin as though expecting him to say something. When heĀ doesnātĀ answer, an exasperated lookĀ crossesĀ the doctorās face.Ā Ā
Seokjin looks at him, and then and you, and then rolls his eyes, āSorry I bled all over you.āĀ
Namjoon sighs loudly.Ā
HeāsĀ seemed to have dropped whatever extra mask he was wearing last night when he came to meet you. The air ofĀ detached professionalism is gone, and he looks very much a spoilt brat with daddyās money.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ care about the jacket.Ā You use the private module to wash up quickly, scrubbing the last vestiges of dried blood from your hairline, and then change into the track pants and Henley tee Namjoon left out for you. The clothes are soft and clean, and you do have to roll the sleeves and pant legs several times.Ā
When you get out of the bathroom, Namjoon and Seokjin are both sitting in the small kitchenette space Namjoon has built into the far end of the module. The space is simple: a small table, threeĀ chairs, and a compact surface with a kettle and a few basic appliances.Ā ItāsĀ an island of domestic calm. Namjoon offers you a cup of coffeeĀ with jam and toast, which you readily accept.Ā
āSo,ā Namjoon starts,Ā setting a black ceramic mug in front of you as he sits, āGonna explain why she dragged your ass hereĀ at two amĀ with a gunshot wound?āĀ Ā
āI might.ā Seokjin says,Ā scratching at his cheek with a finger, āIt'sĀ a long story, though.āĀ Ā
āNot as long as you think.ā YouĀ mutter into your mug.Ā Ā
Namjoonās eyes dart between the both of youĀ withĀ an odd mix ofĀ confusion and amusement. He rummages around in his pocket and pull out the pouchĀ you'dĀ forgotten in your jacket. āWhatās this?āĀ Ā
āA flash drive.ā Seokjin says and you swiftly kick his shin under the table.Ā A hiss of breath goes through his teeth and he leans down, rubbing his shin and glaring at you. āWhat was that for?āĀ
āYouāre being difficult.ā You sayĀ as he straightens, āYou realise your life is in danger?Ā You were almost killed.āĀ
āWell, I wouldnāt have been there if you hadnāt asked to meet me.āĀ Ā
āYou have free will? YouĀ didnātĀ haveĀ to show up, asshole. Not to mention I saved your ass.āĀ Ā
Namjoon clears his throat loudly,Ā āCan you both have your loverās spat later?āĀ Ā
You and Seokjin share an equallyĀ disgusted lookĀ before turning back to Namjoon. Seokjin points at you with his good hand,Ā and you both speak at the same time.Ā Ā
āHim?āĀ Ā
āHer?āĀ
āI would rather put myĀ bareĀ ass on aĀ hotĀ stove.ā Seokjin says indignantly and then shakes his head.Ā Ā
You make an offended sound,Ā youādĀ not forgottenĀ heādĀ essentially calledĀ youĀ slowĀ last night.Ā āLike youāre a wonder to the world.āĀ Ā
āWeāre getting off topic.ā Namjoon knocks on the table between the both of you.Ā HeāsĀ got that same disappointed father look Jimin puts on whenĀ youāreĀ doing something heĀ doesnātĀ think is a good thing. ExceptĀ itāsĀ somehowĀ way moreĀ effective coming from him.Ā You lean back into your chair,Ā and Seokjin turns slightly away from you.Ā Ā
āFine,ā Seokjin concedes, the petulance draining out of his voice, replaced by a cold, sharp urgency. He leans back, the movement tightening the sling against his arm. āThe reason IĀ agreed to meet you---the reason I was shot...āĀ
He gestures with his good hand toward the little black pouch Namjoon still holds. āThat driveĀ containsĀ irrefutable evidence. HanĀ DoyunĀ and MinĀ TaejinĀ areĀ planning an internal coup. They found out I was quietly liquidating my assets. TheyĀ donātĀ just want me gone; they want me dead. That bullet was meant to secure their succession.āĀ
You set your mug down, āTake the evidence, take the server logs, and go to the authorities! This isĀ attemptedĀ murder by high-ranking executives.āĀ
Namjoon nodsĀ immediately, his face serious. āSheāsĀ right, Jin. You bring the evidence to the police, you secure your safety, and they face life in prison. Why riskĀ beingĀ on the run?āĀ
Seokjin shakes his head, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. āYouĀ donātĀ understand. If I take this to the police, the investigation will make everything public. And if the world knows about the project...Ā weāllĀ have a muchĀ biggerĀ problem than two greedy executives.āĀ
āWhatĀ project?ā Namjoon presses, holding up the pouch. āWhat is worth risking your life for?āĀ
SeokjinĀ stares down at the table, taking a breath. āMy grandfather had an ambition---some called it foolish---of achieving human immortality through cybertronics. The project is calledĀ Axtaliah.āĀ
He pauses, allowing the name to settle over the small kitchenette.Ā
āAxtaliah,ā he continues, āisĀ essentially aĀ way for humans to live forever.Ā ItāsĀ a system where people could upload their consciousness---their entire mind, their sense of self---into a digital, persistent architecture. The body decays, but the consciousness and sense of self would remain. It works like an avatar; you can live withinĀ AxtaliahĀ like you would in the real world.āĀ
He looks at the disbelief hardening your expression, then back at Namjoon. āAxtaliahĀ is designed to become a new Earth---a digital, permanent sanctuary.Ā
DoyunĀ andĀ TaejinĀ didnātĀ just wantĀ Vionix. They wantĀ Axtaliah. They want to control digital immortality. If I go to the police, that data goes public. And trust me, the corporate world fighting over trillions in assets is nothing compared to humanity fighting over eternal life."
You three sit inĀ silence for a while, Namjoon had slid the flash drive back towards you.Ā Ā
āIādĀ hiredĀ Miss Pessimistic here to hack into my servers to gather intel. It was...a lot more than I was expecting.ā He looks down at his hand,Ā scratching at the corner of his index finger with the nail of his thumb.Ā Ā
Namjoon runs a hand through his hair,Ā looking like this was a lot more thanĀ heĀ was expecting, too. He nods, āWhat do you need?āĀ Ā
āNothing more from you, Joon.ā Seokjin smiles,Ā itāsĀ a more genuine one than the onesĀ heādĀ given you, āIt was risky enough to come here.āĀ Ā
āAndĀ her?Ā SheāsĀ innocent in this;Ā youĀ canātĀ just drag her around.ā Namjoon says, andĀ youāreĀ a little touched to see at least one person has some compassion.Ā Ā
āSheās not innocent.ā Seokjin says, making a face, āSheāsĀ aĀ hacker, you know?Ā Literally committed a crime hacking into my servers.āĀ
āYou hired me to do that?!Ā Hello?ā You protest,Ā slapping your hand down on the table.Ā
Seokjin just shrugs, a careless movement that makes Namjoon wince in sympathy for his friendās shoulder.Ā
āSheās technically an accomplice now,ā Seokjin continues, as if youĀ arenātĀ sitting right there. āShe knows the entire structure of the attack, she drove the getaway car, and she has the primary evidence on that drive.Ā SheāsĀ in this as deep as I am, legally speaking.āĀ
āThatās becauseĀ youĀ bled all over me and then passed out!ā you shoot back, you think you soundĀ rather childish, but so does he so youĀ donātĀ care.Ā āI was following your minimal instructions!āĀ
Namjoon rubs the bridge of his nose, looking deeply regretting allowing either of youĀ in the same room together.Ā āShe saved your life.Ā You owe her a decision, Jin. A way out.āĀ
Seokjin looks at you then, the annoying aloofness replaced by a flicker of respectĀ thatāsĀ gone just as quickly as it appeared.Ā āThere is no āway out.ā Not unlessĀ IĀ dismantleĀ AxtaliahĀ entirely, which IĀ wonātĀ do.Ā I need helpĀ to move the core files and the prototype.āĀ
He slides the drive back across the table, offering you not a job, but a choice.Ā Ā
You stare at it for a long moment before dragging your eyes up to meet his, āAnd what about your mole?āĀ Ā
He narrows his eyes at youĀ and pressesĀ a hand against his chest,Ā looking scandalized,Ā āHow do you know about those? IĀ only have moles on my back.āĀ Ā
āNo,Ā you idiot...ā you sigh, ātheĀ informant. Someone toldĀ TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ about that project.Ā They got a tip from someone. And sinceĀ itāsĀ secret, I assume you have a selected few that know about it. Someone in your circle sold youĀ out.āĀ Ā
He contemplates this for a moment,Ā staring off into space.Ā ThereāsĀ somethingĀ in his eyes that makes them look far away from here.Ā Namjoon shares a glance with you and then he reaches for your empty mug and Seokjinās.Ā Ā
āWhatāreĀ you gonna do?Ā YouĀ need a plan. Or...something.āĀ Namjoon asks over the sound of flowing water,Ā he washes the mugs andĀ utensils andĀ puts them neatly on a rack to dry.Ā
Seokjin sighs, āFor one, we canāt stay here.āĀ
āWe?āĀ Ā
āYes,Ā we.āĀ Ā
āYou better mean theĀ royalĀ we.Ā IāmĀ not going anywhere with you.āĀ Ā
āYouāre smarter than that, Iām sure.ā There he goes again, calling you dumb.Ā You glare at him, and he leans forward towards you,Ā voice low,Ā āYou were shot at too, if you recall. And I distinctly remember you saying youĀ canātĀ go home. I can assumeĀ thereāsĀ someone youĀ donātĀ want involved in this.āĀ Ā
YouĀ arenātĀ responsible for your own life alone.Ā This couldāve all been avoided if you minded your own damn business. A headache blooms at your temples.Ā Ā
āFine.āĀ Ā
Within the hour, Namjoon had given Seokjin enough painkillers to take down a horse,Ā and a light hug goodbye.Ā While they discussed things quietly,Ā youādĀ taken a moment to survey the damage done to your upholstery. YouĀ canātĀ exactly blame the guy forĀ almost dying,Ā so you just quietly give the old leather seats a wipe down.Ā Ā Ā
You take a moment to let Jimin knowĀ youādĀ probably beĀ out all weekend.Ā Saying that your ādateā went well.Ā Ā
Namjoon had given you your jacket back, whichĀ is well unusable now. The blood had sunk deep into the denim and stayed thereĀ even after a wash. You just throw it in the backseat.Ā
You shake Namjoonās hand and thank him before getting intoĀ yourĀ car with Seokjin.Ā The engine rumbles to life and you give Namjoon a little wave as you back out into the street.Ā Ā
āWhere to?ā You ask, as you drive out of DraytonĀ StreetĀ and onto the main strip.Ā You look at Seokjin,Ā whoāsĀ currently wiggling his thumb between the strap of the seatbelt and hisĀ shoulder to alleviate the pressure.Ā Ā
He looks at you and then nods at your watch, āDoes that have GPS?āĀ Ā
You roll your eyes, āWhatāsĀ with you and GPS? If I put you out on the street,Ā could you find your way home?Ā Jesus.āĀ Ā Ā
You activate theĀ expand feature that projects the interface upwards.Ā You realise belatedly you left your chat with Jimin open,Ā but Seokjin gracefullyĀ doesnātĀ say a word. You open the GPS systemĀ and let him input the address of where he wants to go.Ā Ā
YouĀ stare at the map, ā...ThatāsĀ hoursĀ away.āĀ
āYes, and?āĀ Ā
āI donāt want to be stuck in here that long with you.ā You say,Ā and Seokjin rolls his eyes. You peer at your gauges,Ā āAnd I have to stop for gas.āĀ Ā
āReally?ā HeĀ shakes his head, āWhy do you drive this bag ofĀ boltsĀ around?Ā Do people even sell diesel anymore?āĀ
āHey!ā You exclaim, rubbing your hand along the dashboard, āIgnore him, baby, heās loopy on pain meds.āĀ Ā
Seokjin huffs a laugh as youĀ glare at him.Ā Ā
Road trip.Ā Yay.Ā Ā
YouādĀ have to stop at the nearest gas station, full up,Ā probably getĀ some crappy food and snacks and mentally prepare yourself forĀ an hoursā long drive outside the city.Ā Ā
Staying on the old roads, you were lucky to find a gas station quick. And even luckier toĀ find thatĀ itāsĀ ran by an older gentleman who barely paid you mind.Ā Ā
āIām gonna grab stuff.ā You say, coming back to your carĀ after paying for the gas. You lean down, āDo you even know how to manually fill up a tank?āĀ
āWhat do I look like to you,Ā hm?ā Seokjin grumbles,Ā then he slowly unbuckles the seatbelt. You feelĀ kind of badĀ watching him do that, but then he gets out and scowls at you and it goes down the drain.Ā Ā
āWell, all thoseĀ fancy drifters got internal batteries. IĀ donātĀ expect you to know,Ā Princess.āĀ Ā
He comes around the car and takes the gas nozzle off the holster.Ā
āRightyĀ tighty,Ā lefty loosey.ā You say, and his scowlĀ deepens.Ā
āIāll hit you.āĀ Ā
āMhm!ā You walk backwards, laughing at him.Ā YouĀ turn andĀ walk through the automatic doors of the Quick Stop.Ā The exterior is faded, cracked concrete, but inside is clean, cool, and lit by buzzing LEDs.Ā
The older gentleman is behind a wide counter, leaning on a dull grey register terminal that looks like itĀ hasnātĀ received a software update in a decade. He looks up briefly, nods, and goes back to polishing a small figurine.Ā Ā
You bypass the shelves of pre-packaged, brightlyĀ colouredĀ synth-fibreĀ bars and head straight for the hot counter. The gas station convenience store luckily offers a wide range of things to munch on, including readymade hot-dogs and miniature Hamburger Jrās, kept perfectly warm inside a thermal dispensing unit. You grab aĀ selectionĀ ofĀ savoury, processedĀ snacksĀ and load up on several bottles of water so that SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ have to raw dog his pain meds cross country.Ā
You bring your haul up to the counter. The old man patiently lifts each item, manually inputting the codes into the terminal. When he finishes, he holds up a small, flat card reader. You raise your wrist, and the reader beeps as you scan your watch to pay for the goods. Instead of plastic, a machine next to the terminal dispenses a flexible, reusable fabric mesh carry-bag. You quickly stuff your snacks and water into it.Ā
You walk out, and Seokjin is thankfully back in the car waiting. At leastĀ heāsĀ successfully filled up the tank.Ā Ā
āCongratulations.ā You say,Ā getting in the carĀ and starting it again,Ā āyou successfully completed a manualĀ fuelling process.āĀ Ā
āDonāt sound so surprised.āĀ Ā
You drop the bag of goodies in his lap,Ā āHelp yourself.āĀ Ā
Seokjin mumbles a quiet thanks and the rummages through the bag,Ā he takes out a bottle of water and a granola bar as you peel out of the gas station.Ā Ā
ItāsĀ a coupleĀ momentsĀ of silence that prompts you to turn the radio on, and Seokjin, staring at the bottle in his hand. He grips the bottle firmly in his food hand, andĀ twists at it with the fingers of his other. Nothing happens.Ā Ā
He tries again, applying more pressure,Ā thereāsĀ a pained hiss and he stopsĀ immediately.Ā Avoiding your gaze,Ā he holds the bottle out to you.Ā Ā
āWhatās the matter, did the cap win?ā You ask,Ā trying to sound bored, even as you reach over and easily twist the cap off the bottle.Ā The seal snaps audibly.Ā Ā
āThey over-torque these things.ā He grumbles, but thanks you anyway.Ā
Ā āDo you need help opening that,Ā too?āĀ Ā
He endsĀ up opening the granola bar with his teeth.Ā Where Seokjin wants to goĀ is about a four-hour drive, should just be about sundown when you get there.Ā On the mapĀ itāsĀ a secluded, private property, so itĀ doesnātĀ really give much.Ā Ā
The radio hums softly, a newer song ofĀ techno-beats thatĀ scatters under the backdrop of wind in your ears. Seokjin had complained about your choice of snacksĀ but opened a bag of chips anyway.Ā Ā
āYou know.ā He says through a mouthful,Ā the wind sends his hair fluttering across his forehead,Ā āI never asked for your name.āĀ
You raise a brow,Ā glancing at him,Ā āDidnāt ask Namjoon?āĀ Ā
āYou two are on a first name basis now?āĀ Ā
Both your brows go up at his tone,Ā and in the moment,Ā you chuckle because it reminded you of those ancient memes about CynthiaĀ ErivoĀ and Ariana Grande.Ā āDoes that matter?āĀ Ā
He shrugs his good shoulder, āNot really, but IĀ canātĀ just call you āShadeā.Ā WhoĀ came up withĀ that, aĀ twelve-year-old?āĀ Ā
āActually, yes, IĀ wasĀ twelve and it sounded cool at the time.ā Seokjin laughs and youĀ canātĀ find it in you to be offended, so you laugh too,Ā giving him your name.Ā
āIāve got a question.ā YouĀ venture,Ā whenĀ youādĀ stopped giggling,Ā he nods and you continue,Ā āWas that your first time hiring a hacker?āĀ Ā
āWhat gave it away?āĀ Ā
āāIĀ requireĀ your servicesāā You say, doing your best to mimicĀ the timber of his voice, āWho talks like that?āĀ Ā
āI was nervous!ā he laughs,Ā shifting in his seat.Ā ThereāsĀ a quiet wince in his expressionĀ and then he quiets.Ā ThereāsĀ probably aĀ lot on his mind and youĀ donātĀ blame him for being lost in his own head.Ā
By the time you make it out on the old highway,Ā itāsĀ just aboutĀ threeĀ pm.Ā ThereāsĀ nothing butĀ road,Ā and the radioĀ thatāsĀ filling the thankfully not awkward silence.Ā Ā
With his head laying comfortably against the headrest of the passenger seat, SeokjinĀ turns to you. You catch the movement from the corner of your eye, the way he stares at you just long enough for to you wonder whatĀ heāsĀ thinking about.Ā Ā
āCan I ask you something?ā HeĀ mutters, still staring at you.Ā Ā
You have a feeling you know where this is going to go,Ā andĀ youāreĀ already uncomfortable, flexing your suddenly clammy fingers against the steering wheel. āSure.āĀ Ā
āYou didnāt have to tell me anything.ā He says, and then finally looks away, staring straight ahead and then down at his lap, āYou couldāve taken the money andĀ pretended like you didnāt see anything at all.āĀ Ā
There it is!Ā Ā
āYeah, well...ā You make a face, āI have aĀ conscience.Ā ItāsĀ nothing to do with you.āĀ
He studies you for a long while and then chuckles, nodding his head,Ā āUnder all that cynicism,Ā youāreĀ not half bad.Ā Nice, even.āĀ Ā
āOh, really?ā You say with mock astonishment, āThanks,Ā IāmĀ honoured.Ā ItāsĀ almost likeĀ IāmĀ a decent human being.āĀ Ā
āAh, I wouldnāt go that far.ā Seokjin laughs, āYou are a hacker, after all,Ā soĀ thatās debatable.āĀ Ā
āNot all of us areĀ criminals.Ā IāveĀ known peopleĀ whoāsĀ done far worse than me. And with the thingsĀ IāveĀ done,Ā youādĀ be surprised howĀ low the bar is.āĀ Ā
āThank you...for saving my life.āĀ He says softly,Ā leaning forward trying to catch your gaze. You turn your head just to avoid him straining his wound. The genuine gratitude in hisĀ eyesĀ curls around your chest andĀ youāreĀ not sure what to do with it.Ā āAnd Iām sorry for dragging you into this mess.āĀ Ā
āItās...itās fine.āĀ You are...Ā terribleĀ at this.Ā ItāsĀ a wonder youĀ donātĀ shrink away from the sunlight;Ā youāreĀ like a gremlinĀ thatāsĀ never had any human interaction. āUh, youāre welcome.āĀ Ā
āOkay, Iāve another question.āĀ You try your best to spin the bottle, turning the vibe back on him to avoid the awkwardnessĀ youāreĀ feeling. Seokjin reaches into the glove box, pulling out the bottle of painkillersĀ Namjoon had given him.Ā āWhatās with all of that, anyway?āĀ Ā
He tosses two of the pills into his mouth and chases them with water, āWhat?ā he points at himself andĀ tilts his head.Ā Ā
āYou.ā YouĀ gesture with a hand,Ā ādo you have any idea how the public sees you?āĀ Ā
āWhy should I care how the peopleĀ perceiveĀ me?āĀ He retorts, and for a moment, seem to think his words over. He sighs,Ā shaking his head, āWhen you give someone nothing, they expect nothing of you.Ā By making everyone thinkĀ IāmĀ aĀ spoilt brat hopped up on nepotismĀ with not a thought in my head I was able to get this far.āĀ Ā
He looks out the window, his eyes far away, āIĀ donātĀ enjoy drinking or partying.Ā Believe it or not,Ā IāmĀ actually anĀ introvert.Ā I justĀ donātĀ like making people uncomfortable.ā He shrugs, āI did what I had to do toĀ continue my fatherās work in secret, butĀ acting like an idiot can only get me so far, I suppose.āĀ Ā
āHuh.āĀ YouĀ say, because, well...what do you say to that?Ā SeokjinĀ slowly turns to look at you,Ā and at his expression you can do nothing but laugh, āThat was a way more depressing answer than I thought itād be.āĀ Ā
āWhat, did you think I liked having my name slandered every week?āĀ Ā
āWell, you didnāt look like it bothered you all that much to be honest.ā You wince, and then, āBut Iām no longer ignorant,Ā so...um, tough?āĀ
āRemind me to never ask you for comfort.āĀ Seokjin shakes his head,Ā an amused smile in his eyes,Ā āI think your attempt would hurt me a lot more.āĀ Ā
You share a laugh.Ā Ā
āIāve got another question.āĀ
āDamn, what is this, twenty questions?āĀ Ā
āYou started it.Ā IāmĀ just playing along.ā Seokjin runs his thumb along theĀ wrapper of the water bottle,Ā āIām curious.āĀ Ā
āThatās dangerous.ā You chuckle, shifting in your seat because you can feel a cramp starting.Ā Maybe youĀ should stop and stretch your legs.Ā Ā
Seokjin chuckles too,Ā āWhy are you a hacker?Ā You can be...Ā more...with what you can do.āĀ
āI donāt do much...ā you deflect.Ā
āIt takes a lot of skill to hack intoĀ VionixāsĀ servers and all without activating the security protocols.Ā Anyone elseĀ wouldāveĀ been arrested in twenty-four hours.āĀ Ā
āI never said I wasnāt good at what I do.ā YouĀ chuckle butĀ sober upĀ pretty quicklyĀ as the next set of words tumble out of your mouth without your consent. āSome people start hackingĀ for whatever nefarious reasons they could muster. And some people do it because they had nothing else.āĀ Ā
āWhich is yours?āĀ Ā
āI had nothing going for me,Ā thatāsĀ all. Nothing to loseĀ and only one thing keeping me going. I wanted better and the worldĀ couldnātĀ give it,Ā so I took.āĀ Your smileĀ doesnātĀ feel very genuineĀ and paired with the clamminess of your palms and the sinking feeling in your stomach,Ā SeokjinĀ knows itĀ isnāt.Ā
You shrug a shoulder, āTurned out all right, so. Nothing to cry over.Ā ItāsĀ more of a hobby than a need.ā You wave a hand, āMy lifeās loads betterĀ for a kid from the slums, got nothing to complain about.āĀ Ā
āHm.ā SeokjinĀ hums,Ā āI suppose thatās pretty valid.āĀ Ā
āYeah, I guess?ā You laugh, āfor what itās worth, though...I donāt think youāre an idiot.āĀ Ā
Seokjin presses his good hand against his chest, āIs that a compliment? Was there something in that hot dog?āĀ Ā
āHar-Har.āĀ Ā
An hour laterĀ youāveĀ shifted in your seat one too many times, and your back is starting to hurt. SeokjinĀ isĀ dozing off against the windowĀ but opened his eyes when you tap his arm.Ā Ā
āIām pulling over.āĀ Ā
āWhat? Why?āĀ Ā
āMy back is hurting,Ā and Iāll be damned if I let aĀ crampĀ take me out.ā You slow the car to a crawl before it stops completely.Ā Opening your door you unbuckle and get out, groaning as you stand. āOh,Ā thankĀ fuck!āĀ Ā
Seokjin is more careful getting out the car, mindful of his sling. His head pops upĀ on the other side and through squinted eyes he peers at you. āI need to pee.āĀ Ā
HalfwayĀ between stretching your arms out you glance around, āWhatādĀ you want me to do? Cup my hands? Find a bush.āĀ Ā
Seokjin looks around and then back at you with a pointed look, āSee any bushes around here? You might as well.āĀ Ā
āThen stickĀ yourĀ dick in a bottle.āĀ Ā
It seems like the air in the car was loaded with something, becauseĀ youāreĀ both right back at it as soon as you get fresh air.Ā Ā
He stomps his way across theĀ road,Ā and you turn around, leaning your back against the car door, āWatch for snakes!Ā IāmĀ not sucking your dick to save your life.āĀ
āFuck off.āĀ He calls, butĀ thereāsĀ no real heat behind it.Ā Ā
By theĀ timeĀ the sun was a molten ball sinking beyond the distant horizon, you finally pull off the highway and onto a suspiciouslyĀ maintainedĀ sprawl of asphalt.Ā Ā
Your watch beeps, andĀ at a glance,Ā itāsĀ Jimin replying to your text from hours ago with a string ofĀ wildĀ emojis. And then:Ā Ā
[inspĀ Gadget]:Ā How good is thatĀ dicc?!?Ā YouāllĀ be gone ALL weekend?Ā šĀ Use protection!!!Ā Ā
Still call meĀ tho!!Ā
You cover the watch face to disable the projection, but SeokjinĀ apparently canātĀ let it slide this time.Ā Ā
āYour friend?ā He snortsĀ but tries to cover it with a cough.Ā Ā
Mortified you press your lips together and nod.Ā Seokjin chuckles but says nothing more, instead, he directs you down another paved road. AndĀ itāsĀ only a short distance away a steel gateĀ blocks most of the road.Ā Ā
āSlow down.ā He says and as you do, he unbuckles the seatbelt andĀ awkwardly turns to stick his right hand out the window. From a non-descript corner,Ā a small, round drone floats down silently andĀ scans his palm with a blue glow. It flashes green and gives a little beep before it floats back from where it came and the gateĀ slidesĀ open. āBio-drone.āĀ Ā
You drive up and over a little ramp onto a smooth gravel road. The landscapeĀ thatĀ expands before youĀ isĀ almost jawĀ dropping. You expected a house, but this is a whole damn estate,Ā youāreĀ pretty sure.Ā
On either side of the road is neatlyĀ trimmed grass, all leading up to a dense, private forest that completely seals the property off from the outside world. ThisĀ isnātĀ just a perimeter fence;Ā itāsĀ a strategically planted, towering wall of native hardwoods and evergreen foliage,Ā maintainedĀ to military precision. The treesĀ arenātĀ haphazard; they look deliberately spaced, creating a natural sound and sight barrier designed to absorb all traces of the complex within.Ā
The road itself winds lazily, paved with a dark aggregate that absorbs light, hinting that the property continues far deeper than you can see. There are no signs, no mailboxes, and no visible power lines---everything is buried and reinforced.Ā
As you follow the curve of the drive, the landĀ opens upĀ slightly. You see glimpses of a small, clear reservoir reflecting the rapidly darkening sky. Every patch of grass is impossibly green, every tree perfectly pruned. The quiet is total, broken only by the crunch of your tires on the fine gravel---a soundĀ thatāsĀ almostĀ tooĀ loud in this vast, secluded space.Ā
The architecture of the landscapeĀ tells youĀ that security was theĀ first priority.Ā You realize thereĀ isnātĀ a single spot on this sprawling land where a car could accidentally veer off the path or where someone could easily slip unnoticed through the boundary trees.Ā
The final stretch of the drive leads up to a wide plateau where the main residence finally comes into view. The house is a low-slung, multi-winged structure built from black slate and enormous panels of tinted, reflective glass, making it look less like a home and more like a high-end, stealth bunker designed to vanish into the night.Ā Ā
You pull into theĀ garage, the automated door raises,Ā and you pull up next toĀ whatāsĀ mostĀ definitely aĀ vintageĀ 1968 Ford Mustang.Ā ItāsĀ covered by a clear tarp,Ā which has a layer of dust like the thingĀ hasnātĀ been touched in years.Ā Ā
You cut the engine and point at it, āYou were shit talking my baby this whole time!āĀ Ā
Seokjin sighs like he was expecting your outburst,Ā as he unbuckles the seatbelt and climbs out.Ā He grabs the bag of empty water bottles and snacks wrappers. The garage door comes down behind your car and for a momentĀ itāsĀ dark until lights blink on.Ā
You clamber out the car,Ā walking around the front to get a closer look, āThis thingās ancient.āĀ Ā
āIt was my great-grandfatherās.ā He grabs you by the elbow and steers you away, āYou can gawk at it later.āĀ Ā
He leads you towards aĀ door and places his hand against a scanner. For the second time his palm is scanned and the door unlocks.Ā You supposeĀ itāsĀ fair, being this rich and famous one much have a precaution or two.Ā
The door opens and he lets you go in first,Ā thereāsĀ a short hallway and another doorĀ that leads to what must be the largest living roomĀ youāveĀ ever seen.Ā Ā
The space is colossal, the walls of floor-to-ceiling glass presenting aĀ breath taking, uninterrupted panoramic view of the dark forest and the reservoir reflecting the last, fiery streaks of sunset. The ceiling is extraordinarily high, giving the room anĀ almost cathedral-likeĀ feel, yet the precise integration of dark, raw-cut stone and vast panels of matte black slate somehow prevents it from feeling cold.Ā
The floor is seamless, wide-planked dark wood, polished to a mirror shine, leading the eye out to the wilderness. The furniture is sparse and low-profile, strategically placed to maximize the view. A massive, sectional sofa, upholstered in thick, oyster-grey fabric, curves around a central feature---a suspended, cantilevered fireplace---a flat, rectangular slab of polished metal that floats several feet off the ground, emitting silent,Ā odorlessĀ heat.Ā Ā
Along one side wall, you notice a section of glass looking in on a climate-controlled server room---a glowing, humming technological heart encased in smoked glass. This is clearly the controlĀ centerĀ of the entire property. Beyond the main living area, an open-concept kitchen features a massive island counter made of a single slab of white quartz. All the high-end appliances---induction cooktops, thermal ovens, chilling units---are fully recessed behind panels of dark, custom cabinetry.Ā Ā
The entire house is silent, and smells faintly of purified air and expensive cedar---a deep, luxurious quiet that speaks of insulation and absolute privacy.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ very clearly a stark difference between being born into money and having to roll around in mud to get it.Ā YouāreĀ no stranger toĀ wealth, but this...thisĀ is something else.Ā Ā
āWow...ā you mumble, gazing around.Ā Ā
āWelcome to my humble abode.ā Seokjin says, coming up behind you.Ā Ā
āI never want to hear that word come out your mouth ever again.ā You say,Ā laughing a little in disbelief.Ā Ā
SeokjinĀ laughsĀ almost bashfully,Ā rubbing the back of his neck.Ā āMake yourself comfortable...ā he says and then, pulls at the collarĀ of his borrowed hoodie. He peers downĀ the hoodie,Ā āI think I aggravated my stitches.āĀ Ā
He walks through the living room,Ā and towards aĀ flight of stairs, āGuest rooms are, uh, that way...ā he leans over the banister and points to a hall straight ahead of you, āIāll be back.āĀ Ā
He goes up the stairs andĀ disappears,Ā and you go towards where he pointed.Ā The doors are seamless panels of matte wood. You choose the first one, which opens onto a large, minimalist room. The bed is huge, the bedding impossibly white, and a wall of glass offers a private view of the darkening woods. The attached bathroom is all pristine white marble and brushed metal;Ā a rain shower, a soaking tub, and a vanity counter.Ā Ā
After everythingĀ youāveĀ been through you think a nice, hot shower would be heavenly.Ā After youĀ almost tripĀ on the leg of the pants youĀ realise youĀ donātĀ have any fresh clothes.Ā Ā
You look down at yourself,Ā and figure NamjoonāsĀ Henley covered more than enough.Ā YouāreĀ no blushing virgin and neither is Seokjin,Ā youāreĀ sure.Ā You kick the pants against the wall and walk back out the room and towards the staircase Seokjin went up.Ā Ā
The second floorĀ appears to beĀ his private domain. You find a half-open door leading into what must be his master suite, drawn by a soft, rhythmic snip-snip sound.Ā Ā
āSeokjin?ā you call out softly, approaching the doorway.Ā
He is inside a large, luxurious, all-marble bathroom.Ā HeāsĀ standing in front of a wide mirror over a double vanity, shirtless. The bright, white LED lighting overhead illuminates the room perfectly.Ā HeāsĀ using a pair of surgical shears in his good hand to carefully snip away the adhesive from the oldĀ self-stickingĀ wound covering.Ā
He stops the snipping, turning his head slightly to acknowledge you. He registers the borrowed shirtĀ youāreĀ wearing, which hangs loose on your frame, but his expressionĀ remainsĀ perfectly neutral. There is no flicker of surprise, just a flat, focused gaze.Ā
āDonāt sneak up on me,ā he says, his voice tight with concentration as he carefully peels away the last piece of dressing.Ā
āSorry,ā you manage. āI need fresh clothes.āĀ
Seokjin turns, facing you fully, holding the soiled bandage loosely in his hand. He points with his chin to a built-in wall of dark, sleek cabinetry. āTake anything from the second drawer on the left. There might be pants with a drawstring in there somewhere.āĀ
You walk toward the cabinetry, acutely aware of the expanse of his bare chest and the fresh, taut stitches visible on his shoulder. You pull out a simple, incredibly soft, dark grey teeĀ and dark purpleĀ soft cotton pants that looks like the bottom of a pyjama setĀ ---theyĀ smellsĀ faintly of him.Ā
āWhile youāre here,ā he says, his voice losing its playful edge, ācould you help me with this? The exit wound is impossible to reach.ā He gestures to a tube of antibiotic ointment and a roll of sterile gauze on the counter.Ā
You place your newlyĀ acquiredĀ clothesĀ on a velvet bench. You approach the vanity, and as you step into the bright light of the bathroom,Ā youāreĀ suddenly close.Ā
You take the tube and gauze. His uninjured back is to you, offering a clear view of the stitched exit wound. As you apply the cool, slick ointment to the angry red circumference, you notice something else in the unforgiving white light. Just beneath his ear, and another faint spot near the hinge of his jaw.Ā
āI thought you only had moles on your back,ā you say, your voice barely a whisper, surprised by the softness of the sound. You press your lips together.Ā
Seokjin slightly turns his head, the movement tight, surprised by the comment. āYou have a couple on your face.āĀ
āTheyāre not as noticeable,ā he says, equally soft, as though speaking any louder would break whateverĀ thisĀ is. He turns slowly, and then leans into your space, much like he did atĀ The Lumen, except this timeĀ heāsĀ shirtless, the warmth of his skin radiating outwards. He opens a cabinet over your head and pulls away with a soft chuckle through his nose.Ā
āAm I making you uncomfortable?āĀ
āNo...ā Your voice is a lot more...breathless than you intended, but heĀ doesnātĀ mention that either.Ā You suddenly feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time.Ā Trying to stare at anythingĀ but the wide expanse of his chest, you clear your throat and step sideways.Ā āNeed anything else?āĀ Ā
āYes, actually.āĀ Ā
You help him reapply the covering to the back of his shoulder and thenĀ heāllĀ him carefullyĀ bandage his shoulder again. HeĀ thanks you softly, and you escape back to the guest room downstairs as heĀ gets into his tee-shirt.Ā Ā
By the time you were showered and in fresh clothes, Seokjin was back downstairs when you walked out.Ā ItāsĀ just about sevenĀ andĀ heāsĀ looming by the window.Ā Ā
āYou good?ā you call, pausing just short of turning into the living room.Ā Ā
He turns at the sound of your voice, you realiseĀ heāsĀ also showered and changed. āMāfine.āĀ He smiles faintly, and then, āIād like the flash drive, though.āĀ Ā
You fish it out of the pocket of your pants and walk over to the coffee table to set it down.Ā Ā
āAre you hungry? I can make something...āĀ Ā
You stare at his arm, back inĀ itsĀ sling, and thenĀ back at him with a raised brow. āYouāre a walking hazard.āĀ
He chuckles, āCan you cook?āĀ Ā
āI can boil water forĀ ramen...āĀ Ā
Seokjin laughs, a highĀ soundĀ that makes you laugh, too.Ā Ā
āRamen it is, then.āĀ Ā
Unexpectedly,Ā Seokjin had all sorts of ramen brands in his pantry.Ā HeādĀ explained that heĀ doesnātĀ come here often andĀ itāsĀ only there for when heĀ doesnātĀ feel like cooking something.Ā So,Ā you make a couple packs,Ā andĀ spruce it up with some eggs and kimchi.Ā Ā
You both just stand around in the kitchenĀ eating it from the pot.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a comfortable silenceĀ thatāsĀ broken by the slurping of noodles, and both your hums about how good it is.Ā
āItās been a while since I had instant ramen.āĀ Seokjin sighs, chewing a mouthful. A stray dropletĀ of broth goes down his chin, which he wipes at with a hand.Ā Ā
You honestlyĀ donātĀ know howĀ youāreĀ not sick of instant ramen by now.Ā ThereāsĀ aĀ reason whyĀ Jimin complainsĀ every time you walk into your own kitchen.Ā Ā
Now that things are in a state of relative calm,Ā youāreĀ left to wonder, what now?Ā YouāreĀ sure Seokjin has some sort of plan, but between the drive and getting here,Ā heāsĀ said absolutely nothing about anything.Ā Ā
When dinner was over, Seokjin had sauntered his way back to the living roomĀ to brood some more, and you go back to your room and crawl into bed. YouĀ reallyĀ hope he has a plan for all of this.Ā Ā
Sunday comes and goes without any fanfare.Ā SurprisinglyĀ every social media outlet is quiet.Ā YouādĀ thought that a shooting at a popular club wouldĀ warrantĀ some sort of public unrest, butĀ thereāsĀ absolutely nothing on it.Ā No talks about an investigation, no word on if anyone else was injured, no word on Seokjin even being there.Ā Ā
You find that odd, and you say as much to Seokjin when it was late into theĀ night.Ā HeāsĀ sat on theĀ couch;Ā a pair of thin framed glasses perched on his nose as heĀ reads throughĀ the contents on the flash drive.Ā HeāsĀ been frowning for the better half of fifteen minutes,Ā staring at his laptop screen,Ā silent as you ramble on about the implications of media silence.Ā Ā
āDo you think your guys paidĀ the club owner off to keep quiet?āĀ Ā
āI wouldnāt put it past them.ā Seokjin mumbles, barely paying you mind.Ā His shoulders are tense, and the sigh he lets outĀ doesnātĀ seem to loosen them one bit.Ā Ā
He suddenly unplugs the flash drive and then looks up at you,Ā a seriousness to his gaze. āMy team of trusted individuals is small.Ā Even smaller ifĀ weāreĀ talking about the ones that work with me.āĀ Ā
He says this softly,Ā looking away from youĀ to gaze at the fireplace. āTheyāre people that Iāve trustedĀ with the knowledge of my lifeās work.āĀ Ā
ThereāsĀ something in his gaze, as thoughĀ heādĀ finally come toĀ some greatĀ acceptance. His brows furrow, troubled, and thenĀ heāsĀ quiet again, so you push.Ā Ā
āDo you have an ideaĀ of who it is? The mole.āĀ Ā
Seokjin leans back against the couch,Ā and nods. āI didnāt want to be rash and point fingers,Ā because these are people that Iāve trusted for so long,Ā theĀ theĀ idea of them doing something like this is hard toĀ digest.āĀ Ā
He sighs softly, tilting his head.Ā Ā
āThe conversations on this drive,ā he continues, nodding toward the laptop, āthey confirm the murder plot, and they confirm thatĀ TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ were tipped off aboutĀ Axtaliah. The personĀ TaejinĀ mentions can only be Hoseok.āĀ
Seokjin looks pained as he says this, as though saying the name stabs at him.Ā The name sounds familiar to you, butĀ itāsĀ like trying to remember a dream you had when you were nine.Ā He reaches up and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the small motion betraying his exhaustion.Ā Ā
āHeāsĀ my creative lead, and partner on this project. What my grandfather had was just an idea. It was barely even a dream. My father made it into something that we could work with. I was the one who pushed it forward, because my father made it my ambition. Hoseok and I...Ā We designedĀ AxtaliahĀ together. He knows everything.āĀ
His voice drops to a near whisper. In the glow of the laptop light, you can see the sadness in his eyes. āIāmĀ closer to him than anyone else on the team. We were supposed to unveil this project together. I told him that I would be at Lumen on Friday. He would have known exactly where to send the assassins.āĀ
Seokjin slowly closes the laptop, his eyes haunted. āHeāsĀ not just a trusted employee, Y/n. He was my best friend.āĀ
You watch the haunted look settle deep in his eyes, the high-tech brilliance of the house fading under the weight of his grief. You feel the familiar reluctance to intrude on private pain but seeing him this exposed---wounded and betrayed by the person he trusted most---stops the cynical comeback forming on your tongue.Ā Ā
You clear your throat, staring intently at the pattern of the huge, expensive rug. āThatās...āĀ
You pause, choosing your words carefully. You walk around the coffee table and stand near the arm of the couch, close enough to be present without invading his space.Ā
Jimin had always said you had a very particular issue; the inability to truly express comfort towards others. YouĀ arenātĀ a sociopath by any means, frankly, that assessment is a bit harsh even if Jimin jokes about it sometimes. It makes you uncomfortable when people have such vivid emotions, not becauseĀ youāreĀ incapable of understanding them, but because it puts you in a position where youĀ have toĀ extend a gentle hand. You have to sayĀ a nice thing,Ā sympathise, look beyond your own discomfort to comfort. YouĀ donātĀ blame anyone for their emotions, never that.Ā Ā
You think it comes from all the years of it just being you and Jimin. You had yourself and him to look out for and nothing else.Ā YouāveĀ learnt young that peopleĀ donātĀ care and youĀ shouldnātĀ expect folks to pick you up when you stumble and fall. You pick yourself up.Ā ThatāsĀ that.Ā Ā
You feel likeĀ youāreĀ mentallyĀ monologuing, andĀ youāveĀ been silent for too long. This momentĀ isnātĀ even about you. Seokjin is very clearly in distress, thoughĀ heāsĀ trying to hide it and hidesĀ it well. But youĀ arenātĀ so removed thatĀ youādĀ simply let him do it alone. You pick yourself up, andĀ sometimes, youĀ tryĀ to pick others up too.Ā Ā
āIāmĀ reallyĀ sorry.ā You say quietly. The words feelĀ impossiblyĀ small, and you feel like nothing you can offer now would erase the hurt painting his visage. It lines the curve of his spine as he hunches forward, just narrowly missing the frame of his glasses as his head falls into his palm. It feels like a private moment youĀ shouldnātĀ be standing around for.Ā Ā
Kim Seokjin, for all his intelligence and faƧades, looks like a small child dealing with somethingĀ way greaterĀ than his hands can hold.Ā Ā
He had curated his image so well that you, previously a part of theĀ general public, the outliner, saw what he allowed to be perceived. But here he is now, just a man, with ambitions and a sense of self, just like everyone else, having everything stripped away one after the other.Ā Ā
You hated the sincerity, but youĀ didnātĀ retract it. YouĀ canātĀ imagine whatĀ heāsĀ feeling right now.Ā Ā
HeĀ doesnātĀ acknowledge the apology with a nod or a word, still staring at the fireplace, grappling with the betrayal.Ā
āI donāt understand it,ā he finally murmurs, shaking his head. āIf he wanted the recognition, he could have had it. We were going to share the credit forĀ Axtaliah. The money is irrelevant to him;Ā heāsĀ already a millionaire from his own familyās patents.Ā HeāsĀ not jealous of my status---he hates the public side of itĀ almost asĀ much as I do.āĀ
Seokjin turns to you, the confusion plain in his eyes. āIāveĀ been trying to find a motive that fits the crime, anything at all, but come up empty. Why risk everything just to hand a life-saving project over to a pair of executives who only care aboutĀ weaponizingĀ it? It makes no sense.āĀ
He runs his thumb along the smooth curve of the laptop case. āIĀ have toĀ assume he thinksĀ heāsĀ doing the right thing, or that he has some kind of leverage againstĀ TaejinĀ andĀ Doyun. But to betray me like this... I justĀ donātĀ know.āĀ
You nod slowly;Ā the name finally lights a bulb in your brain. āHoseok... wait.Ā JungĀ Hoseok?Ā Ā The one with the robotics company his father founded?āĀ
āThe very same.ā Seokjin runs his hand through his hair;Ā the strands stick up before falling perfectly back into place. He takes his glasses off, setting them down on the table.Ā Ā
You worry at your bottom lip.Ā ThereāsĀ no way for you to say your next words withoutĀ possibly makingĀ Seokjin feel worse.Ā But you try gently, anyway, āHe must knowĀ whatāsĀ going on.Ā HeāsĀ your best friend, right? Doesnāt he at least care about your life and what happens to you?āĀ Ā
Sure enough, Seokjin looks even more pained. He leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling as though it would offer some sort of consultation.Ā His eyes look glassy.Ā Ā
āI donāt know.āĀ Ā
Your heart genuinely breaks for him, butĀ youāreĀ not sure what to do.Ā By the timeĀ youāveĀ formulated some sort of action,Ā heāsĀ decided heās done with the conversation.Ā Ā
HeĀ leans his head to look at you, āYou should get some rest.Ā ItāsĀ late.āĀ
āWhat am I, five?āĀ comes your natural, involuntary response.Ā CurseĀ yourĀ speak first,Ā thinkĀ laterĀ system. You realise that Seokjin wants to beĀ aloneĀ to process all his worries and you snap your mouth shut, wincing, āSorry.āĀ Ā
HeĀ doesnātĀ seem to mind it or take it to heart. Honestly,Ā itāsĀ a bit scary thatĀ heāsĀ seemed to have developed a certain understanding of you. OrĀ maybe rightĀ now his mind is too muddled with everything else on his plateĀ heĀ doesnātĀ have a spare brain cell to analyse you.Ā Ā
The latter isĀ safer.Ā Ā
He offers a mirthless smile as you pass by, and youĀ ignore the little voice in the back ofĀ yourĀ mind saying you should stay with him anyway.Ā Ā
āGoodnight.ā He says softly,Ā still staring at the spotĀ youādĀ vacated, heĀ doesnātĀ turn to look at you.Ā Ā
āNight.āĀ Ā
It was much later when you ventured outĀ again. Your watch said it was about two in the morning, as you drag yourself to the kitchen in search of water.Ā Ā
SeokjinĀ was still in the living room, though, he was sleeping. Peeking at him over the back of the couchĀ tells you everything. In the dim glow of theĀ ledĀ lights, you can very clearly seeĀ heāsĀ been crying.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a furrow to his brow even as he sleeps, and the red, blotchiness to his face and around his eyes.Ā Ā
You walk back to your room and bring back one of the spare blankets in the cupboards.Ā HeĀ doesnātĀ stir when you gently tuck it around him, but the furrow in his brow does smoothen out.Ā Ā
You feel a littleĀ bit like a creep just staring at himĀ sleep,Ā and youĀ donātĀ know whyĀ you brush the softĀ strands of his bangs away from his eyes.Ā He murmurs something unintelligible,Ā shifting a littleĀ into your touch.Ā Ā
If this were a story, or a sillyĀ fanficĀ those kids are into these days, this moment would be a golden stepĀ in a plot line. But you just feelĀ kind of badĀ youĀ hadnātĀ stayed with him earlierĀ when he clearly needed someone. But he was also the one to tell you to leave, and you respected that soĀ thereāsĀ really nothing else.Ā Ā
You wonder if non-buzzing bugs ever grow tired of ones that do. You imagine, having a constant noise maker in your vicinity would drive about anyone crazy.Ā Ā
You feel likeĀ youāreĀ waking from a strange dream, burrowed tee-shirt halfway up your midriff, leg hanging off the edge of the bed, and lord knows where the blanketās gone.Ā Ā
Your eyes peel open.Ā ItāsĀ still dark outside, the sky showing just the barest hint that dawn was on the way.Ā Ā
The annoying buzzing your brain is struggling toĀ comprehendĀ stops, and your eyes sluggishly blink slip close.Ā Ā ButĀ itāsĀ starts up again,Ā vibrating along the surface of the bedside table, is your watch.Ā Ā
For a moment you simply watch it, watching the way it slightly slides along theĀ wood. It stops again andĀ immediatelyĀ starts back up.Ā Ā
With a sigh, you reach out and grab it.Ā Ā Holding it by the band, you squint at it in the dark.Ā Ā
JiminĀ isĀ calling. And by the looks of it,Ā youāveĀ missed his otherĀ seven.Ā Ā
You tap on the screen, and the projection interface pops up. Jiminās contact flashes in red, insistent, and you finally pick up.Ā Ā
āMimi,Ā what?Ā ItāsĀ the ass crack of dawn.ā YouĀ croakĀ sleepily, eyes closing again.Ā
You expected him to be yelling at you, complaining about you missing so many of his calls, butĀ heāsĀ eerily silent. So silent that youĀ unbutton your eyes to see if the call was connected. It is, the little numbers ticking upwards, but the voice line is one flat thing.Ā Ā
āJimin.ā You call.Ā Ā
āWhere are you?āĀ Ā
His tone seems off, somethingĀ youāveĀ only heard twice in your life and never directed at you. It wakes you up a little.Ā Ā
āIām at my dateās place, I stayed the weekend, I told you.āĀ Ā
āDonāt bullshit me, Y/n.āĀ Ā
Wow, okay. Government name.Ā YouāreĀ in trouble.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a beep and Jiminās requesting a video call. Sitting up now, you accept.Ā ItāsĀ dark at first,Ā and then you spot the light of your kitchen and then he turns.Ā ThereāsĀ a murmur of sound in the background that grows louder:Ā
ā...Ā isnātĀ anything bizarre, as the CEO ofĀ VionixĀ is known to have evenĀ weeklongĀ vanishes. I thinkĀ heāsĀ not doing anything out of the ordinary....āĀ Ā
The local news is the only light in the living room, and for a moment, you have no idea whatĀ youāreĀ looking at. The news anchor,Ā sharply dressed and too wide awake for the hour, stares into your soul.Ā He and his co-anchor share a lookĀ and a knowing smile.Ā Ā
āBut just an hour ago his company had put out notice of his disappearance ---a first. He was last seen entering The LumenĀ atĀ 11:30 on Friday night and eyewitness claims he left the downtown club with this unidentified femaleĀ sometimeĀ afterĀ one.āĀ Ā
There, on the screen, is clearly a still picture of you. With the angle,Ā itāsĀ impossible to see your face, butĀ thatāsĀ yourĀ jacket, andĀ yourĀ gait, and the club lights shining onĀ yourĀ hair.Ā It was just when you walked out of the carpark and turned towards the entrance of the club.Ā It occurs to you that theyĀ havenātĀ said anything about a shooting.Ā Ā
āIĀ donātĀ know, Tyler, it seems likeĀ Seokjin is doing what every young man that has his amount of money would.Ā ItāsĀ a bit rash to say thatĀ heāsĀ missing considering his history.ā The other anchor says, shaking his head, āFriday night benders, we all had those days!Ā Some sayĀ itāsĀ an invasion of privacy for hisĀ partner, whom he was last seen with...ā he turns to look at TylerĀ with a smile as he adjusts his earpiece, āin other news: The government is looking into passing anti-violence againstĀ android laws...āĀ Ā
Jimin walks back to the kitchen. He looks likeĀ heādĀ just woken up, too, but not as rudely awakened as you. His eyes are puffy -----and confused, and angry all at once -----his eyebrows are so tightly knit you fearĀ heādĀ get a headache soon.Ā Ā
āWhy theĀ fuckĀ are you on the news? In a broadcast about Kim fucking Seokjin beingĀ missing?!ā Jimin all but shouts, gesturing wildly at the TV. āAndĀ donātĀ lie to me!Ā IāllĀ track your watch and hunt you down, I swear to God!āĀ Ā
Your head hurts.Ā Ā
āJimin...ā you call, trying to be heard over his angry rant about tracking your watch. āJimin!Ā Listen to me.āĀ Ā
You close your eyes for a moment, taking a breath, āI know what this looks like. But youĀ have toĀ trust me, okay?Ā IāmĀ safe, I promise.Ā EverythingāsĀ fine.āĀ Ā
Jimin stares at you, and you can see the thought in his eyes before he says anything, āIt was the job, wasnāt it?ā When youĀ donātĀ answer, his head falls back in a show of pure exasperation, āY/n,Ā IĀ fucking toldĀ you -----oh my god. YouĀ neverĀ listen to me.āĀ Ā
āI know.Ā I know.āĀ
āYou told me you were going on a date.ā He continues, and thenĀ heāsĀ out of view of his own watch and you watch the walls swing by and the shift in lighting.Ā ThereāsĀ clicking, and the sound of his fingers on your keyboard, āYour location isĀ blocked. Where are you?āĀ Ā
āJimin,Ā please.ā He comes back into frame and now he just looks worried on top of it all. āYes, okay. I got myself into trouble, and IĀ canātĀ tell you anything, but youĀ have toĀ trust me, okay? Please?āĀ Ā
The anger drains from his eyes,Ā and you can see his shoulders drop. He presses his fingers against his eyes, āOf course I fucking trust you, Birdie. You...ā he sighs heavily, āI shouldāve known something was up when you didnāt answer my calls on Saturday.ā He shakes his head, stares forward, the glow of your computer screen lighting his face. āCan you just...tell me where you are? Are you safe?āĀ
āIĀ canātĀ tell you, no. ButĀ IāmĀ safe, I promise.āĀ Ā
He stares at youĀ skeptically, as if waiting for you to change your mind and say thatĀ youāveĀ been the one kidnapped and is being held hostage.Ā Ā
He opens his mouth again, butĀ thereāsĀ a knock on your door. A very deliberate tap-tap. Like a bird, your head swivel towards the sound. āWhoās that?āĀ Ā
āItās---āĀ Ā
The door opens and Seokjin comes into the room without much prompt.Ā HeāsĀ dressed in fresh, dark sweats and a tee.Ā He looks significantly better than he did last night, though his expression is sharp and alert---heāsĀ clearly seen the news report, or Namjoon has called him.Ā
Seokjin walks right up to the bed, gently taking your wrist and turning yourĀ holowatchĀ interface toward him.Ā YouāreĀ stretching a little awkwardly over the space to reach him.Ā Ā
āY/n is perfectly safe,ā he reassures, āif you like I can contact you, Iāll explain everything myself.āĀ Ā
āWell,Ā someone has to.āĀ Ā
Seokjin nods, āIāll be in touch.ā And before Jimin can say anything more, he promptly ends the connection.Ā Ā
You pull your hand back, frowning,Ā thereāsĀ a bit of genuine anger at him inserting himself into your conversation like that. āWhy did you tell himĀ youādĀ explain? IĀ donātĀ want him involved.āĀ Ā
āWell...ā Seokjin rubs at the back of his neck, āI donāt think youād have been able to stop him anyway...heās going to get involved one way or another.āĀ Ā
āThat doesnāt give you the right to---ā you take a breath and look away;Ā he has the decency to look at least a bit ashamed. āWhat do you want?āĀ Ā
āDo you...wannaĀ get changed first?āĀ
You take a while getting ready out of spite, still a little upset at Seokjin for cutting off Jimin and involving him. When you finally traipse your way out into the living room, Seokjin is pacing the entire length of floor in front of the sweeping glass window. You walk over, standing by the couch and watch him. The oversized grey tee hangs loose on your frame, a stark contrast to his dark, tailored sweats.Ā
He stops abruptly, turning to face you with the full force of his strategist gaze. He walks towards you but stops a coffee tableās length away.Ā Ā
āGive me a hickey.āĀ
āExcuse me?ā You take a definitive step back and away from Seokjin. He looks completely serious, if not a little awkward, as he waves his good hand at you in a hurried gesture. āWhy would I... why do you need me to do that?āĀ
āBecause...Ā IāmĀ certainĀ youāveĀ heard.Ā Apparently, IāveĀ been kidnapped and is now missing. Now, come here and give me a hickey.āĀ
āThat explainsĀ nothing?!ā You laugh, the sound a little high-pitched and incredulous in the silent room.Ā
Seokjin sighs, dropping his hand, and then looks at you likeĀ youāreĀ a child andĀ heāsĀ explaining primaryĀ colors. āMy reputation is a mess, andĀ IādĀ like toĀ keepĀ it that way. Everyone thinks I left the club with my lover, soĀ IāmĀ going to show them I did just that.āĀ
YouĀ have toĀ admit,Ā heāsĀ right.Ā TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ are trying to activate a policeĀ manhunt, and the public is already giving him the benefit of the doubt based on his past scandals. The fastest way to shut down an investigation is to publicly confirm a reckless weekend of passion.Ā Ā
āAnd you need me to give you aĀ hickey?ā You ask, just to be sure, becauseĀ itāsĀ likeĀ heāsĀ not hearing the crazyĀ heāsĀ spouting.Ā
āYes.ā And then, he shakes his head likeĀ heāsĀ just realised how he sounds and whatĀ heāsĀ asking. āI need to capitalize on the narrative.Ā IāllĀ also have to briefly record you.ā As you open your mouth to protest, he puts his hand up. āDonātĀ worry. IĀ wonātĀ show your face. I justā¦āĀ
āHow about I hit youĀ reallyĀ hard?āĀ
āY/n...ā He honest to GodĀ whinesĀ your name, the sound laced with a genuine desperation that,Ā frankly,Ā wouldnātĀ be there otherwise. āPlease.āĀ
You both stare at each other for a minute, the absurdity of the request hanging in the air between you.Ā Ā
āI donāt know where youāve been.ā You make a face, scanning him from head to toe.Ā ItāsĀ satisfying to see the frustration tick up in his eyes. You should record this for blackmail, so that if he tries anything once all of this isĀ over and done with,Ā youādĀ remind him that he was just above kneeling at your feet for a love bite.Ā Ā
āFine. ThenĀ IāllĀ give you one.ā He takes a step towards you,Ā and you dart across the room and around the couch, the polished wood floor suddenly an obstacle course. He stares at the spot you just left and slowly turns his head to look at you.Ā
āThatās sexual harassment, sir.ā You say, and for some reason, you find this absurdly funny.Ā
āI wouldĀ never!ā Seokjin cries, looking genuinely appalled thatĀ youādĀ say that. Then, he gives you a sort of kickedĀ puppy look that makes it even funnier, and you brace your hand against the couch, leaning forward with a laugh. āCāmon.Ā Help me out.āĀ
āYou canāt say that.ā You snort through a fit of giggles. āThisĀ ainātĀ a porno.āĀ
ThereāsĀ a helpless smile growing on his lips as he walks around the couch, following as you do. āThis is really important.āĀ
āIām sure you donāt need me sucking on your neck to fix that.ā You say, reaching the spot where he was standing before. The seriousness of the situationĀ isnātĀ lost on you, and as amusing as it is to you to watch Seokjin nearly explode as give him a run-around, it is the best course of action.Ā Ā
āAlright, alright.ā You sigh, and Seokjin looks immensely relieved, smiling widely.Ā
āPerfect! Only---ā he looks around at the living room with a too scheming look slipping into his smile, āWe have to go back to your room.āĀ
āYou know.ā You say, watching him walk past you, āI saw a porn that started just like this.āĀ Ā
Seokjin tugs you along with an exasperated sigh.Ā
When you get back to your room,Ā heādĀ adjusted the tint of the windows to let more of the morning light in, and then, gently directs you to sit on the edge. He stares at you for a moment before fussing with your hair, like a hairstylist on a time crunch to get thingsĀ just right.Ā Maybe heāsĀ wasted in the tech industry. He carefully roughs up the ends and strategically musses the layers around your face---creating whatever exact look of āwe spent the weekend messing aroundā he thinks the public expects. When he was done, he takes a step back to stare at you intensely.Ā
The heat of his gaze is palpable. He closes the distance in a single step, leaning into your bubble. His scent---that same clean, expensive, smell you remember from the club---fills your lungs.Ā
āCan I kiss you?āĀ
āWhat?ā You blink up at him.Ā HeāsĀ already looking at you, waiting for you to process. A hickey is one thing.Ā This is another entirely!Ā It must have shown on your face because in the next minute,Ā heāsĀ apologising.Ā Ā
āIāmĀ sorry⦠Iā¦Ā theyāreĀ trying to smoke me out,ā He sighs through his nose softly and gazes above your head, focusing on some distant, invisible point. āI need you to look a certain way else this wonāt work.āĀ
āAlright.āĀ
Seokjin raises his right hand, fingers lightly brushing up your arm and then across your cheek until the length of his fingers disappear into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He gently tilts your chin upwards, and thenĀ heāsĀ suddenly closer thanĀ heāsĀ ever been. Your heart kicks against your ribcage like a frantic, trapped bird.Ā
YouāreĀ not blind; you have eyes that work. Seokjin is an attractive guy.Ā YouādĀ thought as much when you first saw him on Friday, no point trying to backtrack. From this close, you can see the faint moles that dot his face, subtle and soft in the light: one just off the bridge of his nose, another above the right side of his upper lip. And wow, his eyes areĀ reallyĀ brown---deep, dark pools that you could easily lose yourself in.Ā
You wonder, briefly, if this is what those ancient Victorian maidens felt like. Heck, like you said before,Ā youāreĀ no blushing virgin. But the last time you dated was...a long time ago.Ā DidnātĀ end well....Ā well,Ā it ended amicably enough, but regardless!Ā YouādĀ be clutching your pearls right now if you had pearls to clutch.Ā Ā
āYouāre allowed to say no.ā He says softly, his breath a warm whisper against your mouth.Ā
You shake your head, the movement slight, your throat too tight for a proper word. āItās fine.āĀ
Seokjin tilts his head slightly and leans towards you. The kiss is surprisingly soft, a lot gentler than you imagined; a hesitant, almost questioning press of his lips against yours. Not⦠thatā¦Ā youāveĀ imagined kissing him,Ā no!Ā At all!Ā
He pulls away, and you think for a minuteĀ heāsĀ done, but heĀ doesnātĀ let you breathe. Seokjin kisses you fiercely this time, his mouthĀ possessingĀ yours with a sudden, needy urgency. Your knees hit the back of the bed.Ā YouāreĀ lucky enough to catch yourself without bending your wrist the wrong way against the mattress. His knee comes up to rest between yours to counter the lost balance, pinning you lightly to the spot. One of your hands curls into the bedsheets.Ā
Through your little surprised gasp, the warmth of his tongue slides along the seam of your parted lips. His fingers tighten in your hair and give a barely-there tug, just enough to tilt your head back some more, and sharp enough that the involuntary sound you make surprises even you.Ā
He pulls away slightly, his mouth trailing fire along the line of your jaw, his teeth skating over your pulse point. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine that you have no control over. Your hand thatĀ isnātĀ gripping the sheets for dear life, instead, goes to the back of his neck.Ā
He tugs your hair a little harder, giving him access, and spends a good, messy minute going at your neck. The suction is deep, the pressure justĀ bordering on painful, ensuring a visible mark is left behind.Ā
Then, just as suddenly as the fierce kiss began, itĀ stops.Ā
SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ pull far away. Instead, he rests his forehead against your shoulder, his weight pressing down slightly as his body shudders with a deep, shaky inhale. HisĀ handĀ tightens momentarily against your scalp, breath coming in little bursts, dancing along your collarboneĀ and the front of your tee.Ā Ā
You almost ask ifĀ heāsĀ alright, althoughĀ youāreĀ not much better.Ā You feel the slight tremor in his frame.Ā ItāsĀ almost asĀ ifĀ heāsĀ thought about this long before it needed to happen, and the reality has overwhelmed him. Or maybe!Ā YouāreĀ being delusional. The rush of blood pounding in your ears slowly fades, replaced by the thud of your heart beating furiously against yourĀ sternum.Ā
āThat,ā you manage, your voice coming out hoarse, āwas...thorough.āĀ
He gives aĀ humourless, choked sound that might be a laugh. He slowly pushes himself upright, hand---now out of your hair---holding his weight. His eyes areĀ more blackĀ than brown now in the light filtering through the windows, and he carefully brushes his fingers over the now-tender spot on your neck, confirming the damage. The skin there already feels hot.Ā
āGood,ā he whispers, his voice thick.Ā Ā
You raise an eyebrow, the adrenaline starting to give way to your usual sharp-edged practicality. āIt wonāt be convincing if only one of us looks like they got lucky.āĀ
You try not to think too hard about any of this as you lightly tug on the collar of his tee to find the smooth expanse of his neck.Ā Your ears feel incredibly warm, and you can betĀ his are too, if the red flush is anything to go by.Ā Ā
You give him a couple, one deep, calculated suction right on the pulse point where his jaw meets his neck that will certainly turn purple, and another slightly lower, just above the dip of his collarbone, accessible by the stretched neckline.Ā Ā
Seokjin lets out a low, involuntary grunt as the pressure registers, his body tensing beneath the points of contact.Ā
You pull back just far enough that your breath ghosts across his skin. You look at the two prominent, reddening marks you left.Ā
āIs that good?ā you ask, your voice soft and breathy, the pragmatic question feeling absurdly out of place given the heat of the contact.Ā
SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ open his eyes, his head still resting near yours. The warmth of him is intoxicating.Ā
āMhm,ā he murmurs, the sound low in his throat.Ā YouĀ probably wouldnātĀ have heard it if youĀ werenātĀ so close.Ā Ā
His hand moves to your waist,Ā and youĀ jolt,Ā heĀ lets out aĀ breathyĀ chuckle, pulling back, but not too far from you.Ā The wayĀ heāsĀ looking at youĀ makes you want to stick your head in some dirt and scream. Or, well,Ā maybe justĀ hide under the blanketsĀ for a bit until the warmth of your skin settles andĀ doesnātĀ muddle your brain all that much.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ about to open your mouth to really ask ifĀ heāsĀ okay now, becauseĀ heāsĀ done nothing but stare at you, but you barely get the chance.Ā Ā
He leans in again, pulling you flush against him.Ā
This second kiss is completely different. It has nothing to do withĀ TaejinĀ orĀ DoyunĀ or the news cycle.Ā ItāsĀ deep and possessive, a silent question he demands you answer with equalĀ fervour.Ā His good hand hooks around your back, pulling you taut against the solid wall of his chest. His lips are insistent, demanding, and you melt into the contact, answering the unexpected aggression with a sudden, matching hunger.Ā
He presses you back onto the bed untilĀ youāreĀ half-lying on the pristine white duvet, the kiss only breaking when he needs air.Ā
He finally backs up and away from you,Ā swiping at his bottom lip with his thumb.Ā He clears his throat, staring out the window as your right yourself on the bed.Ā Ā
āI need you watch.ā He says, looking at you briefly before looking away again. He almost looks shy, and the red flush to his ears had crawledĀ itsĀ way down his neck.Ā Shy!Ā After all of that.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ no better.Ā Ā
You fumble to findĀ the release pad of your watchband, and in a second it loosens and slides down your arm. You hold it out to him, sniffling loudly.Ā Ā
SeokjinĀ takes the watch from you, navigating to the camera app. He adjusts the settings for a quick, vertical video upload.Ā
āWe need the right lighting,ā he murmurs, already moving. He directs you back toward the headboard, where the morning light is just starting to streak across the duvet from the window. He sits down, leaning slightly against the headboard, and turns your watch camera to face both of you.Ā
āOkay,ā he instructs, gesturing with his head. āSit behind me. Lean your chest against my back, arms over my shoulders---gently, the sling.āĀ
YouĀ manoeuvreĀ yourself awkwardly behind him. You can feel the heat radiating through the fabric of his shirt, and the solid, muscled plane of his back is surprisingly comforting. You carefully drape your arms over his shoulders, ensuring you avoid putting any pressure on the sling protecting his left arm.Ā
HeĀ brings the watch up, tilting it slightly. The angle is a bit tricky, but it works: it perfectly frames his face, his messy hair, the hickey you left near his jaw and the one that peaks above the collar of his tee. Behind him, your face is cut off just above the bridge of your nose, ensuring your eyes and identity are hidden, but your chin, the curve of your neck, and the angry, reddeningĀ marksĀ he left on you are prominently displayed.Ā
He nods to himself, checking the composition. His features instantly soften into a look of casual, rumpled contentment---the kind that makes magazines millions. āRight.āĀ
He taps the record button, and a small red light starts blinking on the watch face.Ā
The camera is rolling.Ā Ā Ā
You settle your chin onto the ridge of his shoulder, your arms lying limply over his chest. You keep your neck rigidly straight to ensure the hickey is visible. You think,Ā thisĀ is how people sit whenĀ theyāreĀ together. Casual, relaxed. You blink slowly and wait.Ā
SeokjinĀ maintainsĀ the passive, satisfied expression for about fifteen seconds, then sighs, silently ending the recording.Ā
He slowly rotates his body slightly to look at you over his shoulder;Ā his brow furrowed in confusion.Ā
ā...What?ā you ask, genuinely confused. Did the camera overheat?Ā
His expression is utterly deadpan. āWhatĀ are you doing?āĀ
āIāmĀ sitting here.Ā IāmĀ being still,ā you defend, tilting your head so thatĀ youāreĀ not looking down your nose at him.Ā
āI know what still is and youāre beingĀ stiff, very big difference there.ā He counters, exasperated. His professional ease is completely shattered by your complete lack of performance skills. He gestures toward the watch. āLook at yourself. You look likeĀ youāreĀ being held hostage.Ā YouāreĀ stiff as a board! Just act natural. Be comfortable. Put your head down, rub my neck, whatever. Have you never had a boyfriend before?āĀ
The accusation of awkwardness stings, hitting close to your deep-seated discomfort with emotional performance. You almost laugh at the fact thatĀ heāsĀ taking this so seriously ---it isĀ pretty seriousĀ ---but it also reminds you that despite his flaws in the eyes of the public, Kim Seokjin is the CEO ofĀ Vionix.Ā HeāsĀ spent most of his corporate time in front of a camera, for magazines, ads,Ā interviewsĀ and youĀ donātĀ doubt somewhere in his childhoodĀ heāsĀ had media training. He knows his way around a camera,Ā and he certainly knows how to fake an image.Ā Ā
āIām not a virgin if thatās what youāre asking,ā you retort, your voice sharp.Ā
Seokjin stops, turning his head further back to stare at you, his eyes wide in genuine, disbelieving shock.Ā
āThat isĀ notĀ what Iām asking you!ā he cries, the absurdity of the statement breaking through his focus. He throws his head back with a loud, surprised burst of laughter. He catches himself on the headboard to avoid jostling his sling.Ā
You ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks.Ā
āItās notĀ as hard as you think.ā He says, taking a deep breath and wiping the smile away, though his eyesĀ remainĀ crinkled at the corners. āJust try to look like you hate the camera, not me.Ā LetāsĀ go again.āĀ
Seokjin resets the watch camera. He holds his face closer to the lens, pulling focus only onto his eyes and the new mark on his neck.Ā
āLook, you donāt have to do anything,ā he explains patiently. āJust lean your head against my back, likeĀ youāreĀ comfortable but annoyed thatĀ IāmĀ making this video. You can move your fingers on my chest or whatever feels right. Make it look like you own the space.āĀ
Own the space. You can do that!Ā ItāsĀ less acting and more asserting dominance.
He hits record again.Ā
This time, you drop your chin onto the cushion of his shoulder, letting your body weight settle fully against his back. You deliberately soften your posture, mimicking the exhaustion of a truly long weekend. You let your fingers, draped over his chest, drag slowly across the fabric of his tee, just enough to be seen in the close-up shot.Ā
SeokjinĀ immediatelyĀ responds to the shift. His eyes, though still conveying a reckless, satisfied look for the camera, lose the tightness of the strategist. He lets his head tilt back slightly, a silent, possessive gesture that draws the viewerās attention to the contrast between his neck and your chin.Ā
He lets the video roll for about twenty seconds, just long enough to capture the mood, the marks, and the rumpled morning light. Then, he ends the recording.Ā
āPerfect,ā he murmurs, his tone low and professional once more, the intimate moment sealed off. HeĀ immediatelyĀ navigates your watch to his social media interface---an elegant, obsidian-black app that runs the new age equivalent of Instagram;Ā a platform known asĀ Aura.Ā Ā
He quickly reviews the video, using the watchās augmented features to crop the edges into a neat, vertical story format.Ā He types a short, dismissive phrase onto the screen, blurring the text slightly so it looks flippant and unplanned: āDidnāt realize I was supposed to check in.ā Then, he quickly assigns a popular, generic pop song from the platformās library to loop softly in the background---something catchy, easily ignored, andĀ veryĀ unserious.Ā
He hesitates for just a fraction of a second, his thumb hovering over the post button. ThisĀ isnātĀ just a flippant upload; this is the officialĀ countermoveĀ to a corporate coup.Ā
āPosting now,ā he warns.Ā
He taps the screen.Ā
Within five minutes, the silent, intimate twenty-second video is viral. Which is as terrifying as it is insane to you. Seokjin couldĀ probably postĀ a video about him eating a slice of cake and people would cheer him on.Ā Ā
The watch begins to buzz softly on the bed next to you, alerting Seokjin to the exponential surge. The news channels, which had been tentatively running the āMissing CEOā ticker, are forced to scramble. TheĀ āmissingāĀ narrative dies instantly. The focus is entirely on the identity of theĀ Mystery Woman, who is now definitivelyĀ The Girlfriend, a sudden, reckless, and highly scrutinized feature of the worldās most eligible CEO.Ā
āThat should buy us forty-eight hours of silence from the police and the board,ā he says, putting the watch down. āTheyāll be too busy fighting the optics of this to track my location.āĀ
Over the next couple of hours, the video continues to be shared across platforms. You and Seokjin stand around in the kitchen, discussing your next course of action.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ still one tiny issue in theĀ VeryĀ BigĀ Problem: the photo of you on the news. The one that had spread like a fire in a dry field after this morningās broadcast.Ā Ā
Luckily, the photo itself is yourĀ saving grace, your face is nowhere in it. However, caution is your best friend right about now.Ā Technology is so advanced thatĀ evenĀ if your faceĀ is mistakenly a blurry, grainy reflection on the club buildingās exterior, someone can make something of it.Ā Ā
Unfortunately,Ā thereāsĀ only so much you can do from your watch.Ā Jimin knows his way around hacking systems but not on the scale you need.Ā Ā
āI know a guy.ā You told Seokjin, waving off his worry before it becomes yours.Ā
This would be the part in an epic movie where the main character gets toĀ contact a very cool guy thatĀ probably knowsĀ a way cooler guy to do some stuff valuable to the plot. Unfortunately, this guy is just your ex,Ā and he owes you a favour.Ā DoesnātĀ make him less valuable, just makes it a lot harder toĀ actually reachĀ out.Ā Ā
YouādĀ left Seokjin in the living room,Ā using aĀ HolowatchĀ heādĀ magicallyĀ procuredĀ from a drawer in his server room to contact Jimin forĀ āexplaining the situationā.Ā Itās not that you donāt trust Seokjin,Ā though, purely based on the fact that heās so good at fooling people,Ā you suspect thatās not the only reason he needs to speak toĀ yourĀ best friend-āwhoĀ you didnāt want involved in any of this!---withoutĀ you in the room.Ā Ā
Your list of contacts is... dismal at best, and itĀ doesnātĀ take long to find theĀ contactĀ name you never switched out. Like you said before, it endedĀ well enough, in a way that you were still in contact as friends afterwards and just...stopped talking.Ā Amicable.Ā Ā
YouĀ hadnātĀ spoken to him inĀ a long while,Ā youāreĀ not even sure ifĀ his contact is still the same. ItĀ better be. OrĀ youādĀ have to get Jimin to do it. And he and Jimin are...well...cordial at best.Ā Ā
Your finger hover over hisĀ contactĀ name,Ā and you take a breath before tapping on it.Ā Ā
It rings, which is a good thing, and by the fourth, just as you thinkĀ itāsĀ going into voicemail, he picks up.Ā Ā
āNero.āĀ Comes the grumble on the other side.Ā Ā
You snort, āIs this your work number, now?āĀ Ā
ThereāsĀ a pause, and then a low laugh, āWell, well, well. Fancy hearing from you,Ā Birdie.āĀ He drawls. Your watch beeps as he requests a video call.Ā Sighing, you accept,Ā he smiles when the feed loads. āBeen, what, two years?āĀ
āTwo and a half.āĀ Ā
āOuch.ā He says, a hand on his chest,Ā and his eyes narrowed in a show of mock hurt,Ā āthought we were better than that.āĀ Ā
āYoongi.āĀ Ā
āI saw your fine ass on the news this morning.Ā WhatchaĀ got yourself into this time?āĀ Ā
Min Yoongi, fellow hacker in the underground, adept in making people disappear.Ā If you wantĀ to not be found, have all traces of you gone from every system?Ā HeāsĀ your guy.Ā Ā
āIām calling in the marker.āĀ You say and he pokes his tongue into his cheek. From whereĀ heāsĀ sitting, you can see thatĀ heāsĀ in his work room.Ā ItāsĀ a deliberately dark, comfortable space, lit primarily by the cool, steady glow of a massive,Ā curved wall of monitors that fill the background behind his desk. The black couchĀ youādĀ spend many days on is tucked into a corner, and the guitar you bought him is propped up against the wall next to it.Ā
āI mean...āĀ he drags the word out, spinning slightly on his chair, āIāmĀ kindaĀ busy....working.āĀ Ā
āThis is literally important.ā You deadpan, āAnd I know your assĀ isnātĀ doing shit.Ā You go off grid when you work.Ā YouĀ wouldnātĀ have answered my call.āĀ Ā
āMaybe youāreĀ special.āĀ He smiles, allĀ gummy,Ā but he nods, āYou need meĀ to ghost you, right?āĀ Ā
āI wouldnātĀ have called otherwise.āĀ Ā
āTreated like a common whore.ā Yoongi shakes his head,Ā āGive me a minute.āĀ
He spins his chair to face his wall of glowing monitors. You watch his profile go rigid, his fingers flying across the keyboard, already executing background searches. The silence stretches, filled only by the frantic click of keys and the low hum of his server farm.Ā
It only takes a couple of minutes for him to run the deep search, cross-referencing the news broadcasts from the morning. The quiet clicking stops, and he leans back in his chair, rotating slowly to face you again.Ā
His mouth is a thin, flat line, but his eyes hold a spark of respect for the sheer scale of the digitalĀ cleanup.Ā
āDamn,āĀ he says, shaking his head slowly.Ā āThey spread your assĀ far and wide... the image is everywhere. Luckily for you,Ā IāmĀ a professional.āĀ
He spins back to the monitors, pulling up a complex, dark-themed dashboard. āIāveĀ tagged the source image and mirrored theĀ initialĀ suppression command across the main news conduits.Ā ItāllĀ start scrubbing copies, butĀ itāsĀ going to take time to completely disappear from all caches and social mirrors. Expect it to be gone from major networks within the hour, andĀ almost completelyĀ untraceable by tomorrow morning.āĀ
He glances at the feed. āIāveĀ done you anĀ additionalĀ favour and cleaned LumenāsĀ footage.Ā Tell thatĀ boyfriendĀ of yours yourĀ exĀ says hi.āĀ Ā
āHeās not my boyfriend.āĀ Ā
YoongiĀ doesnātĀ wait for a reply, his face already intense as he focuses on his complex task. The video feedĀ remainsĀ open, a silent window into the world-class operation he is running on your behalf.Ā
āYou owe me, Birdie.ā He says before the video drops andĀ heāsĀ gone. Seconds later you receive a pop up of a black cat disappearing behind a lamppostĀ and a āTag, youāre it.āĀ text.Ā Ā
You walk to the living room, Seokjin is no longer talking to Jimin,Ā and youĀ donātĀ have the chance to ask him about it.Ā Ā
āOkay.ā He begins, turning to face you as you sit on the couch next to him, āI have a plan.āĀ Ā
Tags: @dontstoptime @themwordsblog @haru-jiminn @yukina0521
please, please, please. A lot of effort and time went into the creation of this fic, taking the time to write a comment would be so nice! Don't be a silent reader!! Ask questions, rant, anything at all is appreciated. Also!!! Reblog! rebloging is very important for visibility and for other folks that enjoy these types of fics to discover em!
OKAY phew! DANIIIIIIIIIII firstly I'm fucking screaming. There's something about this Y/n that has me CRACKING UP š¤£šš the meme references are killing me. "I don't even know any Uncle Ben's!" š This is brilliant!! I remember you saying you wanted to write a syfy piece for so long and here we are!!!
Tumblr is an op fr for the text limit! But it's a good thing too!! I CANY WAIT FOR THE NEXT PART!!!!
That MAKE OUT SCENE HELLO?!? SEOKJIN?!??
Fountain Of Axtaliah - KSJ
Summary: YouāreĀ a hacker, and aĀ damnĀ goodĀ oneĀ ---Ā if you do say so yourself.Ā A legend in underground forums,Ā the kind of person corporateĀ sharks pretendĀ donātĀ exist. Your jobĀ isĀ simple:Ā hack into the database of some spoiled CEO, dig up whatever dirt you could find and cash out. Easy money.Ā
Until itāsĀ not that simple.Ā
Genre: SY-FY, cyber-punkish, strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, angst, action, fluff. A bit of espionage and fake dating.
Word Count: (Part One) 27.6k
Warnings: mature language, dark dystopian/post-apocalyptic themes (including descriptions of environmental and societal collapse), implied violence, and brief mentions of parental neglect and widespread criminality. Reader discretion is advised. Attempted murder and wounds x2, swearing. cursing, making out but nothing too serious eheh. a lot of meme references and meta humour. The reader is sometimes called Birdie.
Notes: unfortunately...because of Tumblr's limitations on text posts, i have to split this into two parts, and part two would be posted tomorrow or, a bit later!!! I'll add the link to it at the bottom of the post!
Okay HELLO!! Happy Christmas to those who celebrate and good day to those who don't!! A little gift for you all :)) This was meant to come out much much sooner, but I wrapped it up super late. It also was NOT gonna be this damn long >:((. I'd planned for 20k at least but the plot said no and now we're here...!! This fic had been sooo much fun to write, i hope you guys find all the meme references i put in there. Enjoy!!!
masterlist
If you were wondering---just a tad bit---how exactly the world would look a couple hundred years from now,Ā letāsĀ just sayĀ itāsĀ probably notĀ whatĀ youāreĀ thinking.Ā
If your thoughts wentĀ along the lines ofĀ world peace, zero crime, and Mother Nature finally getting her moment to do some mother-ing---youādĀ be wrong.Ā
See,Ā EarthāsĀ always been aĀ shithole.Ā ItāsĀ in the archives---whatāsĀ left of them, anyway. Environmental collapse. The rich preying on the desperate. Overpopulation so bad cities started building up instead of out. The ice caps melted in ā25, half the world drowned---the Great Flood 2.0, except NoahĀ didnātĀ give a damn---and the rest choked on its own smoke. Snow fell in deserts. Acid rain burned through skylines. Humanity watched, cursed, then adapted---becauseĀ thatāsĀ what it does best.Ā
AndĀ thatāsĀ how the Rise began.Ā
They called it a new dawn. But you know how people are with pretty names. What it really was, was a scramble. A desperate attempt to build higher, dig deeper, wire the world until even the dirt had a login.Ā
Fast-forward aĀ couple dozenĀ or soĀ generations, and the world hums different now. The skyās owned by corporations, the ground by data farms. Cities glow like circuit boards---veins of neon running through towers that never sleep. The air buzzes likeĀ itāsĀ carrying a thousand conversations at once.Ā
Land of freedom, they call it.Ā DonātĀ like your face? Get a new one. Want to date that robot server downtown? Go for it, Jan. No one bats an eye at anything anymore.Ā Ā Want to take a holiday on the Jupiter resort? SpendĀ millionsĀ for your gate pass to fly out of orbit---youādĀ be lucky to getĀ perksĀ with that. Kids can get tattoos at twelve---yeah,Ā thatĀ one threw you for a loop...well, itĀ isĀ aĀ relatively newĀ thing.Ā
WhenĀ youĀ were twelve, your head was buried in books because you had aĀ dad that stepped outĀ forĀ milk andĀ didnātĀ look backĀ and a mother whoĀ couldnātĀ care lessĀ that you wereĀ bothĀ starving.Ā Too smart for your own good,Ā theyādĀ said, although itĀ didnātĀ get youĀ very farĀ when you were littleĀ andĀ college was just as hard to get into as it was two centuries ago.Ā
The worldās still the same, no matter how much it twinkles. The strong eat the weak. The richĀ donātĀ give a damn about anyoneĀ andĀ theĀ governmentāsĀ still lawless.Ā
InĀ lessĀ words---itāsĀ an evenĀ biggerĀ shithole.Ā
But hey!Ā At least the lights are pretty.Ā
At least for people like you,Ā that made your own way -----thereāsĀ always something to get by on. The world runs on circuits now. Wires breathe in every corner you look, systems locked tighter than the Pentagon.Ā
Well⦠not for you, anyway.Ā
Hackers are criminals---or so the governmentĀ would tell you in their oppressive propaganda.Ā TheyāreĀ rats chewing through the wires of your brand-new TV set. But you? You can get intoĀ anywhere. No challenge is a challenge for you.Ā
YouĀ probably couldāveĀ used that big brain of yours to solve world hunger, or cure whatever plagues are still chewing through the slums.Ā
Instead, you used it to get rich.Ā
SometimesĀ itāsĀ petty: lift a street vendorās bogus card reader logs so she can steal back a weekās pay from a local courierĀ whoāsĀ been skimming fares. Swap a jealous exās social feed for an embarrassing loop of their own old speeches. Patch a friendās rent account with a tiny, invisible micro-transfer that keeps them fed for a month. Those are the scripts you run before breakfast---cheap,Ā cleanĀ andĀ satisfying.Ā
SometimesĀ itāsĀ elegant: ghost a senatorās public schedule so their bodyguard chases a ghost appointment while you slip a protest group past checkpoints. Reconstruct a deceased artistās lost archive from corrupted shards and sell the restored files to a private buyer who wants the exclusivity. You trace fingerprints through six layers of obfuscation and stitch a reputation back together like it was never torn. Those jobs pay in more than credits---they pay inĀ favours and stories that sell your name.Ā
And then there are the big ones. The jobs that leave scorch marks on yourĀ trail.Ā
YouāveĀ rewritten corporate balance sheets,Ā so a charity got a controversial multi-millionaireās hidden philanthropic fund. You made an absolute liability vanish from the police servers long enough for an innocent person to get out of jail. Once, forĀ a very specificĀ client, you built a smell-proofĀ blackboxĀ that let them ferry a person past biometric tolls using nothing but a sequence of fake heartbeats and a rewired thermal signature. That one paid for a year of luxuries---and some mistakes you keep in a locked subroutine.Ā
YouāveĀ breached private vaults where people store notĀ jewelleryĀ but memories---stitched consciousness backups saved under dead names. YouĀ donātĀ always take them. You admire how fragile those files are, how people tuck their whole lives into folders likeĀ theyāreĀ safe. Sometimes you return them, sometimes you sell them to collectors who like owning other peopleās pasts.Ā
You flirt with danger becauseĀ youāreĀ good at it. You like the artistry of a clean breach: a cascade of permissions peeling away like onion skin, a final tunnel that opens into a vault no one was meant to see. You write your own keys. You know where to press.Ā
And when the job is uglyĀ you still take it. Not becauseĀ youāreĀ merciless, but becauseĀ youāreĀ pragmatic. A job has parameters: scope, risk,Ā payout. You estimate, you execute,Ā andĀ you disappear. The worldās laws are suggestions; your contracts are guarantees.Ā
So,Ā when the anonymized ping hits your client list that morning---no face, no rep,Ā andĀ one hell of aĀ payĀ check-----surprisingly,Ā you hesitated. You stared at it for a good long while, fingers pressed against your lipsĀ and your brows furrowed. Where theĀ client'sĀ name should be---or whatever fake name they canĀ come up with;Ā you never question-----was just a string of number. Which marks the account being used as temporary.Ā It'sĀ nothing unheard of,Ā youāveĀ seen plenty of them.Ā Ā
It was about just past four am when it came in.Ā ThatāsĀ what you callĀ ātheĀ desperate hourāĀ becauseĀ itāsĀ just afterĀ threeĀ am, when any normal person with too much time on their hands would be done wallowing in their overthinkingĀ and decideĀ toĀ do something.Ā
You lean back into your chair,Ā the wheels squeaking as you push away from your desk.Ā Using your feet, you guide the chair back towards the door to your work room before pushing it open.Ā Ā
āCali!ā you shout,Ā listening to the quiet. Somewhere aboutĀ thereāsĀ a giggleĀ and the unmistakeable sound of a palm striking skin. IrritatedĀ now, you call again,Ā āCalico!āĀ Ā
A girl with ash blonde hair stumbles out of a room down the hall. Knee high silver chrome boots in her slack fingers,Ā matching skirt riding up enough that her ass cheek peeks at you, red and no doubt smarting. You watch with mild disgust as she swaps spit with your partner in crime.Ā Ā
His hairās a mess, shirt missing, well...itāsĀ on the girl, hanging on forĀ dearĀ life by a single button.Ā TheyĀ donātĀ seem to be stopping,Ā and you smack a hand against your door.Ā Ā
āYo!āĀ Ā
The girl springs away, giggling like a blushing virginĀ caught in the act and have the balls to actĀ bashful. Your friend half glares at you as he leads the girl past your room -----she fuckingĀ winkedĀ at you -----and up the stairs. After a moment you hear the door slam shut andĀ footsteps coming back down.Ā He stands at the bottom of the metal staircase and stares at you like a disappointed father.Ā Ā
āYou are the biggest cock-block known to man.āĀ
āHow many times do I have to tell you, Jimin? Play with your toysĀ upstairs.Ā AndĀ youādĀ better not have fucked in my room.Ā IāllĀ skin you alive.āĀ YouĀ grumble,Ā wheeling your chair back to your desk as he comes closer. He stands in theĀ doorway,Ā frowning at you.Ā ItĀ wouldnātĀ have been the first time Jimin had drunkenly stumbled into your bedroom and not the spareĀ you had set up purely because he sleeps down here most of the time.Ā You wish thatĀ wasĀ enough to save you from seeing his perky ass one too many times.Ā You point at the dark marks scattered across his chest and neck, ādid you even use protection? I heardĀ thereāsĀ a new thing going around.Ā It'sĀ like stage fiveĀ Gonorrhoea.āĀ Ā
āGinaās clean.āĀ Ā
āHer nameāsĀ Gina?ā you laugh, andĀ it grows into a cackle when you feel Jimin kick the back of your chair.Ā āI didnāt even hear you come in last night.āĀ Ā
āThat was... probably for the best.ā JiminĀ smiles, the look in his eyes makes you shiver.Ā Ā
āYouĀ couldāveĀ said that without the look.Ā Ew. NowĀ IāveĀ got an image in my head.ā YouĀ scowl,Ā and then, using your empty water bottle, you poke it into his tummy,Ā āCan you go shower or something?Ā YouāreĀ contaminatingĀ my precious air.āĀ Ā
āExcuse you, I smell amazing.ā He protests, laughing.Ā
āYou smell like old man cologne, sweat andĀ Gina.āĀ You push harder until he steps back, swatting at your hand. āIāll tell you what I was calling you for afterĀ you donāt smell like a nightclub.āĀ Ā
Jimin flicks your forehead before sauntering away.Ā Ā
Unfortunately, youĀ canātĀ sell him for a corn chip. IfĀ āIāll do it if you do itāĀ were people, it wouldĀ probably beĀ the both of you---two brain cells sharing one bad idea at a time.Ā
Jimin is yourĀ bestestĀ friend in a five-hundred-mile radius, born and bred in the same gutter as you. Two rats from the slums, gnawing at wires and bad decisions. You used to joke that thereĀ mustāveĀ been something in the drinking water when you were kids;Ā youāreĀ two peas in a pod, just a shot off each other in intelligence. Jimin was also too smart for his own good---dangerously smart, like the kind that could take apart a government droneĀ and put it back togetherĀ with a butter knife and duct tape.Ā
When the government started handing out scholarships to the underprivileged, Jimin was first in line. But he refused because they had no place for your talent in codingĀ (looking back on it now, they wereĀ probably lookingĀ down their noses at you).Ā You still think that was the dumbest thingĀ heāsĀ ever done---brilliant,Ā loyalĀ andĀ infuriatingly Jimin.Ā Ā
He had such a bright future ahead of him.Ā AĀ mind built for blueprints and machines, someone whoĀ couldāveĀ designed the next generation of tech. Instead, he chose to give it all up to stick with you.Ā You know, like anĀ idiot.Ā CouldāveĀ been sitting prettyĀ and retired atĀ twenty-five.Ā
ButĀ youāreĀ doing fine. Really, you are. The dirty work pays enough to keep the lights on and the fridge humming. YouĀ donātĀ have to suck up to anyone in a suit or beg for scraps in a cubicle farm.Ā YouāveĀ carved out your own corner of the world---illegal, sure, but yours.Ā
WouldnātĀ change it even if you could go back in time and pimp smack your mother.Ā Ā
Sighing, you decide to clear the cluttered mess that is your table. Cleaning it free of emptyĀ water bottles and cup ramen containers, listening to the soft whirring of your computer system and the little bleep-bloopsĀ of the off-grid server monitor.Ā Ā
Most of your set up, you and Jimin designed and built yourselves.Ā From junk parts and dumpster diving in the back alleyway of aĀ tech factory. WhenĀ youādĀ first started hacking, it was risky, two kids with nothing better to do and absolutely nothing to lose. When you got your first pay out, it was small, because no one wanted to trust a little kid with big work, you were lucky that guy took a chance on you.Ā Ā
With the little bit of money you earned back then,Ā youādĀ managed to get you and Jimin out of the slums and into the gutter. Just a little higher from nothing, but it was everything to you both back then.Ā Ā
You earned your way, and when you got your first big gig,Ā youādĀ used the money to buy an ancient warehouse.Ā It had an underground system that worked wonders for you.Ā You left the upperĀ portionĀ for Jimin to do what he liked, and with the money you were earning,Ā heādĀ made something of the old place.Ā Ā
The outsideĀ exteriorĀ still lookedĀ veryĀ much an abandoned old warehouse. Sure,Ā you and Jimin liveĀ cushyĀ now, butĀ on the down-low for obvious reasons.Ā Ā
You shove the last empty cup into the bin and stretch, feeling the ache between your shoulders. The rest of the warehouse is quieter. When you step out, the light changes from cold blue to a softer amber glow.Ā Ā
Your section of the place is clean, modern, but never sterile---wide couches, a cracked digital photo frame that cycles through half-broken pictures of you and Jimin from when you both had nothing. YouĀ donātĀ replace it. Feels wrong to.Ā
When you first bought the place, you and Jimin busted out the walls to make a wider space for an open plan living room area with theĀ kitchen.Ā Ā
The walls are raw concrete, softened with threadbare rugs and a scattering of mismatched shelves, some made from reclaimed wood, others from polished scrap metal Jimin insisted on keeping. Here and there,Ā youāveĀ tucked in small personal touches: a jar of pressed flowers, a few sketches pinned with magnets, a single potted plant struggling toward the faint amber glow of the overhead lights. You may have let Jimin set most of the tone---smooth floors, clean counters, streamlined furniture---but subtle evidence of you lingers, stubborn and unpolished, likeĀ yourĀ handwriting on the edge of a notebook.Ā
Above, pipes and conduits stretch across the ceiling, some exposed, some woven into the woodĀ panellingĀ Jimin added. Thin strands of amber LED filament weave among them, low and warm, tracing gentle arcs that outline the living space without ever feeling like a light show.Ā ThereāsĀ a soft hum of life from the tech tucked into the corners---servers, work consoles, a holographic workspace that folds down from the wall at your command---but nothing flashy, nothing meant to impress anyone but yourselves.Ā
A long table dominates one side, scarred from years of projects and meals alike. Chairs and stools around it are an eclectic mix---some polished, some splintered---brought together by necessity and taste rather than design. The kitchenĀ islandĀ is smooth steel with subtle neon inlays that glow faintly when you place your hand near sensors embedded in the surface.Ā Ā
Couches sink deep, their leather cracked and supple, cushionsĀ moldedĀ to the memory of those who lounge there most. Behind them, one wall is a patchwork gallery of sorts: framed schematics, notes in your messy handwriting, a few scratched-up vinyl records.Ā Ā
The absence of windows gives the space a certain intimacy---no city to intrude, no sky to distract. Instead,Ā itāsĀ a world unto itself, lit by gentle amber and flickers of holographic displays when needed. You can feel the weight of the ceiling, the subtle coolness of concrete underfoot, and the warmth from the heating pipes that run along the walls. Every item, every surface, is carefully practical yet carries a trace of memory, of small victories, of stubborn pride.Ā
It is your underground sanctuary: warm, quiet, and unpretentious, a place that reflects both the lifeĀ youāveĀ clawed together and the small joys you refuse to let go of.Ā
You cross the living space and grab a protein bar from theĀ box on theĀ kitchen counter,Ā rippingĀ itĀ openĀ with your teeth. The wrapper hits the bin with a soft crinkle just as Jimin comes down the stairs again.Ā
Hair damp, shirt clean, and---thankĀ God---smelling likeĀ soap.Ā He drops onto the couch with a groan,Ā towel still hanging around his neck.Ā He shifts, looking at youĀ from over the backrest of the couch.Ā
āAll good?ā heĀ asks,Ā pulling at the hem of his grey tee-shirt, damp spots clinging to his skin.Ā
You take a biteĀ of the protein bar, chewing.Ā The chocolate underside smears against the warmth of your fingers,Ā āGot a job offer.āĀ
He raises a brow, interested. āBig one?āĀ
āYeah.Ā Real big.ā You toss theĀ other half into your mouth, licking the chocolate smudges from your fingers,Ā andĀ swipe open yourĀ HolowatchĀ console. The holographic message flickers, blooming in a shade of chrome blueĀ and enlargedĀ asĀ itāsĀ projected upwardsĀ from your wrist.Ā You walk over to the living room area, pointing at theĀ message.Ā āDidnātĀ even say what it is. Just⦠payment details.Ā ThatāsĀ it.āĀ
āThatās weird,ā Jimin says, sitting up, leaning forward squinting.Ā He studies the message with a slight frown,Ā and then his eyes flicker up to yours,Ā āYouĀ takingĀ it?āĀ
You shrug, pretending to think about it. But the truth runs deeper than that.Ā
YouāveĀ got enough money. Real accounts, fake ones. TheĀ onesĀ thatĀ keepĀ the lights on,Ā andĀ theĀ onesĀ that stay buried where no one can sniff them out. You could retireĀ tomorrowĀ and live three lives without blinking. But greedĀ isnātĀ about need.Ā ItāsĀ muscle memory.Ā You see, whenĀ you grow up hungry, you never really stop chasing the next meal---even whenĀ youāreĀ full.Ā
āItās a lot of money, Jimin.āĀ
āItāsĀ alwaysĀ a lot of money,ā he counters, tilting his head and then his eyebrows disappear into his bangs.Ā He waves his hand, wrist rolling,Ā āThatāsĀ usually the part whereĀ I tell youĀ itāsĀ too riskyĀ and you agree with me.Ā This could beĀ anything.āĀ
You glance at the screen again. ThatĀ those numbers feelĀ likeĀ bait, shiny and deliberate. You know it. He knows it. Still, your fingers twitch at the thought of it---another code to break, another secret to steal.Ā
āThatāsĀ true. OnlyĀ oneĀ way to find out.ā you say finally,Ā nodding more to yourself,Ā āGuess Iāll take it.āĀ
Jimin groans, dragging a hand down his face. āYouāre insane.āĀ
āMaybe.ā You grin. āBut at leastĀ IāmĀ rich.āĀ
He throws the towel at your head, laughing. āAnd morally bankrupt.āĀ
āOccupational hazard.āĀ
You toss the towel back, softer.Ā He catches it, shakes his head withĀ a half-smile, āI still donāt think itās a good idea...itāsĀ reallyĀ vague.āĀ
āWonāt be the first time.ā You shrug, and then wave a hand, āItāll be fine.āĀ Ā
You turn off theĀ holo, the jobās digits still glowing faintly in your mind.Ā JiminĀ doesnātĀ look too convinced but gratefully says nothing.Ā
You wander back in the kitchen tapping on the fridge monitor interface.Ā Great invention really,Ā less of a practicality, more of a cure for standing in front of your open fridge syndrome.Ā Scratching at your tummy, youĀ stare blankly at theĀ displayĀ ingredients stackedĀ neatly inside.Ā Ā
The TV turns on and Jimin surfs the channels before settling on some ancient ass reality show.Ā Something out ofĀ ā21, bunch of people on an island trying to find love amongst themselves. YouĀ donātĀ knowĀ howĀ he finds that entertaining.Ā Ā
āCali,Ā wannaĀ cook something?ā you call,Ā head swivelling like a bird to look at him across the room. His head ofĀ darkĀ hair pops up just to scowl at you.Ā Ā
āYou got two hands.āĀ Ā Ā
āJust say you hate me,Ā damn.āĀ You rollĀ yourĀ eyesĀ and move towards the cupboards instead.Ā Ā
Jiminās voice floats over, āI swear to god if you make cup ramen again...āĀ Ā
āWell.ā You snort, pulling the cupboard open,Ā eyeing the various flavours,Ā āIf you cooked something,Ā you wouldnāt have to worry about that.āĀ Ā
Jimin sucks his teeth,Ā and you turn to face him with aĀ mockĀ expressionĀ of abashed shock, āPark Jimin.Ā Did you justĀ tell me to kiss your ass?āĀ Ā
āWhy,Ā do you want to?ā He fires back,Ā and then he stands, laying out the towel along the back.Ā āIāve been doing squats.āĀ Ā
You make a face,Ā āI donāt know where youāve been.āĀ Ā
He walks over,Ā smacks yourĀ handĀ and closes the cupboard. He stares you down and you can already see him caving, āWhatāre you feeling for?āĀ Ā
YouĀ make aĀ sound thatĀ was far more gremlin under a bridge than it needed to be.Ā He squats down to rummage through the pots and pansĀ in the cupboards below.Ā
āThree courses.āĀ Ā
He turns his head slowlyĀ to look up at you,Ā eyes narrowing, āYou better be joking.āĀ
āYeah, but itās just a suggestion.āĀ Ā
He pulls a couple pots from the cupboard, raising to his full height, āYou should know that I hate you.āĀ Ā
āThatās not news.ā You wrap your arms around his middle, clinging to his back as heĀ moves to the stove embeddedĀ into the island counter.Ā He taps on the interface; sleekĀ black and fine silver chrome, it flares in purple, temperatureĀ lines rippling alongĀ the glass.Ā Ā
He turns and you turn with him,Ā he fills the pot with waterĀ and sighs loudly, āYouāreĀ like a damnĀ nanite. Get off me.āĀ
Laughing you release himĀ and let himĀ work. Before long,Ā you had stir-friedĀ noodles andĀ friedĀ chicken in bowls. You would argue thatĀ itāsĀ definitelyĀ notĀ breakfast, butĀ who the hellĀ cares?Ā YouĀ even letĀ himĀ convince you to eat with him rather thanĀ ācrawl back to your caveā.Ā Ā
āMi, this isnāt even entertaining...whatĀ am I looking at?āĀ with your mouth full of noodles and just-right veggies, you point the gnawed end of your drumstick bone at the TV.Ā Ā
āThis was all the craze back in the day.āĀ He shrugs.Ā Ā
YouĀ think if youĀ stayĀ there and zoned out hard enoughĀ itādĀ make a bit of sense to you. Eventually, you get back to your work, abandoning Jimin to his...show.Ā Sipping on water, youĀ actually contemplateĀ theĀ client request.Ā Ā
Sighing, you accept it. At the bottom left of the screen, an encrypted text box appears.Ā It blinks for a while, all but three seconds before the first message comes it. The personĀ mustāveĀ been sitting at their devices waiting for you to accept.Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Hello.Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā IĀ requireĀ your services.Ā Ā
Who talks like that?Ā You blink, staring at the screen before your fingers fly across the keyboard.Ā Ā
[Shade]:Ā What can I help you with?Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā I need informationĀ about someone.Ā Ā
This guy is taking forever to get to the point, you sigh, watching theĀ chat indicator blink and stop and then start up again.Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā A CEO. All you need to do is get into his company serversĀ and tell me what you find.Ā Ā
Thatās...it?Ā You squint at theĀ initialĀ client request, the amount of money offered and then back at the taskĀ theyāveĀ asked.Ā Well...this person clearly has money they have no idea what to do with, and who are you to tell them how to toss it around?Ā Ā
[Shade]:Ā I can do that.Ā WhoāsĀ the guy?Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Perfect. His name is Kim Seokjin.Ā IāmĀ sureĀ youāveĀ heard of him.Ā CEO ofĀ VionixĀ Industries.Ā
Your brows go up,Ā a sharp laugh bubbling from your lips.Ā Kim Seokjin?Ā TheeĀ CEO of CEOs? EveryoneĀ whoāsĀ anyone knows the guy.Ā Granted,Ā not forĀ anythingĀ remotelyĀ good...well,Ā thatāsĀ reallyĀ from an objectiveĀ viewpoint.Ā Ā
VionixĀ Industries is theĀ GodfatherĀ of tech. Its nameĀ practically synonymousĀ with innovation. Founded during the third wave of the digital revolution, it began with prosthetic integration tech: cybernetic limbs that moved like flesh, nerve-linkedĀ andĀ seamless. Within a decade, they expanded into planetary data mapping;Ā launching orbital satellites thatĀ didnātĀ just photograph terrain, but read energy grids, water veins, fault lines, and atmospheric changes in real time. It changed everything from agriculture to climateĀ modellingĀ toĀ warfare.Ā
When the world needed to see itself clearer,Ā VionixĀ gave it vision.Ā
When governments wanted control,Ā VionixĀ sold them omniscience.Ā
Their breakthroughs built the infrastructure of the modern age;Ā neural-link interfaces, biomechanical AI companions, self-evolving operating systems, the first functioning digital consciousness. Their name was in every boardroom, every orbit,Ā andĀ every surveillance act. They had patents in every field that mattered.Ā
And at the heart of it all was legacy.Ā KimĀ Hye-Shinās precision. His sonās ruthless expansion.Ā DecadesĀ of brilliance.Ā Ā
Then cameĀ Kim Seokjin.Ā
The golden heir.Ā Ā
Where hisĀ forefathersĀ builtĀ anĀ empire, Seokjin built a reputationĀ one scandal at a time. The media called him theĀ PorcelainĀ Prince ofĀ Vionix: all polish, no substance. His name was on every tech journalāsĀ lips,Ā and they never had anything nice to say,Ā notĀ that the manĀ gaveĀ them anything nice to say about him.Ā Lavish parties sprawling across penthouse floors, champagne baths and guests who woke up withĀ their names inĀ headlinesĀ for one thing or another.Ā
Every week,Ā aĀ newĀ photo: him laughing, glass in hand, silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down, some new socialite on his arm.Ā NotoriouslyĀ difficultĀ to work with, but somehow always available for a magazine shoot and interview.Ā
The most recent scandal? A professional interviewĀ forĀ Tech Visionary,Ā he arrived at still drunk from the night before;Ā hungover, reeking of whiskeyĀ andĀ unable to string a coherent sentence together. The footage went viral withinĀ the hour.Ā
AĀ disgraceĀ to his name.Ā
A mockery of the dynasty that built the future.Ā Practically spitting in the face of his Great-Grandfather that startedĀ VionixĀ and built it from the ground up.Ā
And yet, for all hisĀ incompetence⦠the world still watched him.Ā You would think the publicĀ wouldāveĀ grown bored of the man by now.Ā HeāsĀ done the same thing every damn week, youĀ donātĀ understand the appeal.Ā HeāsĀ as exciting as watching paint dry.Ā
YouāreĀ not sure ifĀ heāsĀ gotĀ anything to dig up.Ā OneĀ Google search will get you everywhere.Ā
[Shade]:Ā Information on that guy isĀ practically free?Ā Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Are you refusing?Ā Ā
[Shade]:Ā Did I say that?Ā IāllĀ do it.Ā Ā
āEasy money.ā You mutter, shaking your head.Ā Again,Ā youāreĀ not gonna tell anyone how to spend their hard-earnedĀ cash.Ā TheyāreĀ probably afterĀ his secrets orĀ whateverĀ that man could keep hidden.Ā WhichĀ probably isnātĀ much.Ā UnlessĀ theyāreĀ interested in his party guest list.Ā
[Shade]:Ā I would need 24 hours.Ā
[Temporary User]:Ā Great.Ā IāllĀ be in touch.Ā Ā
The chat box winks closed,Ā and you lean back into your chair, shaking your head again.Ā The twenty-fourĀ hoursĀ wasnātĀ something you necessarily needed,Ā itāsĀ simply becauseĀ youādĀ be hacking intoĀ Vionix. A huge companyĀ that, without a doubt, would be crawling with securityĀ codes and trip sensors. YouĀ actuallyĀ haveĀ to be careful.Ā Ā
You spend the first hour buried in public detritus;Ā an archaeologist of press releases. Investor decks that read like motivational posters, product spec sheets for consumer neural implants, glossy campaign videos tagged with too-many hashtags, API docs so painfully dry they couldĀ anesthetizeĀ a server. Career postings forĀ VionixāsĀ summer intern program. Customer support logs about a dozen people whoĀ canātĀ figure out why their companion-botĀ wonātĀ stop singing lullabies inĀ strange languages.Ā
You skim, you archiveĀ andĀ you yawn. This is the boring scaffolding of an empire: perfunctory and tidy.Ā
When it was clear that there was nothing of interestĀ on the public servers, you move inward.Ā Ā
The map of the network folds up and you push deeper---private VLANs, R&D sandboxes, legal partitions. The company smells different here: less curated press, more human sweat. Meeting minutes with sticky-note sarcasm. Project timelines with blank spaces for ācontingencies.ā Expense requests with obscene line items. A messy folder of internal chat logs where someone named Mina complains about the coffee and the head ofĀ logisticsĀ schedules a golf weekend. Little domestic things that make a corporation feel like a large, neurotic animal.Ā
You let yourself be bored a little longerĀ -----really,Ā thereāsĀ nothingĀ interesting---until you stumble across a doorway somebody forgot to stone over.Ā
ItāsĀ a private cluster under an innocuous tag:Ā /board/secure/comm.Ā That one is not supposed to exist in the placesĀ youāreĀ poking.Ā It looks like a stub,Ā actually,Ā aĀ placeholderĀ so that the more inexperienced can find it whenĀ theyāreĀ looking.Ā Handy.Ā Ā
The encryption is polite and aggressive.Ā youĀ easilyĀ slip through it,Ā like water finding a hairline crack in glass. Authentication tokens misrouted, an old admin key cached in a deprecated node, a service handshake that still answers an old secret phrase---nothing dramatic. YouĀ donātĀ need to narrate the theft; you just get in.Ā ThatāsĀ the art: make it look like it belonged there the whole time.Ā
The room opens like a private salon.Ā
Thread titles are clinical:Ā Board.Topics.Q4,Ā Exec.Private,Ā Legacy.Transfers.Ā At the top of the list is a chat threadĀ labelledĀ simply: āDoyunĀ & AssociatesĀ -----Private.ā The head of the board---HanĀ Doyun---heāsĀ the one who smiles in photos with his hand on Seokjinās shoulder and says the right things at shareholder dinners.Ā You can find out a lot about a person by their eyes, they tell, after all, HanĀ DoyunĀ always gave you such shark vibes, likeĀ heāsĀ in the wrong profession. He should be in one that demands a lot more from people who has a lot less.Ā
The messages areĀ certainly...something.Ā ItāsĀ clear these two hadĀ no ideaĀ how to properly encrypt shit or else youĀ wouldnātĀ be here staring at it.Ā It wasĀ dated a month and a half ago:Ā
[Han.Doyun]:Ā HeāsĀ a fool. Every quarter he burns through more capital, every headline drags us further down. IĀ donātĀ know how much longer the shareholders will tolerate him.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: Public sympathy still clings to the family name. But the board is restless. They want control returned to adults.Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Control will return onceĀ heāsĀ gone. Quietly. We keep the legacy intact. No scandal, no blood on paper. Just an unfortunate accident.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: Do we even need subtlety? The man can barely spell his own title half the time. A little nudge, and gravity will do the rest.Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Subtlety prevents questions.Ā WeāllĀ arrange the contractors. External. Disposable.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: And the inheritance?Ā ThereāsĀ talkĀ heāsĀ beenĀ funnellingĀ funds into something privateĀ off record. Some secret project.Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Yes.Ā IāveĀ heard. A tip came in last weekĀ aboutĀ something enormous. IfĀ itāsĀ real,Ā from whatĀ IāveĀ heard,Ā itāsĀ worthĀ trillions. And that idiotĀ doesnātĀ have the sense to guard it properly.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: HeĀ probably thinksĀ heāsĀ building a toy. Still, ifĀ thereāsĀ even a fraction of truth to itā¦Ā
[Han.Doyun]: Then we take it. WhateverĀ heāsĀ working on becomesĀ VionixĀ property the momentĀ heāsĀ out of the picture. The contracts will transfer posthumously. Simple.Ā
[Min.Taejin]: And if he somehow lives long enough to open his mouth?Ā
[Han.Doyun]: HeĀ wonāt. Schedule it for the gala. The cameras will be our alibi.Ā
You read it twice because your brain refuses to stitch theĀ sentencesĀ together the first time: quietly gone. Contractors. Trillions. A secret project.Ā TheyāreĀ talking about erasing a man likeĀ theyāreĀ adjusting the lighting in a boardroom.Ā
Your palms go cool. Not fear, exactly. More the hollow, surprised stillness of a body that just learned the floor it stands on is gone. You blink once, then the edges of annoyance sharpen. TheĀ audacity. The clumsy sanctimony. The complacent certainty of men who thinkĀ theyāreĀ owed what theyĀ didnātĀ build.Ā
You scroll. There are attachments. A roster of contractors---black-market brokers with names scrubbed into hashes, transfer windows, an account flagged for a āspecial operationsāĀ payout. Flight manifests. A timeline that pins the āfateful accidentā to a high-profile event where Seokjin will be seen surrounded by cameras and crowds. They outline contingency plans: if the cameras fail, a staged accident; if thereās suspicion, a medical misread; if worse comes, an alibi old enough to go viral and disappear into noise.Ā
You let the words settle. Corporate language, budget lines, murder plans. Polite monsters in tailored suits.Ā
Your first instinct is stupid and immediate:Ā WhoĀ the hell hired you? The anonymized client who tossed you the gig without a spec? Are they trying to outsource conscience? Are they doing surveillance? You scroll back up to the chat header. No extra tags. No breadcrumbs. Whoever messaged you knew exactly what to sendĀ and exactly how little to say.Ā
You should close the window. Delete the evidence. Walk back to the sofa, eat the leftoverĀ chicken, pretend you never sawĀ anythingĀ that could get your hands dirty with a marked manās death. That would be the pragmatic move.Ā Safe.Ā
Instead,Ā your mouth tastes like iron. You sit very still and let a new machine start in your head: problem recognition shifting into something that looks suspiciously like planning. The money flickers in the corner of your mind---the obscene number that brightened the clientās offer---and you think, not for the first time, about what you value and where you draw the line.Ā
YouĀ arenātĀ a martyr, but yourĀ inaction can cost a man his life.Ā ItāsĀ not your business, but nowĀ youāreĀ here and you feel likeĀ you'reĀ staring down the barrel of a gun andĀ someoneāsĀ telling you to walk aĀ tightropeĀ over uncertainty.Ā
You copy the thread into a locked buffer, a ghost of the fileĀ youāllĀ need.Ā Then you mull over it for hours, the same thought running through your mind:Ā What would Jesus do?Ā You can warnĀ him, maybe.Ā Ā
You sit with your head propped up on your fist, staring blankly at your screens with a frown.Ā Your ass is starting to ache, and you wiggle your toesĀ in your socks to bring feeling back to your legs.Ā Ā
You sit very still and let the cityās neon buzz gloss over you while your fingers map the problem the way you map networks---nodes, points of failure, empathy as a nonfactor. The questionĀ isnātĀ whether you warn him.Ā ItāsĀ how to do it without turning your life into a headline.Ā Is there a way you can do that without getting in too deep?Ā
First: get him alone. You ghost into the public routing, trace theĀ commĀ nodes that bounce his traffic, and find the thin threadĀ thatāsĀ more forgiving than the rest---a personal line he never thought to harden because, of course, heĀ probablyĀ neverĀ thinks.Ā ItāsĀ ugly beneath his gloss: an old number tied to a vanity carrier, a lazy auto-forward that still points to a disposable handset. Amateur hour. Perfect.Ā
You craft the message likeĀ youādĀ craft an exploit---short, cold,Ā andĀ no flourish. The sort of thing that reads like a warning,Ā youādĀ hope.Ā
SeokjinĀ -----meetĀ tonight at The Lumen, east mezzanine. Midnight. Come alone.Ā DonātĀ wear your watch.Ā -----A friend.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ say who you are. YouĀ donātĀ tell him you crawled through his companyās veins and found men in suits arranging his funeral as if it were paperwork.Ā YouāreĀ not trying to be noble. You want one thing: him breathing the morning afterĀ and a clear conscious.Ā
Sending the ping is mechanical.Ā YouĀ slip itĀ throughĀ the feed his concierge checks---one of those soft, stupid pipelines the rich assume is safe becauseĀ itāsĀ cushioned by service contracts and smiling faces. The message slides into his screen.Ā You watch the delivery tick fromĀ greyĀ to green. Then you watch the tiny double dot that says āreadā and hold your breath likeĀ itāsĀ some kind of superstitious ritual.Ā
He reads itĀ and heĀ doesnātĀ reply.Ā
Second: satisfy the client without burning the trail. You compile everything public---press kits, investor slides, ordnance on product releases, the usual corporate fluff. From the private layers, you pull meeting minutes, expense statements, HR whining, a folder of the R&D timelinesĀ thatāsĀ mostly mundane but useful for anyone looking for leverage. You scrub metadata,Ā resequencingĀ the logs so the files look tidy and unremarkable, then encrypt the package with a keyĀ forĀ the clientĀ to useĀ and push it to the drop. You include a tidy little checksum note delivery confirmed, files intact.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ include the board chat. YouĀ donātĀ include the contractor roster or the payment windows or the line that reads like a murder memo. You copy it, lock it in a secondary buffer, and bury that buffer behind five different dead drops and fake identities. If anyone asks, youĀ didnātĀ see anything youĀ werenātĀ paid to see.Ā Ā
The client paysĀ immediately, because thatās how obscene offers work---cash first, conscience later. You feel the number in your accounts like a bad aftertaste.Ā This became less about the money when you got into the private servers, youĀ donātĀ even want it anymore.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ tell Jimin. YouĀ donātĀ tell him becauseĀ heāllĀ either try to talk you out of it,Ā andĀ talk sense at you, orĀ heāllĀ plant that smug, inevitable āI told you soā like a flag in a battlefield.Ā It would be best thatĀ heāsĀ not involved in...Ā whateverĀ this is. And hopefully, this turns out to beĀ nothingĀ at all... Let him sleep. Let him keep being the idiot who distrusts scholarshipsĀ to stick with you.Ā
You lock the buffers, purge the ephemeral traces,Ā put everything on a flash driveĀ and then you sit with the after that sounds like a drumbeat behind your ribs. YouĀ didnātĀ do this to be a hero. You did it because you have a mirror and you clean it when it gets too dusty. You did it because, profit aside, the idea of men with spreadsheets schedulingĀ someoneāsĀ death like a budget line is obscene in a way that makes your stomach clench.Ā Ā
Thereās selfishness in the choice, yeah---clear conscience is a currencyĀ youāveĀ hoarded at times. ButĀ itāsĀ not the ugly kind.Ā ItāsĀ the kind that lets you sleep with your eyes closed two nights in a row. That matters. Small mercies matter whenĀ youāveĀ learned not to trust anything bigger.Ā
You slide your chair back, feel the mechanics click, and stand. The warehouse smells faintly of oil and noodles and the kind of detergent Jimin likes. You walk to the windowless wall where theĀ holoĀ frame sits and watch the city pixels smear into a smear of indifferentĀ colour.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ know how this would work,Ā maybeĀ heādĀ thinkĀ itāsĀ phishing, and ignore it.Ā Somewhere where a man who drinks too much will thinkĀ heāsĀ invincible and a ghosted message will feel like a prank.Ā
You refill your water. You tell yourselfĀ youāllĀ do two things next: sleep, and plan.Ā
Plan what? YouĀ donātĀ know yet.Ā Rescue, maybe.Ā Maybe exposure,Ā that is...if you can do it without becoming a target.Ā MaybeĀ youĀ shouldĀ doĀ nothingĀ at all andĀ quietlyĀ watch from the shadows.Ā Thatās...not an option, no matter how tempting it seems to you.Ā The job changed. The brief turned into aĀ choice. Consequences will follow, whether you like them or not.Ā
You go back to the console and open the locked buffer. The boardās chat sits there,Ā patientĀ and stupid and criminal. You unplug the external drive, slide it into a Faraday pouch, and tuck itĀ in a drawer under loose sheetsĀ ofĀ paper.Ā
YouĀ end up not sleeping.Ā You pull up the city feeds and watch the time until midnight tick closer, and you feel, absurdly, like a kid waiting for fireworks to start.Ā
When it was about eleven pm, youĀ shower and get dressed in something simple; jeans, a plainĀ tee-shirtĀ and a dark-wash denim jacket.Ā The Lumen was a prime party spot smacked in the middle ofĀ downtown;Ā some placeĀ youāveĀ only ever seen from the safety of passing cars and live streams.Ā It'sĀ not your scene.Ā
Jiminās been there more times than he could count on his stubby little fingers.Ā YouāreĀ certainĀ thatāsĀ where he metĀ Gina.Ā
You wonder at your outfitĀ in the mirror of your bedroom, frowning.Ā YouāreĀ certainly underdressed for whereĀ youāreĀ going, but you very wellĀ couldnātĀ tell the guy to meet you in a back alleyway.Ā Besides,Ā youāreĀ going there for no other reason than having a clear conscious.Ā YouāveĀ already been paid, so afterwards you can move on with your life and pretend youĀ hadnātĀ seenĀ anything at all.Ā Ā
Your boots scuff along the floor, clinking softly against the black steel steps as you head upstairs.Ā YouĀ patĀ your pocket every few seconds to make sureĀ the external drive is in there.Ā
You push the door open and let it swing closed behind you.Ā The door to your section of the warehouse sits underneath a steel landingĀ that cuts the space in half. The stairs that lead up towards it is a spiralling thing off to your rightĀ that goes up toĀ Jiminās bedroomĀ space.Ā Ā
To your left isĀ aĀ kitchenĀ and dining hybrid,Ā separated from the rest of the room byĀ a panelled glass wall.Ā It looks a lot warmer than your mostly dark scheme below; white speckled granite countertops and beige wood.Ā Where youĀ hadĀ limitedĀ your space to only the basic needs of todayās technology, Jimin embraced it.Ā Ā
During the day, most of the light comes from the slantedĀ sunroof above Jiminās bedroom loft.Ā HeādĀ stripped the ceiling to install windows there,Ā so that he could seek the sky onĀ itsĀ less cloudy nights.Ā
The middle of the outer space beyond is dominated by a large couch set,Ā leather and brown that cages the space in a boxy semi-circle. TheĀ soft white light comes from the pendant lamps hanging from above on impossibly thin wiring.Ā It makes the dark rug that covers theĀ concreteĀ flooring seem even darker.Ā A large TV sits against the wall,Ā one that Jimin barely ever uses.Ā Ā
A smallĀ portionĀ of the room is taken up by Jiminās office-work space. Like the kitchen area,Ā itāsĀ sectioned byĀ floor to ceilingĀ panel glass walls. Though, these ones are frostedĀ and can be made clear at the touch of a button.Ā
His workbench stretchesĀ almost theĀ entire length of the wallĀ -----an altar of organized chaos. Spools of filament, soldering irons, precision cutters, and a charred anti-static mat scarred by a thousand prototypes. Half-assembled drones hang from ceiling hooks like metal bats in stasis, their wings sleek and skeletalĀ -----chrome,Ā graphiteĀ andĀ midnight blue.Ā
Two monitors float above the desk on mechanical arms, hydra-like, their screens filled with code and thermal readings. A third screen sits lower, dedicated to schematicsĀ -----components blown apart and annotated in neon handwriting only Jimin understands.Ā
In one cornerĀ -----a charging rack of palm-sized exploratory bots, all glossy white and faintly humming, light strips breathing softly likeĀ theyāreĀ asleep.Ā
It smells faintly of ozone, copper, and burnt plastic. Sometimes it takes days for that scent to get out of your nose and out of Jiminās hair.Ā Ā
HeĀ does all his work there, andĀ itāsĀ whereĀ he sits now,Ā tinkering with a drone.Ā The stick of a lollipop pokes out the side of his mouth, glasses with a magnifying toolĀ perched on his nose as he pokes an electric screwdriver about.Ā His tablet lays near his hand, which he turns to him and slides around for a minute before muttering to himselfĀ and going back to the drone.Ā Ā
As you walk across theĀ living room, he catches your visage and looks up. āHey, Birdie.Ā WhereāreĀ you off to?āĀ Ā
His right eye looks impossibly large with the magnifying tool, and then he tilts his head, peering at you above the frame. ā...Dressed like that?āĀ
You wave a hand, āOut.āĀ
AlbeitĀ itāsĀ for his own good, you feel guilty thatĀ youāreĀ keeping it from him.Ā Ā
āIĀ wonātĀ be too long. Just gonna grab a drink.āĀ
Jimin raises a brow, and before you can get tooĀ far, he slips off the stoolĀ heāsĀ sitting on and takes off his glasses. He walks over to the doorway of hisĀ workshop, work forgotten.Ā āAs in...Ā outsideĀ outside?Ā Is the sky falling?ā he squints behind you, ducking his head a little toĀ look up at the windowsĀ above his bed.Ā Ā
His eyes trail back to you, a twinkle there. A smileĀ curls the cornersĀ of his mouth upwards,Ā plush lips parting around his crooked front tooth. āAre you going on a secretĀ date?āĀ Ā
āSure, Cali, letās call it that.ā YouĀ pull your keys from the pocket of your jacket, wrapping your fingers securely around the cold metal.Ā Ā
āShit,Ā really?ā He eyes you up and down with scrutiny this time,Ā butĀ thereāsĀ a certain mirth there,Ā ādressed likeĀ that?āĀ Ā
You sigh and he goes on, āWhereāre you going?āĀ
āLumen.āĀ Ā
āDressedĀ lik---āĀ Ā
āJimin.āĀ Ā
HeĀ puts his hands up in surrender,Ā āJust wanted to make you aware that you look like youĀ havenātĀ seen the light of dayĀ ever.Ā YouāllĀ scare off your date.āĀ
You give him the finger,Ā and he blows you a kiss, watching you as you walk towards the door.Ā Ā
āBe safe! AndĀ donātĀ do anything IĀ wouldnātĀ do!āĀ He calls out, wiggling his eyebrows with a smile.Ā
āThatāsĀ notĀ a very long list, Jimin.āĀ Ā
When you get outside, the steel door closes behind you andĀ the biometric lock system beeps.Ā The warehouse sits on the cityās fringe, where the skyline begins to bruise the horizon and the ground still smells faintly of machine oil.Ā Ā
Your car waits where you left it---yourĀ car, not one of those chrome, self-driving pods that swarm the highways like obedient insects. You hate those. The design isĀ ugly. It looks exactly howĀ a kidĀ from ages ago would imagine a car in the future to look;Ā smoothĀ and silver and kind of round.Ā YouāreĀ pretty sureĀ itāsĀ a passion project for someoneās grandkid.Ā Ā
Your carās an old thing by everyone elseās standards---Jimin likes to stand and make fun of it for kicks---: a deep green coupe with manual locks, chipped paint, and an honest-to-GodĀ steering wheel. You bought itĀ yearsĀ ago, back when the idea of ownership still meant something. People stare when you drive it through the city---half in disbelief, and the other half turning their noses up becauseĀ how dare?Ā Ā
You chuckle to yourself as you slide into the seat, the leather soft and familiar under your palms, and start her up. The engine rumbles awake, purringĀ whileĀ turn the heatĀ on,Ā you rubĀ your fingers together.Ā The vents make a little rattling sound asĀ the fans sputter to life; you should fix that.Ā
The drive downtown takes twenty minutes if the roads behave. Neon arteries run through the city, pulsing with holographic ads that ripple across glass faƧades. Giant screens shimmer with faces of pop idols and politicians, voices selling perfection in thirty-second bursts. Drones skim overhead, their red sensors blinking like restless eyes.Ā
The world is bright and glittery, and nothing dazzles your eyes anymore.Ā Ā
You stick to the old roads of the city, thankfullyĀ youāreĀ not the only person with an older model car. Mostly elderly folks keep āemĀ nowadays, butĀ thereāsĀ even less of them on the roads.Ā
Luckily forĀ you, that meansĀ itāsĀ less of a hassle to drive to the centre of downtown. An old song plays on the radio as you stop at a red light, you tap your fingers to the beat butĀ youāreĀ not really listening to it.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ know exactly whatĀ youāreĀ going to tell Seokjin if he does manage to show.Ā Somehow youĀ donātĀ think, āHey so someone paid a shit load of money for me to hack into your company,Ā and I found out that your own board wants you dead,Ā ha-haāĀ would fly.Ā HeādĀ probably callĀ theĀ cops.Ā Or, at the very least thinkĀ youāreĀ bat shitĀ insane.Ā Ā
You sigh, leaning your head against your hands on the steering wheel. You turn your head to look out the window, at the people walking up and down the sidewalks despite the hour, the old shops that have long been boarded over. Eaten up by time or left behind by peopleĀ seekingĀ greater, more modern things.Ā Ā
The green light glows against your dashboard, and you push your car forward.Ā Ā
You pull the coupe into a tight space between two silent, black-glass autonomous vehicles. They look down their metaphorical noses at your chipped paint and rattling vents, but you ignore them. They might be sleek and safe, but yours has aĀ soul, and the soul smells faintly of gasoline, notĀ sterilizing spray.Ā
The LumenĀ is a vertical wall of chrome and light, bleeding neonĀ rainbowsĀ into the smoggy night sky. It looks like an extruded corporate symbol. You park, hit the manual lock, and slide out,Ā immediatelyĀ feeling the city pressure hit you---theĀ cold air, the distant pulse of bass, the faint, sweet-chemical scent of recreational use already drifting from the heavy, automated doors.Ā
You walk toward the entrance. You know what you look like: a ghost in a denim jacket and decent jeans, surrounded by a herd of creatures wearing materials that cost more than your car. Their fabrics shimmer with self-cleaning polymers, their footwear glows softly, and their hair is styled with impossible, architectural precision. They look like expensive, genetically optimizedĀ goldfish. You feel like a rat that snuck in through the ventilation shaft.Ā
Inside, the sound hits you like a physical wall---a deep, resonant thud that vibrates in your chest cavity,Ā and nearlyĀ turnsĀ your teeth loose. The main floor is a sensory obscenity. The ceiling is too high, the light is too rapid, and the air is thick and hot with the smell of cheap ambition and expensive champagne.Ā
āTacky,ā you mutter under your breath.Ā ItāsĀ too loud to hear anything else, which isĀ probably theĀ point.Ā
The crowd is dense, a sluggish river of polished plastic and oiled skin. Everyone is either laughing too hard at nothing or staring blankly at the floating, three-dimensional holographic projections of stylized dancers that drift through the air like transparent, blue phantoms. You push through the crush, annoyed by the sheer inefficiency of these bodies---they take up too much space, they move too slowly, and their focus is criminally diverted. They are the same idiots who click phishing links and leave ā1234ā as their network password, just in better clothes.Ā
You make your way to the back perimeter, seeking the stairs. The mezzanine is your target, the east mezzanine---elevated, slightly more exclusive, but still offeringĀ a great viewĀ of the inevitable fall. The irony is not lost on you: the perfect spot for a subtle exchange, or for an assassin to ensure a clean shot.Ā
Climbing the stairs, the air gets marginally cooler, and the bass becomes slightly more directional;Ā less overwhelming.Ā You arrive on the mezzanine level.Ā ItāsĀ less crowded up here, featuring velvet couches and small, private booths protected by thin, shimmering kinetic-light screens that flicker with distracting, abstract patterns. The patrons here are older, quieter, and the dealsĀ theyāreĀ closing areĀ probably farĀ dirtier than anything happening on the dance floor below.Ā
You scan the area, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, feeling the solid outline of the external drive.Ā
ItāsĀ midnight.Ā YouāreĀ on time. You look at the spot you specified:Ā a small, low wall overlooking the main floor, slightly shielded by a potted, glowing plant. You lean against the railing, feeling exposed but professional.Ā
Alright, porcelain prince, you think, ignoring the dizzying lights below.Ā Your turn.Ā
You wait, watching the crowd, trying to blend into the shadows of the gaudy architecture. The airĀ smells a headache inducing mixture of different perfumes. You want to be home, where the smell is ozone and burnt copper and Jiminās questionable cologne, not thisĀ fragranceĀ of imminent disaster.Ā
The music hammers on, the lights flash, andĀ youāreĀ calculating the odds of getting out of here without a full security scan when a voice, smooth and perfectly pitched to cut through the din without shouting, speaksĀ right behind you.Ā Ā
āYou look rather underwhelmed, considering you have a private meeting with the most sought-after man in the hemisphere.āĀ
You rotate slowly on your heel,Ā years of living with Jimin has forced you to be preparedĀ to be snuck up on, and thankfully, itĀ doesnātĀ make you jump out of your skin.Ā Ā
The man standing before you is undoubtedly Kim Seokjin,Ā dressed impeccably in a white turtleneck sweaterĀ -----which somehow makes his broad shoulders look even more soĀ ---tucked intoĀ sharp black slacks. TheĀ shine of his leather shoesĀ reflectsĀ theĀ club'sĀ neon floor lights.Ā His hair rests perfectly,Ā a side partĀ that shows off his forehead and lets justĀ a bit sway above his left eyebrow.Ā Ā
He should start suing for photos, honestly.Ā DoesnātĀ do him justice at all.Ā NowĀ isnātĀ the time for thoughts likeĀ that, though.Ā Ā
Confusion furrows your brow;Ā you look off to the side and thenĀ turn to check if there was anyone behind you and thenĀ point at yourself.Ā LikeĀ theĀ one meme of that white kid. AbsoluteĀ classic.Ā It'sĀ still around today if you look in the right places...getting off topic.Ā
Seokjin lets out a chuckleĀ thatāsĀ more a puff of air than a roll of sound, āI got your message.āĀ
You know how in those silly kidās cartoons where thereās tens of littleĀ youāsĀ running around keeping everything going? You feel likeĀ theyāveĀ all frozen up with a red,Ā flashing warning alarmĀ blares on.Ā Ā
Your brain stutters. You blink, staring at him. He was supposed to be confused,Ā maybe indignant, certainly defensive. NotĀ knowingĀ who you were, let alone acknowledging the anonymous ping you sent.Ā HeĀ shouldnātĀ have approached youĀ first. What the fuck is this?!Ā
āExcuse me?āĀ Ā
A slow, sweet smile curled his plush lips, revealing a flash of genuine, unexpected amusement. He tilted his head, the posture making him look less regal, more predatory.Ā
He takes a step towards you and leans into your space. The scent of his cologne was dizzying; sharp and cleanĀ and something slightlyĀ fruity. The warmth of his breath races down your ear and the side of your neck and sends and involuntary shiver chasing after it.Ā Ā
āI trust theĀ paymentĀ was satisfactory?ā he asks, his voice smooth like velvetĀ and he pulls away, smiling patiently likeĀ heāsĀ waiting forĀ youĀ to catch up toĀ him.Ā Ā
It takes a good few seconds, where you brainĀ has toĀ stop and push the powerĀ button for your frontal lobe.Ā You have a strange, unnerving feeling likeĀ youāreĀ a teenĀ whoāsĀ just beenĀ pantsedĀ in the middle of a full cafeteria.Ā Or a joke just flew over your head like an airplane.Ā Ā
āYou...Ā youāre ---āĀ Ā
āCorrect.ā He says,Ā and then he turnsĀ away from you, eyes scanning the mezzanine. With a gentle hand on your arm, he turns you towards a booth in a far corner,Ā near a decorative water feature thatĀ wouldĀ mercifully muteĀ some of the noise.Ā
āWe shouldnāt discuss corporate treason standing next to the raw sewage of high society,ā he murmurs,Ā his tone dry as dust. He gesturesĀ toward the booth, inviting you go in first.Ā Ā
Your brain is working double time as he sits opposite you. Youāve half a mind to reach for yourĀ watch and scan him.Ā ThereāsĀ absolutely no way that this man and the man running rampant in the tabloids are the same.Ā His eyesĀ arenātĀ dulled by substance or alcohol,Ā theyāreĀ wide and bright, a deepĀ brown, almost black that looks far too intelligent to belong to him.Ā Ā
EitherĀ youāreĀ talking to an android replica,Ā orĀ The Porcelain PrinceĀ is just a perfectly curated mask donned to hide the man sitting before you now.Ā Ā
āYouāve found something in the servers, yes?ā He asks, andĀ youāreĀ not sure if he picks up the placard menu just to have something to do with his hands, or if he was genuinelyĀ browsing.Ā āIt'sĀ why you asked to meet.āĀ Ā
HeĀ chuckles to himself as thoughĀ heādĀ told a funny joke, āWell,Ā āaskedāĀ is a bit of a stretch. Ominously demanded is more like.Ā Very misleading,Ā by the way.āĀ
āYouāreĀ my client?āĀ YouāreĀ still trying to process, and he raises his eyes from the menu to frown at you.Ā Ā
āYes, I thought I made that clear.Ā Keep up.āĀ Ā
You blink, and then take a deep breath, because if you just startĀ wailingĀ on him,Ā youādĀ probably getĀ kicked out. And arrested.Ā Ā
āWhy would you hire me to hack into yourĀ ownĀ company?āĀ Ā
Seokjin lets out an almost disappointed sigh,Ā āIt was the fastest way to get an unvarnished security audit, wasnāt it?ā He puts the menu aside,Ā āVionixĀ is too porous. Anyone insideĀ could beĀ compromised. I needed proof of internal malice, delivered by someone with no allegiance to the name.āĀ Ā
A laugh bubblesĀ itsĀ way up your throat before you can stop it,Ā slipping past your lips with a shake of your shoulders. WhileĀ youāreĀ laughing it up, Seokjin looks decidedly unimpressed, leaning back into the soft leather cushions of the booth to watch you.Ā Ā
āIām sorry...ā you put up a hand and then smack it down against the polished table. The small, circularĀ tabletopĀ rattles a little,Ā āI just have a hard time believing all of this.āĀ
āHm, well.ā SeokjinĀ begins, waving his hand as though your words and confusion was a mere fly.Ā āI do cut a perfect picture,Ā donāt I?āĀ Ā
He winks at you and nowĀ itāsĀ your turn to look unimpressed. He shrugs when youĀ donātĀ swoon,Ā apparently, and then he taps a finger on the glossy menu.Ā Ā
āWould you like a drink?āĀ Ā
āNo,Ā thank you.āĀ Ā
He shrugs again, and all he has to do is raise a hand and a server comes over hurriedly,Ā āSuit yourself, then.Ā DonātĀ complain to me whenĀ youāreĀ thirsty after all the talkingĀ weāreĀ gonna do.āĀ Ā
He orders a gin tonic...virgin. YouĀ donātĀ know why that shocks you more than anythingĀ youāveĀ found out tonight.Ā Ā
āSo.ā HeĀ begins, plucking the wedge of lime off the rim of the short glass. He sets it aside neatly on a napkinĀ and sips at his drink, āTell me what you really found on the servers.āĀ Ā
You take a deep, steadying breath, surveying the man across from you.Ā A man, not asĀ foolish as he makes himself to be for the public,Ā whoāsĀ utterly oblivious toĀ the immediate, visceral dangerĀ youādĀ discovered.Ā Ā
You dip your hand into the pocket of your jacket, pulling out theĀ external drive that sits in its safe littleĀ pouch and slide it across the table.Ā āIt'sĀ all on there.Ā I think internal maliceĀ is the least of your worries.āĀ Ā
āHow so?ā He carefully lifts the flap of the pouch and wiggles his fingers aroundĀ inside,Ā āA flash drive?āĀ
āDoesĀ the namesĀ HanĀ DoyunĀ and MinĀ TaejinĀ mean anything to you?āĀ Ā
Seokjin chuckles, āOnly that one is theĀ ChairmanĀ of the Board,Ā and the other isĀ theĀ Chief Financial Officer. They were both appointed by my father before heĀ stepped down.ā He says, narrowing his eyes slightly,Ā but otherwise,Ā doesnātĀ seem too bothered by your question.Ā āTheyāveĀ been with me for years, and my father even longer.Ā It'sĀ no secretĀ that they want me gone.āĀ Ā
āTheyāre planning toĀ have youĀ killed.āĀ You blurt out, and Seokjinās hand pauses halfwayĀ lifting his glassĀ to his mouth.Ā Ā
He looks past you for a second and then his eyes refocus, ā...Really?āĀ Ā
He looks genuinely shocked, and for a moment, he loses the flippant arroganceĀ heādĀ been displaying. He sets the glass down with a barely audible clink against the polishedĀ table. āI was expecting a coup orĀ a cumulative voting, anything...āĀ
He looks distressedĀ now, a crease forming between his perfectĀ brows. His Adamās apple bobs when he swallowsĀ and he nods, more to himself, you notice, āWhat else?āĀ Ā
āThe chat log was datedĀ for a month and a half ago.Ā TheyāreĀ planning to do it at some high-profile event.ā You knock your knuckles against the table, āThey alsoĀ talked something about a project.Ā TheyāreĀ knowĀ youāreĀ working on something and they want it.āĀ
āIs that all they said about it?ā his very real death threat hanging above his head isĀ seemingly forgotten, and he looks almost desperate when he asks.Ā āThe project?āĀ
āNo...Ā theyĀ didnātĀ mention anything else. Just that it costs a lot and they thinkĀ youāreĀ ---āĀ Ā
āA fool?āĀ He scoffs.Ā Ā
That wasĀ notĀ what you were going to say...Ā Ā
Seokjin sighsĀ and rubs his thumb against his plush bottom lip.Ā He looks at you likeĀ heāsĀ considering something, āThat project is myĀ life.Ā It was my grandfatherās, then my fatherās and nowĀ itāsĀ mine. The kind ofĀ work it is...I would kill me out of curiosity to get my hands on it too.āĀ Ā
āWhoa, whoa,Ā whoa! Why are you telling me this?ā you put your hands up,Ā and look around, butĀ youāreĀ certain no one can hear your conversation over the club music, āI donāt want to be involved in...whateverĀ this is!āĀ Ā
āFunny youād say that---āĀ ThereāsĀ a sharp sound that whistles past your ear,Ā andĀ a hot, burningĀ sensation that spreadsĀ from your earlobe to yourĀ cheek.Ā Ā
The kinetic privacy screen of the booth shatters into a thousand shimmering shards, the sound barelyĀ audibleĀ over the clubās bass but terrifyingly real.Ā It rains over you in little black shards.Ā Ā
Seokjin letsĀ out a ragged, guttural grunt of pain. His hand fliesĀ to hisĀ leftĀ shoulder, a sudden, blossoming shock of red staining the perfect white turtleneck. HeĀ hadnātĀ screamed, but the sound he made---pure, involuntary animal distress---was worse. He shovesĀ the small table aside, collapsing toward you, his body a heavy, muscled weight of high fashion and rapidly failing adrenaline.Ā
The second shot slamsĀ into the velvet cushion where your head had beenĀ momentsĀ before. Chaos eruptsĀ on the mezzanine; the club music drowned in a wave of raw, panicked screaming.Ā
Blood, shockingly bright, was already soaking the shoulder of your denim jacket.Ā
YouĀ donātĀ hesitate. Survival was a simple choice, and the variable currently contaminating your jacket with his blood was the one you had to move.Ā YouĀ scramble to grab at the pouch on the ground, among the shards of black glassĀ and shove it into your pocket.Ā Getting to your feet, you shove aside a couple paralyzed with terror and, grippingĀ Seokjinās good arm, beginĀ hauling the bulk of him off theĀ leather seat of the ruined booth, dragging him toward the exit sign flashing red behindĀ theĀ decorative water feature.Ā
HeāsĀ stumbling, leaning against you, his breathing shallow and rattling.Ā
The exit door leads you to a hallway, the music inĀ The LumenĀ had been cut off and all you can hear is the panicked screams of the patrons.Ā The hallway stretches towards another exit, which spits you out on the opposite side of the carpark where your car is.Ā Ā
Seokjin is thankfully cooperative, his good arm slung over your shoulder,Ā heāsĀ holding most of his weight himself.Ā Though, his steps are less than ideal.Ā Ā
You rush over to your car as quickly as you can, trying to not be distracted by the screaming, confused people coming out of the club in droves.Ā You yank the car door open and get Seokjin inside, he slurs something to you as you buckleĀ him in.Ā
You slam the door shut, scrambleĀ around andĀ into the driverās seat, and shove the key into the ignition. The engine catchesĀ with a loud, protesting rumbleĀ and you barely give it time to warm up.Ā You peel out of the parking space with a screech, forgetting about traffic and direction, caring only about the distance between the club and the life you were desperately trying to protect.Ā
TheĀ scent of bloodĀ isĀ instantly overwhelming. You risk a glance at the man slumped beside you.Ā HeāsĀ clutching his shoulder, his skin pale and slick with sweat, but thankfully awake.Ā YouāreĀ not sure how much longer that would be for, though.Ā Ā
You need to think.Ā Think quickly!Ā Ā
You realise after a moment, thatĀ youāreĀ just tearing down the street,Ā and belatedly, a thought comes to mind:Ā YouĀ canātĀ go home.Ā Ā
If someone saw you getting into this car with aĀ veryĀ obviously injured and bleeding man, you could be followed.Ā YouādĀ lead them right home and put Jimin in danger.Ā Ā
āI canāt go home...I...IĀ donāt know what to do.ā You say, voice quiet, but your hands grip the steering wheel tightly.Ā You take a breath and then another all too quickly, the speed gauge is just climbing. You frantically check your mirrors,Ā voice pitching upwards in your panic,Ā āWhat theĀ fuck!āĀ Ā
You feel like your ears are suddenly filled with cotton and youĀ canātĀ get a decent string of thought to settle.Ā ThereāsĀ a man actively bleeding out in your damn car, you haveĀ nowhereĀ to go andĀ heāsĀ probably goingĀ to die before anything else,Ā and youĀ donātĀ know!Ā
āCalm down!ā SeokjinĀ snaps,Ā and you hear him over the ringing in your ears,Ā āYou needĀ to calm down, or weāreĀ bothĀ going to die.āĀ Ā
You glance at him, and he looksĀ worse.Ā HeāsĀ even more pale and the blood stain is eating up the white of his sweater even more. His breaths are shallow, and heĀ isnātĀ putting enough pressure on that wound.Ā
You ease your foot off the pedal, and the car slows marginally.Ā Ā
āWhat do I do?ā you ask, staring straight ahead. YouĀ donātĀ know where you should go.Ā āYou need to get to a hospital.āĀ
āNo.ā Seokjin grunts,Ā āNo hospitals.āĀ
āYouāre bleeding out!āĀ Ā
āDo you know the...ā Seokjin closes his eyes and takes a coupleĀ breaths,Ā and him not addressing your panic isĀ probably bestĀ for the both of you,Ā ātheĀ 312 Overpass?āĀ Ā
āY-yeah.āĀ Ā
āFind DraytonĀ Street.Ā ThereāsĀ a lock-up.āĀ HeāsĀ very clearly trying to stay conscious long enough to tell you what he needs to. His voice is soft,Ā and you can just barely catch his words,Ā āYouāreĀ looking...for Kim...Ā Namjoon.Ā Doctor.āĀ
His eyes flutters and his headĀ giveĀ a little thump against the window.Ā That wakes him a little, but itĀ isnātĀ for long as his head then lolls forward.Ā Ā
āOh god, are youĀ dying?!ā You cry,Ā reaching your clammy hand over to smack sharply at his cheek, āPlease donāt die in my car!āĀ Ā
His eyes blink warily open, and he lifts his head.Ā He lets out a weak laugh, āImagine...ā he mumbles, āmaking this terribleĀ upholsteryĀ worse?āĀ Ā
He blinks hard and wincesĀ as the wheels go over a speed bump. YouĀ maintainĀ your speed, pushing the engine to its limit.Ā Ā
The streets here are darker, older, less patrolled by autonomous cars and flashing billboards.Ā You roll the windows down a crack, hoping that the slight chill would help keep you calm or keep Seokjin awake a little longer.Ā TheĀ airĀ smell of damp concrete and neglect. You grip the wheel, your eyes constantly flicking between the road ahead andĀ Seokjin.Ā
āYouāre...ā HeĀ doesnātĀ open his eyes, just forces the air past his throat. āYou could at least... tell me where we are. Or let your GPS handle the route.āĀ
āIt doesnāt have a GPS,ā you snap, the cold necessity of the situation keeping your panic pinned down. āI use the old municipal grid.āĀ
He lets out a slow, wet sigh that makes you flinch. āNo GPS. Manual ignition. A person of your...talents,ā he whispers, a thread of contempt pulling through the pain. āShould have access to something less likely to leave my blood all over the pavement.āĀ
āMy car is reliable,ā you bite back, theĀ defenceĀ automatic. āAnd itĀ doesnātĀ log my routes. Unlike your fancy self-driving pods.āĀ
āNo logs,ā he murmurs, his head lolling. āAdmirable. But inefficient.Ā Youāre...Ā youāreĀ driving blind.āĀ
āIām using the old municipal grid maps,ā you explainĀ again, already running a mental trace on the 312 Overpass.Ā āTheyāre rarely maintained, but they work.āĀ
āOf course,ā he manages, the sound laced withĀ quietĀ disdain. āThe only kind of map aĀ ratĀ would trust.āĀ
āAnd the only kind that getsĀ youĀ out alive,ā you retort, the exchange firing a small, necessary burst of focus into your brain.Ā
His breathing hitches, and he goes quiet.Ā
You wait for the next sarcastic critique, but itĀ doesnātĀ come. You risk a full glance. The man is slumped against the door, his head pressed against the glass. The blood stain is vast and dark, and his skin is an alarming shade ofĀ greyĀ under the intermittent streetlights. His eyes are closed, his face slack.Ā
The absence of his voice is instantly more terrifying than the sound of the gunshot. Your hands, briefly warmed by the pointless argument, turn icy cold on the steering wheel.Ā
āHey,āĀ YouĀ prompt, your voice tight, pulling your gaze from the road to check on him. āSeokjin!?āĀ
No response.Ā
āFuck!āĀ
HeāsĀ out. Completely passed out. The silence is deafening, broken only by the loud, protesting rumble of the engine.Ā
A moment more and you finally spot the overpass; aĀ monumental arch of forgotten infrastructure. You brake hard, slowing for the off-ramp into the industrial periphery. The area is dark, dominated by blocky warehouses and the shadows they cast. This is the old city limits.Ā Ā
You check the street signs---faded, chipped enamel signs that the cityĀ largely ignoresĀ now.Ā Drayton Street.Ā
You slow the coupe to a crawl, navigating the pitted asphalt. The air here smells stale, like old metal and industrial runoff. He had called it a ālock-up.ā This implies secrecy, a hidden workshop, not a public facility. You scan the buildings---mostly blank, windowless walls, cheap composite metal siding, and heavy steel doors, all blending into one uniform line of neglect.Ā
Why would a doctor be staying outĀ hereĀ of all places?Ā I mean,Ā youāreĀ not one to judge...much. But itĀ isĀ a strange place for a doctor to be in.Ā You feel likeĀ youādĀ just wandered onto an old zombie movie set.Ā
You have the nagging feeling thatĀ youāreĀ running low on time, or that could just be your paranoia about SeokjinĀ actually dying.Ā So,Ā you pull over on the dark street and kill the lights. You roll up the sleeve of your jacket and tap at the small screen of yourĀ Holowatch. SeokjinĀ hadnātĀ told you exactly where to look, soĀ youāreĀ going to have to use your brain.Ā Ā
HolowatchesĀ are simple in design and can be used forĀ pretty much anything.Ā It was a walk in the park toĀ modifyĀ to suit your needs,Ā and despite not having the foresight to find yourself in thisĀ particular situation,Ā youāreĀ thankful,Ā nonetheless.Ā Ā
The interface comes up dimly,Ā casting a pale blue glow over most of the dark space. You do a comprehensive scan of the local grid.Ā TheĀ initialĀ results are useless; standard industrial drone recharge stations or dormant warehouse HVAC systems. This area is mostly offline.Ā
You switch the search parameters, isolating the sector grid and filtering for indicators of an off-grid facility:Ā Any unusual power consumption spikesĀ wouldĀ suggestĀ high-endĀ medical or research equipment.Ā Or even archaic, segmented network trafficĀ that would help you narrow it down.Ā
The grid flickers in your display overlay. Most of the dataĀ remainsĀ quiet, but then a faint signature appears---a small, steady power draw coupled with a high-volume, highly encrypted data stream, localized to a single building about three blocks down the street.Ā ItāsĀ a network running its own rules, completely divorced from the main city traffic. A strong, isolated line.Ā
There.Ā Ā
You start your car upĀ againĀ andĀ drive slowly down the pitted asphalt until you reach the building corresponding to the trace: a large, ugly steel-sided warehouse, indistinguishable from the others. No windows, no signs. The main door is a massive, bolted plate of reinforced steel.Ā
You unbuckle your seatbelt and clamber out of the car.Ā ThereāsĀ anĀ old ---ancientĀ ---looking coms system set up beside the steel door.Ā YouĀ clumsily press the button,Ā and it buzzes loudly in the quiet.Ā You wait impatiently forĀ twoĀ minutes before pressing it again and holding it down for good measure.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a click and the buzzing cuts short, and a groggy, sleep-filled voiceĀ crackles through.Ā Ā
āYes?āĀ Ā
āDr Kim?Ā ThereāsĀ an emergency.āĀ Ā
āSāitĀ urgent?ā the guy sounds about ready to fall asleep again.Ā Ā
You glance atĀ theĀ emergencyĀ passed out in your passenger seat,Ā probably oneĀ foot through the pearly gates.Ā āYes.āĀ Ā
āGive me a minute.ā The line crackles to deathĀ and you pace the short distance between your car and the door.Ā Not three minutes had gone by when the steel door wasĀ lifting, rollingĀ ItsĀ way up soundlessly.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ really have much brain capacity to spare taking in theĀ large expanse of room the door reveals. The good doctor takes up much of your visionĀ anyways.Ā HeāsĀ tall and powerfully built, dressed in soft cotton sweatpants and a thick, dark shirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair is tousled, and his features---mono-lidded,Ā thoughtful eyes and a strong jaw---are currently dominated by sleepy annoyance at being woken atĀ whatāsĀ probablyĀ twoĀ in the morning.Ā Ā
Then his eyes drop to the blood-soaked shoulder of your jacketĀ but follow the length of your arm when you point to the car. āSeokjin told me to bring him here.āĀ Ā
ThatĀ seems to wakeĀ him up,Ā and suddenlyĀ heāsĀ walking forward and peering into the window.Ā He pulls the door open quickly, and curses, leaning in to unbuckle the belt and haul Seokjin and all his weight out.Ā Ā
He grunts with effort as he half carries, half drags Seokjin into the warehouse.Ā āBring your car in.ā And then he disappears into a sectioned off area.Ā Ā
You do asĀ youāreĀ told, driving your carĀ in and parking it, and then finding the switch to send the door back down.Ā Ā
The large steel door shutsĀ with a heavy finality, severing your connection to the dangerous streets outside. The sound echoes in the cavernous space, replaced by a sudden, intense silence broken only by your strained breathing.Ā
You stand for a moment, letting the silence settle the frantic ringing in your ears, finally taking in the vast expanse of the warehouse. It is surprisingly sterile and organized, a stark contrast to the grimy industrial exterior. The floor is smooth, polished concrete, segmented by strips of clear, directional LED lighting.Ā
The main bay serves as a garage and staging area. Against one wall, a complex rack of server stacks and specialized equipment hums quietly, the source of the private network traffic you traced.Ā
Your eyes sweep across the open space, and you see the true structure of the ālock-up.ā Running along the far side of the warehouse, nestled against the back wall, are three prefabricated modular offices, side-by-side. Boxy, functional structures built with matteĀ panellingĀ and large, continuous horizontal windows.Ā
Namjoon disappeared into the central module. You walk toward it, drawn by the faint sound of rattling metal.Ā
This central structure is clearly the working module. Its windows offer a glimpse inside, revealing a long, organized space. There are beds visible; simple, clean cots with monitoring equipment set up off to one side. Further down the room, through another internal partition, you can see the bright, focused light of the surgical zone where Namjoon is currently working.Ā Ā
Through the gauzy partition you can make out the leg of Seokjinās pants, and you turn away, trying not to think too hard on it.Ā YouāreĀ sure SeokjinĀ wouldnātĀ have told you to come here if heĀ didnātĀ trust this guy.Ā YouāreĀ sure he knows whatĀ heāsĀ doing,Ā and youĀ donātĀ have to worry about being hunted down by the police forĀ essentially puttingĀ KimĀ fuckingĀ SeokjinĀ right in the middle of a bear trap.Ā Hahaha.Ā Ā
You try to focus on somethingĀ else. The modules on either side are dark and silent. You can onlyĀ speculateĀ on their purpose, but their presence reinforces the feeling that this place is self-sufficient and entirely separate from the world outside.Ā ThereāsĀ a small,Ā labelled plaque on the first one,Ā PRIVATE, in little bold lettering.Ā Ā
The warehouse itselfĀ isnātĀ a large thing, might be a coupleĀ feetĀ wider than yours and Jiminās. You drag your feet back to your car to lean against the hood, the adrenalineĀ thatāsĀ finally beginning to crash has you exhausted, or that just may be the factĀ youāveĀ been awake since the night before. You go to press the heel of your palm to your eyes, and spot the blood on your hand, already crusted and gone brown. Your other hand is miraculously clean of it, but your right hand has Seokjinās blood underĀ theĀ fingernails. Your hands shake.Ā Ā
You almost got a man killed tonight. Never mind that,Ā youĀ almost died. That second bullet was obviously meant for the outlying variable. If youĀ hadnātĀ told Seokjin to meet you there,Ā heĀ couldāveĀ probably beenĀ partying it up somewhere right now.Ā
Ā Safe...maybe...and youĀ couldāveĀ been sleeping in your nice warm bed and JiminĀ wouldāveĀ crawled in by now like a kid that āfrewĀ upā and refuse to leave.Ā Safe.Ā Ā
No,Ā youāreĀ standing in the weird ass warehouse of some doctorĀ youāveĀ never heard of all because you wanted to play hero. This was not the origin story you wanted to have! You really hope your canon eventĀ doesnātĀ sneak up on you. YouĀ donātĀ even know any Uncle Benās!Ā
Maybe youĀ shouldāveĀ taken that drink offer.Ā Ā
You let your hands fall listlessly to your lap and take a deep breath.Ā Ā
Soft footstepsĀ makeĀ you raise your head, NamjoonĀ has come out from the module, wiping his hands with a disposableĀ wipe.Ā Ā
āHeās stable.ā He says when he catches your gaze and tosses the wipe into a nearby bin.Ā āLuckily, the bullet when straight throughĀ theĀ muscle and missed everything.Ā HeāsĀ lost a dangerous amount of bloodĀ though,Ā soĀ IāmĀ giving him a transfusion.Ā HeāllĀ be fine.āĀ Ā
Why does he say that like Seokjin getting shot was some regular Friday occurrence?Ā Does he have another secretĀ mask to wear?Ā A secretĀ life, or something?! YouĀ canātĀ even handle the fact thatĀ heāsĀ clearly not what everyone knows him to be...well,Ā almost everyone. Either way! This is crazyĀ enough.Ā Ā
He squints at you, āYouāre injured.ā He points at your cheek, and you raise your hand, fingers brushing against the driedĀ crust of blood there. The bullet had whizzed past your ear, but itĀ didnātĀ missĀ your cheek.Ā You remember the sting of it when it grazed you.Ā Ā
āItās nothing...ā you dismiss, but Namjoon was already disappearing back into the centre module before he was out again with a first aid kit.Ā Ā
āI still have to clean it.ā He says, laying the kit out on your car hoodĀ He cleans the wound with a sterile wipe,Ā gently turning your cheek towards the light as he applies a gelĀ antiseptic and aĀ band-aid.Ā āItās superficial, wouldnāt leave a scar.āĀ Ā
Whoever took that shot is a damn good shoot to have onlyĀ unintentionallyĀ grazed you.Ā Ā
āHeās lucky you were there.ā Namjoon says softly, and the gratitude in his tone is oddly overwhelming. You only nod as he finishes putting things back into the kit.Ā āIām Kim Namjoon, are you a friend of his?āĀ Ā
YouĀ give him your name in a soft murmur, though youĀ shake your head.Ā YouāreĀ not sure how to answer that. Seokjin may trust him,Ā but youĀ donātĀ knowĀ zilchĀ about the guy, so youĀ donāt. You barely knowĀ whatāsĀ even happeningĀ anymore.Ā Ā
NamjoonĀ doesnātĀ say anything about your lack of words, instead he smiles at you.Ā Dimples sink into his cheeks,Ā and you manage just half of one.Ā Ā
āWhen was the last time you slept?ā his eyes dart between your own,Ā a serious look on his face.Ā Ā
āOh...um...āĀ Ā
HeĀ points over his shoulderĀ to the centre module, āBeds are that way, you look exhausted.āĀ Ā
You turn, leaving the comforting presence of Namjoon for the cold, clinical safety of the warehouse. You cross the open garage floor and step into the central modular building.Ā
The space is quiet now, the atmosphere heavy with the clean scent of antiseptic. Immediately to your left is the Observation Area.Ā
Seokjin lies on the farthest cot, positioned against the back wall. He is stripped of the blood-soaked white turtleneck, covered by a sterile white blanket up to his chest. His shoulder is heavily bandaged, and an IV line runs from his arm to a stand where a blood bag hangs, steadily dripping life back into him. Nearby, a small heart monitor beeps rhythmically, a steady, reassuring sound that confirms his continued existence.Ā
You move to the corner nearest the door, where a deep stainless-steel sink is positioned forĀ general useĀ before the surgical partition. You peel off your denim jacket; the fabric is stiff and heavy with dried blood. You drop it onto the clean floor without a second thought, the garment already a casualty of the night. You turn the tap on and thoroughly scrub your hands, chasing away the metallic tang of Seokjinās blood that had dried beneath your fingernails. The water runs pink, then clear.Ā
Relief is a sudden, dizzying wave. You choose the cot directly opposite Seokjin. You watch him for a moment---bandaged, pale, but breathing deeply and steadily. He looks like a high-end statue wrapped in linen, utterly unlike the man who was justĀ thirty minutesĀ ago gasping in the seat next to you.Ā
The constant beep of the monitor is now the only soundĀ accompanyingĀ your exhaustion. You shed your shoes, kicking them carelessly onto the floor, and sink onto the cot.Ā Ā
You close your eyes. The chaos of the gunshots, the screech of tires, and the metallic smell of blood fade, replaced by blessed silence.Ā
Sleep claims youĀ immediately.Ā
When you wakeĀ itsĀ well pastĀ noon, you sit up in bed, rubbing at your eyes.Ā The bed opposite you is empty, theĀ blanket folded neatly at the end of it. As you swing your legs over the side of the bed,Ā thereāsĀ a vibration at your wrist. YourĀ holowatchĀ lets out a soft beep,Ā and when you raise your hand,Ā you see the missed calls from Jimin and the one textĀ heādĀ sent over an hour ago.Ā Ā
[Insp.Gadget]:Ā you better be getting your back blown outĀ for you to miss four callsĀ >;(Ā call me!!Ā Ā
YouādĀ call him later, you promise. For now, you simply send him a text,Ā so he knowsĀ youāreĀ alive.Ā Ā
WhenĀ youāveĀ woken enough,Ā youāreĀ a little more than embarrassed toĀ remember you just dropped your jacket on the floor, but itĀ isnātĀ there. YouĀ make your way out of the module to the main bay of the warehouse, where Namjoon moves in and out of theĀ module on the left.Ā ThereāreĀ about two dozen brown boxesĀ stacked neatly near a steel side door, and Seokjin isĀ standing off to a corner, talking lowly.Ā Ā
He looks better, at least; showered and not covered in his own blood.Ā Wearing a threadbare hoodie and sweats and thankfullyĀ doesnātĀ look likeĀ heāsĀ on the brink of death.Ā His arm is in a dark blue sling,Ā held close to his chest and he gestures this way and that with his other hand.Ā Ā
Namjoon sets the last of his boxes downĀ and straightens to his full height. He looksĀ rather indignantĀ about whateverĀ theyāreĀ discussing,Ā brows drawn together in a frown, jaw working.Ā Ā
Seokjinās eyes flicker to yours and he goes quiet, and it causes Namjoon to turnĀ to face you fully.Ā He smiles at you, expression softening before he carries on with his work.Ā Ā
He eases open the side door,Ā and it unlocks with a metallic clank.Ā ThereāsĀ a murmur of voices when it pushes open,Ā and Namjoon quietly greets the waiting people outside. He hands out box after box, smiling all the while.Ā Ā
āHeĀ comes out here for two weeks every month.ā Seokjin says, voice low, āHeĀ uses this space as a free clinic andĀ support distribution for people who canāt afford it.āĀ Ā
This man must be some kind of angel, you think.Ā ThereāsĀ not manyĀ that would even look at the lower, struggling class, and here he isĀ risking his security for the underprivileged. A mixture of respect and awe blooms in your chest asĀ you watch him smiling and speaking softly to the owner of a pair of dirty young hands.Ā Ā
āBathroomās in there.ā Seokjin says,Ā effectively breaking your little awe-based spell. HeĀ points to theĀ first module with the little private plaqueĀ on the door.Ā āNamjoon put some clothes out for you.āĀ Ā
āMight have to roll the sleeves and pants a bit, though.ā Namjoon nods his head,Ā turning to you just slightly as he picks up another box.Ā Ā
āHave any of you seen my jacket?āĀ You ask, pointing a finger over your shoulder.Ā Ā
āI threw it in the wash...itās pretty much ruined now.āĀ Namjoon says and then looks at Seokjin as though expecting him to say something. When heĀ doesnātĀ answer, an exasperated lookĀ crossesĀ the doctorās face.Ā Ā
Seokjin looks at him, and then and you, and then rolls his eyes, āSorry I bled all over you.āĀ
Namjoon sighs loudly.Ā
HeāsĀ seemed to have dropped whatever extra mask he was wearing last night when he came to meet you. The air ofĀ detached professionalism is gone, and he looks very much a spoilt brat with daddyās money.Ā Ā
YouĀ donātĀ care about the jacket.Ā You use the private module to wash up quickly, scrubbing the last vestiges of dried blood from your hairline, and then change into the track pants and Henley tee Namjoon left out for you. The clothes are soft and clean, and you do have to roll the sleeves and pant legs several times.Ā
When you get out of the bathroom, Namjoon and Seokjin are both sitting in the small kitchenette space Namjoon has built into the far end of the module. The space is simple: a small table, threeĀ chairs, and a compact surface with a kettle and a few basic appliances.Ā ItāsĀ an island of domestic calm. Namjoon offers you a cup of coffeeĀ with jam and toast, which you readily accept.Ā
āSo,ā Namjoon starts,Ā setting a black ceramic mug in front of you as he sits, āGonna explain why she dragged your ass hereĀ at two amĀ with a gunshot wound?āĀ Ā
āI might.ā Seokjin says,Ā scratching at his cheek with a finger, āIt'sĀ a long story, though.āĀ Ā
āNot as long as you think.ā YouĀ mutter into your mug.Ā Ā
Namjoonās eyes dart between the both of youĀ withĀ an odd mix ofĀ confusion and amusement. He rummages around in his pocket and pull out the pouchĀ you'dĀ forgotten in your jacket. āWhatās this?āĀ Ā
āA flash drive.ā Seokjin says and you swiftly kick his shin under the table.Ā A hiss of breath goes through his teeth and he leans down, rubbing his shin and glaring at you. āWhat was that for?āĀ
āYouāre being difficult.ā You sayĀ as he straightens, āYou realise your life is in danger?Ā You were almost killed.āĀ
āWell, I wouldnāt have been there if you hadnāt asked to meet me.āĀ Ā
āYou have free will? YouĀ didnātĀ haveĀ to show up, asshole. Not to mention I saved your ass.āĀ Ā
Namjoon clears his throat loudly,Ā āCan you both have your loverās spat later?āĀ Ā
You and Seokjin share an equallyĀ disgusted lookĀ before turning back to Namjoon. Seokjin points at you with his good hand,Ā and you both speak at the same time.Ā Ā
āHim?āĀ Ā
āHer?āĀ
āI would rather put myĀ bareĀ ass on aĀ hotĀ stove.ā Seokjin says indignantly and then shakes his head.Ā Ā
You make an offended sound,Ā youādĀ not forgottenĀ heādĀ essentially calledĀ youĀ slowĀ last night.Ā āLike youāre a wonder to the world.āĀ Ā
āWeāre getting off topic.ā Namjoon knocks on the table between the both of you.Ā HeāsĀ got that same disappointed father look Jimin puts on whenĀ youāreĀ doing something heĀ doesnātĀ think is a good thing. ExceptĀ itāsĀ somehowĀ way moreĀ effective coming from him.Ā You lean back into your chair,Ā and Seokjin turns slightly away from you.Ā Ā
āFine,ā Seokjin concedes, the petulance draining out of his voice, replaced by a cold, sharp urgency. He leans back, the movement tightening the sling against his arm. āThe reason IĀ agreed to meet you---the reason I was shot...āĀ
He gestures with his good hand toward the little black pouch Namjoon still holds. āThat driveĀ containsĀ irrefutable evidence. HanĀ DoyunĀ and MinĀ TaejinĀ areĀ planning an internal coup. They found out I was quietly liquidating my assets. TheyĀ donātĀ just want me gone; they want me dead. That bullet was meant to secure their succession.āĀ
You set your mug down, āTake the evidence, take the server logs, and go to the authorities! This isĀ attemptedĀ murder by high-ranking executives.āĀ
Namjoon nodsĀ immediately, his face serious. āSheāsĀ right, Jin. You bring the evidence to the police, you secure your safety, and they face life in prison. Why riskĀ beingĀ on the run?āĀ
Seokjin shakes his head, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. āYouĀ donātĀ understand. If I take this to the police, the investigation will make everything public. And if the world knows about the project...Ā weāllĀ have a muchĀ biggerĀ problem than two greedy executives.āĀ
āWhatĀ project?ā Namjoon presses, holding up the pouch. āWhat is worth risking your life for?āĀ
SeokjinĀ stares down at the table, taking a breath. āMy grandfather had an ambition---some called it foolish---of achieving human immortality through cybertronics. The project is calledĀ Axtaliah.āĀ
He pauses, allowing the name to settle over the small kitchenette.Ā
āAxtaliah,ā he continues, āisĀ essentially aĀ way for humans to live forever.Ā ItāsĀ a system where people could upload their consciousness---their entire mind, their sense of self---into a digital, persistent architecture. The body decays, but the consciousness and sense of self would remain. It works like an avatar; you can live withinĀ AxtaliahĀ like you would in the real world.āĀ
He looks at the disbelief hardening your expression, then back at Namjoon. āAxtaliahĀ is designed to become a new Earth---a digital, permanent sanctuary.Ā
DoyunĀ andĀ TaejinĀ didnātĀ just wantĀ Vionix. They wantĀ Axtaliah. They want to control digital immortality. If I go to the police, that data goes public. And trust me, the corporate world fighting over trillions in assets is nothing compared to humanity fighting over eternal life."
You three sit inĀ silence for a while, Namjoon had slid the flash drive back towards you.Ā Ā
āIādĀ hiredĀ Miss Pessimistic here to hack into my servers to gather intel. It was...a lot more than I was expecting.ā He looks down at his hand,Ā scratching at the corner of his index finger with the nail of his thumb.Ā Ā
Namjoon runs a hand through his hair,Ā looking like this was a lot more thanĀ heĀ was expecting, too. He nods, āWhat do you need?āĀ Ā
āNothing more from you, Joon.ā Seokjin smiles,Ā itāsĀ a more genuine one than the onesĀ heādĀ given you, āIt was risky enough to come here.āĀ Ā
āAndĀ her?Ā SheāsĀ innocent in this;Ā youĀ canātĀ just drag her around.ā Namjoon says, andĀ youāreĀ a little touched to see at least one person has some compassion.Ā Ā
āSheās not innocent.ā Seokjin says, making a face, āSheāsĀ aĀ hacker, you know?Ā Literally committed a crime hacking into my servers.āĀ
āYou hired me to do that?!Ā Hello?ā You protest,Ā slapping your hand down on the table.Ā
Seokjin just shrugs, a careless movement that makes Namjoon wince in sympathy for his friendās shoulder.Ā
āSheās technically an accomplice now,ā Seokjin continues, as if youĀ arenātĀ sitting right there. āShe knows the entire structure of the attack, she drove the getaway car, and she has the primary evidence on that drive.Ā SheāsĀ in this as deep as I am, legally speaking.āĀ
āThatās becauseĀ youĀ bled all over me and then passed out!ā you shoot back, you think you soundĀ rather childish, but so does he so youĀ donātĀ care.Ā āI was following your minimal instructions!āĀ
Namjoon rubs the bridge of his nose, looking deeply regretting allowing either of youĀ in the same room together.Ā āShe saved your life.Ā You owe her a decision, Jin. A way out.āĀ
Seokjin looks at you then, the annoying aloofness replaced by a flicker of respectĀ thatāsĀ gone just as quickly as it appeared.Ā āThere is no āway out.ā Not unlessĀ IĀ dismantleĀ AxtaliahĀ entirely, which IĀ wonātĀ do.Ā I need helpĀ to move the core files and the prototype.āĀ
He slides the drive back across the table, offering you not a job, but a choice.Ā Ā
You stare at it for a long moment before dragging your eyes up to meet his, āAnd what about your mole?āĀ Ā
He narrows his eyes at youĀ and pressesĀ a hand against his chest,Ā looking scandalized,Ā āHow do you know about those? IĀ only have moles on my back.āĀ Ā
āNo,Ā you idiot...ā you sigh, ātheĀ informant. Someone toldĀ TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ about that project.Ā They got a tip from someone. And sinceĀ itāsĀ secret, I assume you have a selected few that know about it. Someone in your circle sold youĀ out.āĀ Ā
He contemplates this for a moment,Ā staring off into space.Ā ThereāsĀ somethingĀ in his eyes that makes them look far away from here.Ā Namjoon shares a glance with you and then he reaches for your empty mug and Seokjinās.Ā Ā
āWhatāreĀ you gonna do?Ā YouĀ need a plan. Or...something.āĀ Namjoon asks over the sound of flowing water,Ā he washes the mugs andĀ utensils andĀ puts them neatly on a rack to dry.Ā
Seokjin sighs, āFor one, we canāt stay here.āĀ
āWe?āĀ Ā
āYes,Ā we.āĀ Ā
āYou better mean theĀ royalĀ we.Ā IāmĀ not going anywhere with you.āĀ Ā
āYouāre smarter than that, Iām sure.ā There he goes again, calling you dumb.Ā You glare at him, and he leans forward towards you,Ā voice low,Ā āYou were shot at too, if you recall. And I distinctly remember you saying youĀ canātĀ go home. I can assumeĀ thereāsĀ someone youĀ donātĀ want involved in this.āĀ Ā
YouĀ arenātĀ responsible for your own life alone.Ā This couldāve all been avoided if you minded your own damn business. A headache blooms at your temples.Ā Ā
āFine.āĀ Ā
Within the hour, Namjoon had given Seokjin enough painkillers to take down a horse,Ā and a light hug goodbye.Ā While they discussed things quietly,Ā youādĀ taken a moment to survey the damage done to your upholstery. YouĀ canātĀ exactly blame the guy forĀ almost dying,Ā so you just quietly give the old leather seats a wipe down.Ā Ā Ā
You take a moment to let Jimin knowĀ youādĀ probably beĀ out all weekend.Ā Saying that your ādateā went well.Ā Ā
Namjoon had given you your jacket back, whichĀ is well unusable now. The blood had sunk deep into the denim and stayed thereĀ even after a wash. You just throw it in the backseat.Ā
You shake Namjoonās hand and thank him before getting intoĀ yourĀ car with Seokjin.Ā The engine rumbles to life and you give Namjoon a little wave as you back out into the street.Ā Ā
āWhere to?ā You ask, as you drive out of DraytonĀ StreetĀ and onto the main strip.Ā You look at Seokjin,Ā whoāsĀ currently wiggling his thumb between the strap of the seatbelt and hisĀ shoulder to alleviate the pressure.Ā Ā
He looks at you and then nods at your watch, āDoes that have GPS?āĀ Ā
You roll your eyes, āWhatāsĀ with you and GPS? If I put you out on the street,Ā could you find your way home?Ā Jesus.āĀ Ā Ā
You activate theĀ expand feature that projects the interface upwards.Ā You realise belatedly you left your chat with Jimin open,Ā but Seokjin gracefullyĀ doesnātĀ say a word. You open the GPS systemĀ and let him input the address of where he wants to go.Ā Ā
YouĀ stare at the map, ā...ThatāsĀ hoursĀ away.āĀ
āYes, and?āĀ Ā
āI donāt want to be stuck in here that long with you.ā You say,Ā and Seokjin rolls his eyes. You peer at your gauges,Ā āAnd I have to stop for gas.āĀ Ā
āReally?ā HeĀ shakes his head, āWhy do you drive this bag ofĀ boltsĀ around?Ā Do people even sell diesel anymore?āĀ
āHey!ā You exclaim, rubbing your hand along the dashboard, āIgnore him, baby, heās loopy on pain meds.āĀ Ā
Seokjin huffs a laugh as youĀ glare at him.Ā Ā
Road trip.Ā Yay.Ā Ā
YouādĀ have to stop at the nearest gas station, full up,Ā probably getĀ some crappy food and snacks and mentally prepare yourself forĀ an hoursā long drive outside the city.Ā Ā
Staying on the old roads, you were lucky to find a gas station quick. And even luckier toĀ find thatĀ itāsĀ ran by an older gentleman who barely paid you mind.Ā Ā
āIām gonna grab stuff.ā You say, coming back to your carĀ after paying for the gas. You lean down, āDo you even know how to manually fill up a tank?āĀ
āWhat do I look like to you,Ā hm?ā Seokjin grumbles,Ā then he slowly unbuckles the seatbelt. You feelĀ kind of badĀ watching him do that, but then he gets out and scowls at you and it goes down the drain.Ā Ā
āWell, all thoseĀ fancy drifters got internal batteries. IĀ donātĀ expect you to know,Ā Princess.āĀ Ā
He comes around the car and takes the gas nozzle off the holster.Ā
āRightyĀ tighty,Ā lefty loosey.ā You say, and his scowlĀ deepens.Ā
āIāll hit you.āĀ Ā
āMhm!ā You walk backwards, laughing at him.Ā YouĀ turn andĀ walk through the automatic doors of the Quick Stop.Ā The exterior is faded, cracked concrete, but inside is clean, cool, and lit by buzzing LEDs.Ā
The older gentleman is behind a wide counter, leaning on a dull grey register terminal that looks like itĀ hasnātĀ received a software update in a decade. He looks up briefly, nods, and goes back to polishing a small figurine.Ā Ā
You bypass the shelves of pre-packaged, brightlyĀ colouredĀ synth-fibreĀ bars and head straight for the hot counter. The gas station convenience store luckily offers a wide range of things to munch on, including readymade hot-dogs and miniature Hamburger Jrās, kept perfectly warm inside a thermal dispensing unit. You grab aĀ selectionĀ ofĀ savoury, processedĀ snacksĀ and load up on several bottles of water so that SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ have to raw dog his pain meds cross country.Ā
You bring your haul up to the counter. The old man patiently lifts each item, manually inputting the codes into the terminal. When he finishes, he holds up a small, flat card reader. You raise your wrist, and the reader beeps as you scan your watch to pay for the goods. Instead of plastic, a machine next to the terminal dispenses a flexible, reusable fabric mesh carry-bag. You quickly stuff your snacks and water into it.Ā
You walk out, and Seokjin is thankfully back in the car waiting. At leastĀ heāsĀ successfully filled up the tank.Ā Ā
āCongratulations.ā You say,Ā getting in the carĀ and starting it again,Ā āyou successfully completed a manualĀ fuelling process.āĀ Ā
āDonāt sound so surprised.āĀ Ā
You drop the bag of goodies in his lap,Ā āHelp yourself.āĀ Ā
Seokjin mumbles a quiet thanks and the rummages through the bag,Ā he takes out a bottle of water and a granola bar as you peel out of the gas station.Ā Ā
ItāsĀ a coupleĀ momentsĀ of silence that prompts you to turn the radio on, and Seokjin, staring at the bottle in his hand. He grips the bottle firmly in his food hand, andĀ twists at it with the fingers of his other. Nothing happens.Ā Ā
He tries again, applying more pressure,Ā thereāsĀ a pained hiss and he stopsĀ immediately.Ā Avoiding your gaze,Ā he holds the bottle out to you.Ā Ā
āWhatās the matter, did the cap win?ā You ask,Ā trying to sound bored, even as you reach over and easily twist the cap off the bottle.Ā The seal snaps audibly.Ā Ā
āThey over-torque these things.ā He grumbles, but thanks you anyway.Ā
Ā āDo you need help opening that,Ā too?āĀ Ā
He endsĀ up opening the granola bar with his teeth.Ā Where Seokjin wants to goĀ is about a four-hour drive, should just be about sundown when you get there.Ā On the mapĀ itāsĀ a secluded, private property, so itĀ doesnātĀ really give much.Ā Ā
The radio hums softly, a newer song ofĀ techno-beats thatĀ scatters under the backdrop of wind in your ears. Seokjin had complained about your choice of snacksĀ but opened a bag of chips anyway.Ā Ā
āYou know.ā He says through a mouthful,Ā the wind sends his hair fluttering across his forehead,Ā āI never asked for your name.āĀ
You raise a brow,Ā glancing at him,Ā āDidnāt ask Namjoon?āĀ Ā
āYou two are on a first name basis now?āĀ Ā
Both your brows go up at his tone,Ā and in the moment,Ā you chuckle because it reminded you of those ancient memes about CynthiaĀ ErivoĀ and Ariana Grande.Ā āDoes that matter?āĀ Ā
He shrugs his good shoulder, āNot really, but IĀ canātĀ just call you āShadeā.Ā WhoĀ came up withĀ that, aĀ twelve-year-old?āĀ Ā
āActually, yes, IĀ wasĀ twelve and it sounded cool at the time.ā Seokjin laughs and youĀ canātĀ find it in you to be offended, so you laugh too,Ā giving him your name.Ā
āIāve got a question.ā YouĀ venture,Ā whenĀ youādĀ stopped giggling,Ā he nods and you continue,Ā āWas that your first time hiring a hacker?āĀ Ā
āWhat gave it away?āĀ Ā
āāIĀ requireĀ your servicesāā You say, doing your best to mimicĀ the timber of his voice, āWho talks like that?āĀ Ā
āI was nervous!ā he laughs,Ā shifting in his seat.Ā ThereāsĀ a quiet wince in his expressionĀ and then he quiets.Ā ThereāsĀ probably aĀ lot on his mind and youĀ donātĀ blame him for being lost in his own head.Ā
By the time you make it out on the old highway,Ā itāsĀ just aboutĀ threeĀ pm.Ā ThereāsĀ nothing butĀ road,Ā and the radioĀ thatāsĀ filling the thankfully not awkward silence.Ā Ā
With his head laying comfortably against the headrest of the passenger seat, SeokjinĀ turns to you. You catch the movement from the corner of your eye, the way he stares at you just long enough for to you wonder whatĀ heāsĀ thinking about.Ā Ā
āCan I ask you something?ā HeĀ mutters, still staring at you.Ā Ā
You have a feeling you know where this is going to go,Ā andĀ youāreĀ already uncomfortable, flexing your suddenly clammy fingers against the steering wheel. āSure.āĀ Ā
āYou didnāt have to tell me anything.ā He says, and then finally looks away, staring straight ahead and then down at his lap, āYou couldāve taken the money andĀ pretended like you didnāt see anything at all.āĀ Ā
There it is!Ā Ā
āYeah, well...ā You make a face, āI have aĀ conscience.Ā ItāsĀ nothing to do with you.āĀ
He studies you for a long while and then chuckles, nodding his head,Ā āUnder all that cynicism,Ā youāreĀ not half bad.Ā Nice, even.āĀ Ā
āOh, really?ā You say with mock astonishment, āThanks,Ā IāmĀ honoured.Ā ItāsĀ almost likeĀ IāmĀ a decent human being.āĀ Ā
āAh, I wouldnāt go that far.ā Seokjin laughs, āYou are a hacker, after all,Ā soĀ thatās debatable.āĀ Ā
āNot all of us areĀ criminals.Ā IāveĀ known peopleĀ whoāsĀ done far worse than me. And with the thingsĀ IāveĀ done,Ā youādĀ be surprised howĀ low the bar is.āĀ Ā
āThank you...for saving my life.āĀ He says softly,Ā leaning forward trying to catch your gaze. You turn your head just to avoid him straining his wound. The genuine gratitude in hisĀ eyesĀ curls around your chest andĀ youāreĀ not sure what to do with it.Ā āAnd Iām sorry for dragging you into this mess.āĀ Ā
āItās...itās fine.āĀ You are...Ā terribleĀ at this.Ā ItāsĀ a wonder youĀ donātĀ shrink away from the sunlight;Ā youāreĀ like a gremlinĀ thatāsĀ never had any human interaction. āUh, youāre welcome.āĀ Ā
āOkay, Iāve another question.āĀ You try your best to spin the bottle, turning the vibe back on him to avoid the awkwardnessĀ youāreĀ feeling. Seokjin reaches into the glove box, pulling out the bottle of painkillersĀ Namjoon had given him.Ā āWhatās with all of that, anyway?āĀ Ā
He tosses two of the pills into his mouth and chases them with water, āWhat?ā he points at himself andĀ tilts his head.Ā Ā
āYou.ā YouĀ gesture with a hand,Ā ādo you have any idea how the public sees you?āĀ Ā
āWhy should I care how the peopleĀ perceiveĀ me?āĀ He retorts, and for a moment, seem to think his words over. He sighs,Ā shaking his head, āWhen you give someone nothing, they expect nothing of you.Ā By making everyone thinkĀ IāmĀ aĀ spoilt brat hopped up on nepotismĀ with not a thought in my head I was able to get this far.āĀ Ā
He looks out the window, his eyes far away, āIĀ donātĀ enjoy drinking or partying.Ā Believe it or not,Ā IāmĀ actually anĀ introvert.Ā I justĀ donātĀ like making people uncomfortable.ā He shrugs, āI did what I had to do toĀ continue my fatherās work in secret, butĀ acting like an idiot can only get me so far, I suppose.āĀ Ā
āHuh.āĀ YouĀ say, because, well...what do you say to that?Ā SeokjinĀ slowly turns to look at you,Ā and at his expression you can do nothing but laugh, āThat was a way more depressing answer than I thought itād be.āĀ Ā
āWhat, did you think I liked having my name slandered every week?āĀ Ā
āWell, you didnāt look like it bothered you all that much to be honest.ā You wince, and then, āBut Iām no longer ignorant,Ā so...um, tough?āĀ
āRemind me to never ask you for comfort.āĀ Seokjin shakes his head,Ā an amused smile in his eyes,Ā āI think your attempt would hurt me a lot more.āĀ Ā
You share a laugh.Ā Ā
āIāve got another question.āĀ
āDamn, what is this, twenty questions?āĀ Ā
āYou started it.Ā IāmĀ just playing along.ā Seokjin runs his thumb along theĀ wrapper of the water bottle,Ā āIām curious.āĀ Ā
āThatās dangerous.ā You chuckle, shifting in your seat because you can feel a cramp starting.Ā Maybe youĀ should stop and stretch your legs.Ā Ā
Seokjin chuckles too,Ā āWhy are you a hacker?Ā You can be...Ā more...with what you can do.āĀ
āI donāt do much...ā you deflect.Ā
āIt takes a lot of skill to hack intoĀ VionixāsĀ servers and all without activating the security protocols.Ā Anyone elseĀ wouldāveĀ been arrested in twenty-four hours.āĀ Ā
āI never said I wasnāt good at what I do.ā YouĀ chuckle butĀ sober upĀ pretty quicklyĀ as the next set of words tumble out of your mouth without your consent. āSome people start hackingĀ for whatever nefarious reasons they could muster. And some people do it because they had nothing else.āĀ Ā
āWhich is yours?āĀ Ā
āI had nothing going for me,Ā thatāsĀ all. Nothing to loseĀ and only one thing keeping me going. I wanted better and the worldĀ couldnātĀ give it,Ā so I took.āĀ Your smileĀ doesnātĀ feel very genuineĀ and paired with the clamminess of your palms and the sinking feeling in your stomach,Ā SeokjinĀ knows itĀ isnāt.Ā
You shrug a shoulder, āTurned out all right, so. Nothing to cry over.Ā ItāsĀ more of a hobby than a need.ā You wave a hand, āMy lifeās loads betterĀ for a kid from the slums, got nothing to complain about.āĀ Ā
āHm.ā SeokjinĀ hums,Ā āI suppose thatās pretty valid.āĀ Ā
āYeah, I guess?ā You laugh, āfor what itās worth, though...I donāt think youāre an idiot.āĀ Ā
Seokjin presses his good hand against his chest, āIs that a compliment? Was there something in that hot dog?āĀ Ā
āHar-Har.āĀ Ā
An hour laterĀ youāveĀ shifted in your seat one too many times, and your back is starting to hurt. SeokjinĀ isĀ dozing off against the windowĀ but opened his eyes when you tap his arm.Ā Ā
āIām pulling over.āĀ Ā
āWhat? Why?āĀ Ā
āMy back is hurting,Ā and Iāll be damned if I let aĀ crampĀ take me out.ā You slow the car to a crawl before it stops completely.Ā Opening your door you unbuckle and get out, groaning as you stand. āOh,Ā thankĀ fuck!āĀ Ā
Seokjin is more careful getting out the car, mindful of his sling. His head pops upĀ on the other side and through squinted eyes he peers at you. āI need to pee.āĀ Ā
HalfwayĀ between stretching your arms out you glance around, āWhatādĀ you want me to do? Cup my hands? Find a bush.āĀ Ā
Seokjin looks around and then back at you with a pointed look, āSee any bushes around here? You might as well.āĀ Ā
āThen stickĀ yourĀ dick in a bottle.āĀ Ā
It seems like the air in the car was loaded with something, becauseĀ youāreĀ both right back at it as soon as you get fresh air.Ā Ā
He stomps his way across theĀ road,Ā and you turn around, leaning your back against the car door, āWatch for snakes!Ā IāmĀ not sucking your dick to save your life.āĀ
āFuck off.āĀ He calls, butĀ thereāsĀ no real heat behind it.Ā Ā
By theĀ timeĀ the sun was a molten ball sinking beyond the distant horizon, you finally pull off the highway and onto a suspiciouslyĀ maintainedĀ sprawl of asphalt.Ā Ā
Your watch beeps, andĀ at a glance,Ā itāsĀ Jimin replying to your text from hours ago with a string ofĀ wildĀ emojis. And then:Ā Ā
[inspĀ Gadget]:Ā How good is thatĀ dicc?!?Ā YouāllĀ be gone ALL weekend?Ā šĀ Use protection!!!Ā Ā
Still call meĀ tho!!Ā
You cover the watch face to disable the projection, but SeokjinĀ apparently canātĀ let it slide this time.Ā Ā
āYour friend?ā He snortsĀ but tries to cover it with a cough.Ā Ā
Mortified you press your lips together and nod.Ā Seokjin chuckles but says nothing more, instead, he directs you down another paved road. AndĀ itāsĀ only a short distance away a steel gateĀ blocks most of the road.Ā Ā
āSlow down.ā He says and as you do, he unbuckles the seatbelt andĀ awkwardly turns to stick his right hand out the window. From a non-descript corner,Ā a small, round drone floats down silently andĀ scans his palm with a blue glow. It flashes green and gives a little beep before it floats back from where it came and the gateĀ slidesĀ open. āBio-drone.āĀ Ā
You drive up and over a little ramp onto a smooth gravel road. The landscapeĀ thatĀ expands before youĀ isĀ almost jawĀ dropping. You expected a house, but this is a whole damn estate,Ā youāreĀ pretty sure.Ā
On either side of the road is neatlyĀ trimmed grass, all leading up to a dense, private forest that completely seals the property off from the outside world. ThisĀ isnātĀ just a perimeter fence;Ā itāsĀ a strategically planted, towering wall of native hardwoods and evergreen foliage,Ā maintainedĀ to military precision. The treesĀ arenātĀ haphazard; they look deliberately spaced, creating a natural sound and sight barrier designed to absorb all traces of the complex within.Ā
The road itself winds lazily, paved with a dark aggregate that absorbs light, hinting that the property continues far deeper than you can see. There are no signs, no mailboxes, and no visible power lines---everything is buried and reinforced.Ā
As you follow the curve of the drive, the landĀ opens upĀ slightly. You see glimpses of a small, clear reservoir reflecting the rapidly darkening sky. Every patch of grass is impossibly green, every tree perfectly pruned. The quiet is total, broken only by the crunch of your tires on the fine gravel---a soundĀ thatāsĀ almostĀ tooĀ loud in this vast, secluded space.Ā
The architecture of the landscapeĀ tells youĀ that security was theĀ first priority.Ā You realize thereĀ isnātĀ a single spot on this sprawling land where a car could accidentally veer off the path or where someone could easily slip unnoticed through the boundary trees.Ā
The final stretch of the drive leads up to a wide plateau where the main residence finally comes into view. The house is a low-slung, multi-winged structure built from black slate and enormous panels of tinted, reflective glass, making it look less like a home and more like a high-end, stealth bunker designed to vanish into the night.Ā Ā
You pull into theĀ garage, the automated door raises,Ā and you pull up next toĀ whatāsĀ mostĀ definitely aĀ vintageĀ 1968 Ford Mustang.Ā ItāsĀ covered by a clear tarp,Ā which has a layer of dust like the thingĀ hasnātĀ been touched in years.Ā Ā
You cut the engine and point at it, āYou were shit talking my baby this whole time!āĀ Ā
Seokjin sighs like he was expecting your outburst,Ā as he unbuckles the seatbelt and climbs out.Ā He grabs the bag of empty water bottles and snacks wrappers. The garage door comes down behind your car and for a momentĀ itāsĀ dark until lights blink on.Ā
You clamber out the car,Ā walking around the front to get a closer look, āThis thingās ancient.āĀ Ā
āIt was my great-grandfatherās.ā He grabs you by the elbow and steers you away, āYou can gawk at it later.āĀ Ā
He leads you towards aĀ door and places his hand against a scanner. For the second time his palm is scanned and the door unlocks.Ā You supposeĀ itāsĀ fair, being this rich and famous one much have a precaution or two.Ā
The door opens and he lets you go in first,Ā thereāsĀ a short hallway and another doorĀ that leads to what must be the largest living roomĀ youāveĀ ever seen.Ā Ā
The space is colossal, the walls of floor-to-ceiling glass presenting aĀ breath taking, uninterrupted panoramic view of the dark forest and the reservoir reflecting the last, fiery streaks of sunset. The ceiling is extraordinarily high, giving the room anĀ almost cathedral-likeĀ feel, yet the precise integration of dark, raw-cut stone and vast panels of matte black slate somehow prevents it from feeling cold.Ā
The floor is seamless, wide-planked dark wood, polished to a mirror shine, leading the eye out to the wilderness. The furniture is sparse and low-profile, strategically placed to maximize the view. A massive, sectional sofa, upholstered in thick, oyster-grey fabric, curves around a central feature---a suspended, cantilevered fireplace---a flat, rectangular slab of polished metal that floats several feet off the ground, emitting silent,Ā odorlessĀ heat.Ā Ā
Along one side wall, you notice a section of glass looking in on a climate-controlled server room---a glowing, humming technological heart encased in smoked glass. This is clearly the controlĀ centerĀ of the entire property. Beyond the main living area, an open-concept kitchen features a massive island counter made of a single slab of white quartz. All the high-end appliances---induction cooktops, thermal ovens, chilling units---are fully recessed behind panels of dark, custom cabinetry.Ā Ā
The entire house is silent, and smells faintly of purified air and expensive cedar---a deep, luxurious quiet that speaks of insulation and absolute privacy.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ very clearly a stark difference between being born into money and having to roll around in mud to get it.Ā YouāreĀ no stranger toĀ wealth, but this...thisĀ is something else.Ā Ā
āWow...ā you mumble, gazing around.Ā Ā
āWelcome to my humble abode.ā Seokjin says, coming up behind you.Ā Ā
āI never want to hear that word come out your mouth ever again.ā You say,Ā laughing a little in disbelief.Ā Ā
SeokjinĀ laughsĀ almost bashfully,Ā rubbing the back of his neck.Ā āMake yourself comfortable...ā he says and then, pulls at the collarĀ of his borrowed hoodie. He peers downĀ the hoodie,Ā āI think I aggravated my stitches.āĀ Ā
He walks through the living room,Ā and towards aĀ flight of stairs, āGuest rooms are, uh, that way...ā he leans over the banister and points to a hall straight ahead of you, āIāll be back.āĀ Ā
He goes up the stairs andĀ disappears,Ā and you go towards where he pointed.Ā The doors are seamless panels of matte wood. You choose the first one, which opens onto a large, minimalist room. The bed is huge, the bedding impossibly white, and a wall of glass offers a private view of the darkening woods. The attached bathroom is all pristine white marble and brushed metal;Ā a rain shower, a soaking tub, and a vanity counter.Ā Ā
After everythingĀ youāveĀ been through you think a nice, hot shower would be heavenly.Ā After youĀ almost tripĀ on the leg of the pants youĀ realise youĀ donātĀ have any fresh clothes.Ā Ā
You look down at yourself,Ā and figure NamjoonāsĀ Henley covered more than enough.Ā YouāreĀ no blushing virgin and neither is Seokjin,Ā youāreĀ sure.Ā You kick the pants against the wall and walk back out the room and towards the staircase Seokjin went up.Ā Ā
The second floorĀ appears to beĀ his private domain. You find a half-open door leading into what must be his master suite, drawn by a soft, rhythmic snip-snip sound.Ā Ā
āSeokjin?ā you call out softly, approaching the doorway.Ā
He is inside a large, luxurious, all-marble bathroom.Ā HeāsĀ standing in front of a wide mirror over a double vanity, shirtless. The bright, white LED lighting overhead illuminates the room perfectly.Ā HeāsĀ using a pair of surgical shears in his good hand to carefully snip away the adhesive from the oldĀ self-stickingĀ wound covering.Ā
He stops the snipping, turning his head slightly to acknowledge you. He registers the borrowed shirtĀ youāreĀ wearing, which hangs loose on your frame, but his expressionĀ remainsĀ perfectly neutral. There is no flicker of surprise, just a flat, focused gaze.Ā
āDonāt sneak up on me,ā he says, his voice tight with concentration as he carefully peels away the last piece of dressing.Ā
āSorry,ā you manage. āI need fresh clothes.āĀ
Seokjin turns, facing you fully, holding the soiled bandage loosely in his hand. He points with his chin to a built-in wall of dark, sleek cabinetry. āTake anything from the second drawer on the left. There might be pants with a drawstring in there somewhere.āĀ
You walk toward the cabinetry, acutely aware of the expanse of his bare chest and the fresh, taut stitches visible on his shoulder. You pull out a simple, incredibly soft, dark grey teeĀ and dark purpleĀ soft cotton pants that looks like the bottom of a pyjama setĀ ---theyĀ smellsĀ faintly of him.Ā
āWhile youāre here,ā he says, his voice losing its playful edge, ācould you help me with this? The exit wound is impossible to reach.ā He gestures to a tube of antibiotic ointment and a roll of sterile gauze on the counter.Ā
You place your newlyĀ acquiredĀ clothesĀ on a velvet bench. You approach the vanity, and as you step into the bright light of the bathroom,Ā youāreĀ suddenly close.Ā
You take the tube and gauze. His uninjured back is to you, offering a clear view of the stitched exit wound. As you apply the cool, slick ointment to the angry red circumference, you notice something else in the unforgiving white light. Just beneath his ear, and another faint spot near the hinge of his jaw.Ā
āI thought you only had moles on your back,ā you say, your voice barely a whisper, surprised by the softness of the sound. You press your lips together.Ā
Seokjin slightly turns his head, the movement tight, surprised by the comment. āYou have a couple on your face.āĀ
āTheyāre not as noticeable,ā he says, equally soft, as though speaking any louder would break whateverĀ thisĀ is. He turns slowly, and then leans into your space, much like he did atĀ The Lumen, except this timeĀ heāsĀ shirtless, the warmth of his skin radiating outwards. He opens a cabinet over your head and pulls away with a soft chuckle through his nose.Ā
āAm I making you uncomfortable?āĀ
āNo...ā Your voice is a lot more...breathless than you intended, but heĀ doesnātĀ mention that either.Ā You suddenly feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time.Ā Trying to stare at anythingĀ but the wide expanse of his chest, you clear your throat and step sideways.Ā āNeed anything else?āĀ Ā
āYes, actually.āĀ Ā
You help him reapply the covering to the back of his shoulder and thenĀ heāllĀ him carefullyĀ bandage his shoulder again. HeĀ thanks you softly, and you escape back to the guest room downstairs as heĀ gets into his tee-shirt.Ā Ā
By the time you were showered and in fresh clothes, Seokjin was back downstairs when you walked out.Ā ItāsĀ just about sevenĀ andĀ heāsĀ looming by the window.Ā Ā
āYou good?ā you call, pausing just short of turning into the living room.Ā Ā
He turns at the sound of your voice, you realiseĀ heāsĀ also showered and changed. āMāfine.āĀ He smiles faintly, and then, āIād like the flash drive, though.āĀ Ā
You fish it out of the pocket of your pants and walk over to the coffee table to set it down.Ā Ā
āAre you hungry? I can make something...āĀ Ā
You stare at his arm, back inĀ itsĀ sling, and thenĀ back at him with a raised brow. āYouāre a walking hazard.āĀ
He chuckles, āCan you cook?āĀ Ā
āI can boil water forĀ ramen...āĀ Ā
Seokjin laughs, a highĀ soundĀ that makes you laugh, too.Ā Ā
āRamen it is, then.āĀ Ā
Unexpectedly,Ā Seokjin had all sorts of ramen brands in his pantry.Ā HeādĀ explained that heĀ doesnātĀ come here often andĀ itāsĀ only there for when heĀ doesnātĀ feel like cooking something.Ā So,Ā you make a couple packs,Ā andĀ spruce it up with some eggs and kimchi.Ā Ā
You both just stand around in the kitchenĀ eating it from the pot.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a comfortable silenceĀ thatāsĀ broken by the slurping of noodles, and both your hums about how good it is.Ā
āItās been a while since I had instant ramen.āĀ Seokjin sighs, chewing a mouthful. A stray dropletĀ of broth goes down his chin, which he wipes at with a hand.Ā Ā
You honestlyĀ donātĀ know howĀ youāreĀ not sick of instant ramen by now.Ā ThereāsĀ aĀ reason whyĀ Jimin complainsĀ every time you walk into your own kitchen.Ā Ā
Now that things are in a state of relative calm,Ā youāreĀ left to wonder, what now?Ā YouāreĀ sure Seokjin has some sort of plan, but between the drive and getting here,Ā heāsĀ said absolutely nothing about anything.Ā Ā
When dinner was over, Seokjin had sauntered his way back to the living roomĀ to brood some more, and you go back to your room and crawl into bed. YouĀ reallyĀ hope he has a plan for all of this.Ā Ā
Sunday comes and goes without any fanfare.Ā SurprisinglyĀ every social media outlet is quiet.Ā YouādĀ thought that a shooting at a popular club wouldĀ warrantĀ some sort of public unrest, butĀ thereāsĀ absolutely nothing on it.Ā No talks about an investigation, no word on if anyone else was injured, no word on Seokjin even being there.Ā Ā
You find that odd, and you say as much to Seokjin when it was late into theĀ night.Ā HeāsĀ sat on theĀ couch;Ā a pair of thin framed glasses perched on his nose as heĀ reads throughĀ the contents on the flash drive.Ā HeāsĀ been frowning for the better half of fifteen minutes,Ā staring at his laptop screen,Ā silent as you ramble on about the implications of media silence.Ā Ā
āDo you think your guys paidĀ the club owner off to keep quiet?āĀ Ā
āI wouldnāt put it past them.ā Seokjin mumbles, barely paying you mind.Ā His shoulders are tense, and the sigh he lets outĀ doesnātĀ seem to loosen them one bit.Ā Ā
He suddenly unplugs the flash drive and then looks up at you,Ā a seriousness to his gaze. āMy team of trusted individuals is small.Ā Even smaller ifĀ weāreĀ talking about the ones that work with me.āĀ Ā
He says this softly,Ā looking away from youĀ to gaze at the fireplace. āTheyāre people that Iāve trustedĀ with the knowledge of my lifeās work.āĀ Ā
ThereāsĀ something in his gaze, as thoughĀ heādĀ finally come toĀ some greatĀ acceptance. His brows furrow, troubled, and thenĀ heāsĀ quiet again, so you push.Ā Ā
āDo you have an ideaĀ of who it is? The mole.āĀ Ā
Seokjin leans back against the couch,Ā and nods. āI didnāt want to be rash and point fingers,Ā because these are people that Iāve trusted for so long,Ā theĀ theĀ idea of them doing something like this is hard toĀ digest.āĀ Ā
He sighs softly, tilting his head.Ā Ā
āThe conversations on this drive,ā he continues, nodding toward the laptop, āthey confirm the murder plot, and they confirm thatĀ TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ were tipped off aboutĀ Axtaliah. The personĀ TaejinĀ mentions can only be Hoseok.āĀ
Seokjin looks pained as he says this, as though saying the name stabs at him.Ā The name sounds familiar to you, butĀ itāsĀ like trying to remember a dream you had when you were nine.Ā He reaches up and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the small motion betraying his exhaustion.Ā Ā
āHeāsĀ my creative lead, and partner on this project. What my grandfather had was just an idea. It was barely even a dream. My father made it into something that we could work with. I was the one who pushed it forward, because my father made it my ambition. Hoseok and I...Ā We designedĀ AxtaliahĀ together. He knows everything.āĀ
His voice drops to a near whisper. In the glow of the laptop light, you can see the sadness in his eyes. āIāmĀ closer to him than anyone else on the team. We were supposed to unveil this project together. I told him that I would be at Lumen on Friday. He would have known exactly where to send the assassins.āĀ
Seokjin slowly closes the laptop, his eyes haunted. āHeāsĀ not just a trusted employee, Y/n. He was my best friend.āĀ
You watch the haunted look settle deep in his eyes, the high-tech brilliance of the house fading under the weight of his grief. You feel the familiar reluctance to intrude on private pain but seeing him this exposed---wounded and betrayed by the person he trusted most---stops the cynical comeback forming on your tongue.Ā Ā
You clear your throat, staring intently at the pattern of the huge, expensive rug. āThatās...āĀ
You pause, choosing your words carefully. You walk around the coffee table and stand near the arm of the couch, close enough to be present without invading his space.Ā
Jimin had always said you had a very particular issue; the inability to truly express comfort towards others. YouĀ arenātĀ a sociopath by any means, frankly, that assessment is a bit harsh even if Jimin jokes about it sometimes. It makes you uncomfortable when people have such vivid emotions, not becauseĀ youāreĀ incapable of understanding them, but because it puts you in a position where youĀ have toĀ extend a gentle hand. You have to sayĀ a nice thing,Ā sympathise, look beyond your own discomfort to comfort. YouĀ donātĀ blame anyone for their emotions, never that.Ā Ā
You think it comes from all the years of it just being you and Jimin. You had yourself and him to look out for and nothing else.Ā YouāveĀ learnt young that peopleĀ donātĀ care and youĀ shouldnātĀ expect folks to pick you up when you stumble and fall. You pick yourself up.Ā ThatāsĀ that.Ā Ā
You feel likeĀ youāreĀ mentallyĀ monologuing, andĀ youāveĀ been silent for too long. This momentĀ isnātĀ even about you. Seokjin is very clearly in distress, thoughĀ heāsĀ trying to hide it and hidesĀ it well. But youĀ arenātĀ so removed thatĀ youādĀ simply let him do it alone. You pick yourself up, andĀ sometimes, youĀ tryĀ to pick others up too.Ā Ā
āIāmĀ reallyĀ sorry.ā You say quietly. The words feelĀ impossiblyĀ small, and you feel like nothing you can offer now would erase the hurt painting his visage. It lines the curve of his spine as he hunches forward, just narrowly missing the frame of his glasses as his head falls into his palm. It feels like a private moment youĀ shouldnātĀ be standing around for.Ā Ā
Kim Seokjin, for all his intelligence and faƧades, looks like a small child dealing with somethingĀ way greaterĀ than his hands can hold.Ā Ā
He had curated his image so well that you, previously a part of theĀ general public, the outliner, saw what he allowed to be perceived. But here he is now, just a man, with ambitions and a sense of self, just like everyone else, having everything stripped away one after the other.Ā Ā
You hated the sincerity, but youĀ didnātĀ retract it. YouĀ canātĀ imagine whatĀ heāsĀ feeling right now.Ā Ā
HeĀ doesnātĀ acknowledge the apology with a nod or a word, still staring at the fireplace, grappling with the betrayal.Ā
āI donāt understand it,ā he finally murmurs, shaking his head. āIf he wanted the recognition, he could have had it. We were going to share the credit forĀ Axtaliah. The money is irrelevant to him;Ā heāsĀ already a millionaire from his own familyās patents.Ā HeāsĀ not jealous of my status---he hates the public side of itĀ almost asĀ much as I do.āĀ
Seokjin turns to you, the confusion plain in his eyes. āIāveĀ been trying to find a motive that fits the crime, anything at all, but come up empty. Why risk everything just to hand a life-saving project over to a pair of executives who only care aboutĀ weaponizingĀ it? It makes no sense.āĀ
He runs his thumb along the smooth curve of the laptop case. āIĀ have toĀ assume he thinksĀ heāsĀ doing the right thing, or that he has some kind of leverage againstĀ TaejinĀ andĀ Doyun. But to betray me like this... I justĀ donātĀ know.āĀ
You nod slowly;Ā the name finally lights a bulb in your brain. āHoseok... wait.Ā JungĀ Hoseok?Ā Ā The one with the robotics company his father founded?āĀ
āThe very same.ā Seokjin runs his hand through his hair;Ā the strands stick up before falling perfectly back into place. He takes his glasses off, setting them down on the table.Ā Ā
You worry at your bottom lip.Ā ThereāsĀ no way for you to say your next words withoutĀ possibly makingĀ Seokjin feel worse.Ā But you try gently, anyway, āHe must knowĀ whatāsĀ going on.Ā HeāsĀ your best friend, right? Doesnāt he at least care about your life and what happens to you?āĀ Ā
Sure enough, Seokjin looks even more pained. He leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling as though it would offer some sort of consultation.Ā His eyes look glassy.Ā Ā
āI donāt know.āĀ Ā
Your heart genuinely breaks for him, butĀ youāreĀ not sure what to do.Ā By the timeĀ youāveĀ formulated some sort of action,Ā heāsĀ decided heās done with the conversation.Ā Ā
HeĀ leans his head to look at you, āYou should get some rest.Ā ItāsĀ late.āĀ
āWhat am I, five?āĀ comes your natural, involuntary response.Ā CurseĀ yourĀ speak first,Ā thinkĀ laterĀ system. You realise that Seokjin wants to beĀ aloneĀ to process all his worries and you snap your mouth shut, wincing, āSorry.āĀ Ā
HeĀ doesnātĀ seem to mind it or take it to heart. Honestly,Ā itāsĀ a bit scary thatĀ heāsĀ seemed to have developed a certain understanding of you. OrĀ maybe rightĀ now his mind is too muddled with everything else on his plateĀ heĀ doesnātĀ have a spare brain cell to analyse you.Ā Ā
The latter isĀ safer.Ā Ā
He offers a mirthless smile as you pass by, and youĀ ignore the little voice in the back ofĀ yourĀ mind saying you should stay with him anyway.Ā Ā
āGoodnight.ā He says softly,Ā still staring at the spotĀ youādĀ vacated, heĀ doesnātĀ turn to look at you.Ā Ā
āNight.āĀ Ā
It was much later when you ventured outĀ again. Your watch said it was about two in the morning, as you drag yourself to the kitchen in search of water.Ā Ā
SeokjinĀ was still in the living room, though, he was sleeping. Peeking at him over the back of the couchĀ tells you everything. In the dim glow of theĀ ledĀ lights, you can very clearly seeĀ heāsĀ been crying.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a furrow to his brow even as he sleeps, and the red, blotchiness to his face and around his eyes.Ā Ā
You walk back to your room and bring back one of the spare blankets in the cupboards.Ā HeĀ doesnātĀ stir when you gently tuck it around him, but the furrow in his brow does smoothen out.Ā Ā
You feel a littleĀ bit like a creep just staring at himĀ sleep,Ā and youĀ donātĀ know whyĀ you brush the softĀ strands of his bangs away from his eyes.Ā He murmurs something unintelligible,Ā shifting a littleĀ into your touch.Ā Ā
If this were a story, or a sillyĀ fanficĀ those kids are into these days, this moment would be a golden stepĀ in a plot line. But you just feelĀ kind of badĀ youĀ hadnātĀ stayed with him earlierĀ when he clearly needed someone. But he was also the one to tell you to leave, and you respected that soĀ thereāsĀ really nothing else.Ā Ā
You wonder if non-buzzing bugs ever grow tired of ones that do. You imagine, having a constant noise maker in your vicinity would drive about anyone crazy.Ā Ā
You feel likeĀ youāreĀ waking from a strange dream, burrowed tee-shirt halfway up your midriff, leg hanging off the edge of the bed, and lord knows where the blanketās gone.Ā Ā
Your eyes peel open.Ā ItāsĀ still dark outside, the sky showing just the barest hint that dawn was on the way.Ā Ā
The annoying buzzing your brain is struggling toĀ comprehendĀ stops, and your eyes sluggishly blink slip close.Ā Ā ButĀ itāsĀ starts up again,Ā vibrating along the surface of the bedside table, is your watch.Ā Ā
For a moment you simply watch it, watching the way it slightly slides along theĀ wood. It stops again andĀ immediatelyĀ starts back up.Ā Ā
With a sigh, you reach out and grab it.Ā Ā Holding it by the band, you squint at it in the dark.Ā Ā
JiminĀ isĀ calling. And by the looks of it,Ā youāveĀ missed his otherĀ seven.Ā Ā
You tap on the screen, and the projection interface pops up. Jiminās contact flashes in red, insistent, and you finally pick up.Ā Ā
āMimi,Ā what?Ā ItāsĀ the ass crack of dawn.ā YouĀ croakĀ sleepily, eyes closing again.Ā
You expected him to be yelling at you, complaining about you missing so many of his calls, butĀ heāsĀ eerily silent. So silent that youĀ unbutton your eyes to see if the call was connected. It is, the little numbers ticking upwards, but the voice line is one flat thing.Ā Ā
āJimin.ā You call.Ā Ā
āWhere are you?āĀ Ā
His tone seems off, somethingĀ youāveĀ only heard twice in your life and never directed at you. It wakes you up a little.Ā Ā
āIām at my dateās place, I stayed the weekend, I told you.āĀ Ā
āDonāt bullshit me, Y/n.āĀ Ā
Wow, okay. Government name.Ā YouāreĀ in trouble.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ a beep and Jiminās requesting a video call. Sitting up now, you accept.Ā ItāsĀ dark at first,Ā and then you spot the light of your kitchen and then he turns.Ā ThereāsĀ a murmur of sound in the background that grows louder:Ā
ā...Ā isnātĀ anything bizarre, as the CEO ofĀ VionixĀ is known to have evenĀ weeklongĀ vanishes. I thinkĀ heāsĀ not doing anything out of the ordinary....āĀ Ā
The local news is the only light in the living room, and for a moment, you have no idea whatĀ youāreĀ looking at. The news anchor,Ā sharply dressed and too wide awake for the hour, stares into your soul.Ā He and his co-anchor share a lookĀ and a knowing smile.Ā Ā
āBut just an hour ago his company had put out notice of his disappearance ---a first. He was last seen entering The LumenĀ atĀ 11:30 on Friday night and eyewitness claims he left the downtown club with this unidentified femaleĀ sometimeĀ afterĀ one.āĀ Ā
There, on the screen, is clearly a still picture of you. With the angle,Ā itāsĀ impossible to see your face, butĀ thatāsĀ yourĀ jacket, andĀ yourĀ gait, and the club lights shining onĀ yourĀ hair.Ā It was just when you walked out of the carpark and turned towards the entrance of the club.Ā It occurs to you that theyĀ havenātĀ said anything about a shooting.Ā Ā
āIĀ donātĀ know, Tyler, it seems likeĀ Seokjin is doing what every young man that has his amount of money would.Ā ItāsĀ a bit rash to say thatĀ heāsĀ missing considering his history.ā The other anchor says, shaking his head, āFriday night benders, we all had those days!Ā Some sayĀ itāsĀ an invasion of privacy for hisĀ partner, whom he was last seen with...ā he turns to look at TylerĀ with a smile as he adjusts his earpiece, āin other news: The government is looking into passing anti-violence againstĀ android laws...āĀ Ā
Jimin walks back to the kitchen. He looks likeĀ heādĀ just woken up, too, but not as rudely awakened as you. His eyes are puffy -----and confused, and angry all at once -----his eyebrows are so tightly knit you fearĀ heādĀ get a headache soon.Ā Ā
āWhy theĀ fuckĀ are you on the news? In a broadcast about Kim fucking Seokjin beingĀ missing?!ā Jimin all but shouts, gesturing wildly at the TV. āAndĀ donātĀ lie to me!Ā IāllĀ track your watch and hunt you down, I swear to God!āĀ Ā
Your head hurts.Ā Ā
āJimin...ā you call, trying to be heard over his angry rant about tracking your watch. āJimin!Ā Listen to me.āĀ Ā
You close your eyes for a moment, taking a breath, āI know what this looks like. But youĀ have toĀ trust me, okay?Ā IāmĀ safe, I promise.Ā EverythingāsĀ fine.āĀ Ā
Jimin stares at you, and you can see the thought in his eyes before he says anything, āIt was the job, wasnāt it?ā When youĀ donātĀ answer, his head falls back in a show of pure exasperation, āY/n,Ā IĀ fucking toldĀ you -----oh my god. YouĀ neverĀ listen to me.āĀ Ā
āI know.Ā I know.āĀ
āYou told me you were going on a date.ā He continues, and thenĀ heāsĀ out of view of his own watch and you watch the walls swing by and the shift in lighting.Ā ThereāsĀ clicking, and the sound of his fingers on your keyboard, āYour location isĀ blocked. Where are you?āĀ Ā
āJimin,Ā please.ā He comes back into frame and now he just looks worried on top of it all. āYes, okay. I got myself into trouble, and IĀ canātĀ tell you anything, but youĀ have toĀ trust me, okay? Please?āĀ Ā
The anger drains from his eyes,Ā and you can see his shoulders drop. He presses his fingers against his eyes, āOf course I fucking trust you, Birdie. You...ā he sighs heavily, āI shouldāve known something was up when you didnāt answer my calls on Saturday.ā He shakes his head, stares forward, the glow of your computer screen lighting his face. āCan you just...tell me where you are? Are you safe?āĀ
āIĀ canātĀ tell you, no. ButĀ IāmĀ safe, I promise.āĀ Ā
He stares at youĀ skeptically, as if waiting for you to change your mind and say thatĀ youāveĀ been the one kidnapped and is being held hostage.Ā Ā
He opens his mouth again, butĀ thereāsĀ a knock on your door. A very deliberate tap-tap. Like a bird, your head swivel towards the sound. āWhoās that?āĀ Ā
āItās---āĀ Ā
The door opens and Seokjin comes into the room without much prompt.Ā HeāsĀ dressed in fresh, dark sweats and a tee.Ā He looks significantly better than he did last night, though his expression is sharp and alert---heāsĀ clearly seen the news report, or Namjoon has called him.Ā
Seokjin walks right up to the bed, gently taking your wrist and turning yourĀ holowatchĀ interface toward him.Ā YouāreĀ stretching a little awkwardly over the space to reach him.Ā Ā
āY/n is perfectly safe,ā he reassures, āif you like I can contact you, Iāll explain everything myself.āĀ Ā
āWell,Ā someone has to.āĀ Ā
Seokjin nods, āIāll be in touch.ā And before Jimin can say anything more, he promptly ends the connection.Ā Ā
You pull your hand back, frowning,Ā thereāsĀ a bit of genuine anger at him inserting himself into your conversation like that. āWhy did you tell himĀ youādĀ explain? IĀ donātĀ want him involved.āĀ Ā
āWell...ā Seokjin rubs at the back of his neck, āI donāt think youād have been able to stop him anyway...heās going to get involved one way or another.āĀ Ā
āThat doesnāt give you the right to---ā you take a breath and look away;Ā he has the decency to look at least a bit ashamed. āWhat do you want?āĀ Ā
āDo you...wannaĀ get changed first?āĀ
You take a while getting ready out of spite, still a little upset at Seokjin for cutting off Jimin and involving him. When you finally traipse your way out into the living room, Seokjin is pacing the entire length of floor in front of the sweeping glass window. You walk over, standing by the couch and watch him. The oversized grey tee hangs loose on your frame, a stark contrast to his dark, tailored sweats.Ā
He stops abruptly, turning to face you with the full force of his strategist gaze. He walks towards you but stops a coffee tableās length away.Ā Ā
āGive me a hickey.āĀ
āExcuse me?ā You take a definitive step back and away from Seokjin. He looks completely serious, if not a little awkward, as he waves his good hand at you in a hurried gesture. āWhy would I... why do you need me to do that?āĀ
āBecause...Ā IāmĀ certainĀ youāveĀ heard.Ā Apparently, IāveĀ been kidnapped and is now missing. Now, come here and give me a hickey.āĀ
āThat explainsĀ nothing?!ā You laugh, the sound a little high-pitched and incredulous in the silent room.Ā
Seokjin sighs, dropping his hand, and then looks at you likeĀ youāreĀ a child andĀ heāsĀ explaining primaryĀ colors. āMy reputation is a mess, andĀ IādĀ like toĀ keepĀ it that way. Everyone thinks I left the club with my lover, soĀ IāmĀ going to show them I did just that.āĀ
YouĀ have toĀ admit,Ā heāsĀ right.Ā TaejinĀ andĀ DoyunĀ are trying to activate a policeĀ manhunt, and the public is already giving him the benefit of the doubt based on his past scandals. The fastest way to shut down an investigation is to publicly confirm a reckless weekend of passion.Ā Ā
āAnd you need me to give you aĀ hickey?ā You ask, just to be sure, becauseĀ itāsĀ likeĀ heāsĀ not hearing the crazyĀ heāsĀ spouting.Ā
āYes.ā And then, he shakes his head likeĀ heāsĀ just realised how he sounds and whatĀ heāsĀ asking. āI need to capitalize on the narrative.Ā IāllĀ also have to briefly record you.ā As you open your mouth to protest, he puts his hand up. āDonātĀ worry. IĀ wonātĀ show your face. I justā¦āĀ
āHow about I hit youĀ reallyĀ hard?āĀ
āY/n...ā He honest to GodĀ whinesĀ your name, the sound laced with a genuine desperation that,Ā frankly,Ā wouldnātĀ be there otherwise. āPlease.āĀ
You both stare at each other for a minute, the absurdity of the request hanging in the air between you.Ā Ā
āI donāt know where youāve been.ā You make a face, scanning him from head to toe.Ā ItāsĀ satisfying to see the frustration tick up in his eyes. You should record this for blackmail, so that if he tries anything once all of this isĀ over and done with,Ā youādĀ remind him that he was just above kneeling at your feet for a love bite.Ā Ā
āFine. ThenĀ IāllĀ give you one.ā He takes a step towards you,Ā and you dart across the room and around the couch, the polished wood floor suddenly an obstacle course. He stares at the spot you just left and slowly turns his head to look at you.Ā
āThatās sexual harassment, sir.ā You say, and for some reason, you find this absurdly funny.Ā
āI wouldĀ never!ā Seokjin cries, looking genuinely appalled thatĀ youādĀ say that. Then, he gives you a sort of kickedĀ puppy look that makes it even funnier, and you brace your hand against the couch, leaning forward with a laugh. āCāmon.Ā Help me out.āĀ
āYou canāt say that.ā You snort through a fit of giggles. āThisĀ ainātĀ a porno.āĀ
ThereāsĀ a helpless smile growing on his lips as he walks around the couch, following as you do. āThis is really important.āĀ
āIām sure you donāt need me sucking on your neck to fix that.ā You say, reaching the spot where he was standing before. The seriousness of the situationĀ isnātĀ lost on you, and as amusing as it is to you to watch Seokjin nearly explode as give him a run-around, it is the best course of action.Ā Ā
āAlright, alright.ā You sigh, and Seokjin looks immensely relieved, smiling widely.Ā
āPerfect! Only---ā he looks around at the living room with a too scheming look slipping into his smile, āWe have to go back to your room.āĀ
āYou know.ā You say, watching him walk past you, āI saw a porn that started just like this.āĀ Ā
Seokjin tugs you along with an exasperated sigh.Ā
When you get back to your room,Ā heādĀ adjusted the tint of the windows to let more of the morning light in, and then, gently directs you to sit on the edge. He stares at you for a moment before fussing with your hair, like a hairstylist on a time crunch to get thingsĀ just right.Ā Maybe heāsĀ wasted in the tech industry. He carefully roughs up the ends and strategically musses the layers around your face---creating whatever exact look of āwe spent the weekend messing aroundā he thinks the public expects. When he was done, he takes a step back to stare at you intensely.Ā
The heat of his gaze is palpable. He closes the distance in a single step, leaning into your bubble. His scent---that same clean, expensive, smell you remember from the club---fills your lungs.Ā
āCan I kiss you?āĀ
āWhat?ā You blink up at him.Ā HeāsĀ already looking at you, waiting for you to process. A hickey is one thing.Ā This is another entirely!Ā It must have shown on your face because in the next minute,Ā heāsĀ apologising.Ā Ā
āIāmĀ sorry⦠Iā¦Ā theyāreĀ trying to smoke me out,ā He sighs through his nose softly and gazes above your head, focusing on some distant, invisible point. āI need you to look a certain way else this wonāt work.āĀ
āAlright.āĀ
Seokjin raises his right hand, fingers lightly brushing up your arm and then across your cheek until the length of his fingers disappear into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He gently tilts your chin upwards, and thenĀ heāsĀ suddenly closer thanĀ heāsĀ ever been. Your heart kicks against your ribcage like a frantic, trapped bird.Ā
YouāreĀ not blind; you have eyes that work. Seokjin is an attractive guy.Ā YouādĀ thought as much when you first saw him on Friday, no point trying to backtrack. From this close, you can see the faint moles that dot his face, subtle and soft in the light: one just off the bridge of his nose, another above the right side of his upper lip. And wow, his eyes areĀ reallyĀ brown---deep, dark pools that you could easily lose yourself in.Ā
You wonder, briefly, if this is what those ancient Victorian maidens felt like. Heck, like you said before,Ā youāreĀ no blushing virgin. But the last time you dated was...a long time ago.Ā DidnātĀ end well....Ā well,Ā it ended amicably enough, but regardless!Ā YouādĀ be clutching your pearls right now if you had pearls to clutch.Ā Ā
āYouāre allowed to say no.ā He says softly, his breath a warm whisper against your mouth.Ā
You shake your head, the movement slight, your throat too tight for a proper word. āItās fine.āĀ
Seokjin tilts his head slightly and leans towards you. The kiss is surprisingly soft, a lot gentler than you imagined; a hesitant, almost questioning press of his lips against yours. Not⦠thatā¦Ā youāveĀ imagined kissing him,Ā no!Ā At all!Ā
He pulls away, and you think for a minuteĀ heāsĀ done, but heĀ doesnātĀ let you breathe. Seokjin kisses you fiercely this time, his mouthĀ possessingĀ yours with a sudden, needy urgency. Your knees hit the back of the bed.Ā YouāreĀ lucky enough to catch yourself without bending your wrist the wrong way against the mattress. His knee comes up to rest between yours to counter the lost balance, pinning you lightly to the spot. One of your hands curls into the bedsheets.Ā
Through your little surprised gasp, the warmth of his tongue slides along the seam of your parted lips. His fingers tighten in your hair and give a barely-there tug, just enough to tilt your head back some more, and sharp enough that the involuntary sound you make surprises even you.Ā
He pulls away slightly, his mouth trailing fire along the line of your jaw, his teeth skating over your pulse point. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine that you have no control over. Your hand thatĀ isnātĀ gripping the sheets for dear life, instead, goes to the back of his neck.Ā
He tugs your hair a little harder, giving him access, and spends a good, messy minute going at your neck. The suction is deep, the pressure justĀ bordering on painful, ensuring a visible mark is left behind.Ā
Then, just as suddenly as the fierce kiss began, itĀ stops.Ā
SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ pull far away. Instead, he rests his forehead against your shoulder, his weight pressing down slightly as his body shudders with a deep, shaky inhale. HisĀ handĀ tightens momentarily against your scalp, breath coming in little bursts, dancing along your collarboneĀ and the front of your tee.Ā Ā
You almost ask ifĀ heāsĀ alright, althoughĀ youāreĀ not much better.Ā You feel the slight tremor in his frame.Ā ItāsĀ almost asĀ ifĀ heāsĀ thought about this long before it needed to happen, and the reality has overwhelmed him. Or maybe!Ā YouāreĀ being delusional. The rush of blood pounding in your ears slowly fades, replaced by the thud of your heart beating furiously against yourĀ sternum.Ā
āThat,ā you manage, your voice coming out hoarse, āwas...thorough.āĀ
He gives aĀ humourless, choked sound that might be a laugh. He slowly pushes himself upright, hand---now out of your hair---holding his weight. His eyes areĀ more blackĀ than brown now in the light filtering through the windows, and he carefully brushes his fingers over the now-tender spot on your neck, confirming the damage. The skin there already feels hot.Ā
āGood,ā he whispers, his voice thick.Ā Ā
You raise an eyebrow, the adrenaline starting to give way to your usual sharp-edged practicality. āIt wonāt be convincing if only one of us looks like they got lucky.āĀ
You try not to think too hard about any of this as you lightly tug on the collar of his tee to find the smooth expanse of his neck.Ā Your ears feel incredibly warm, and you can betĀ his are too, if the red flush is anything to go by.Ā Ā
You give him a couple, one deep, calculated suction right on the pulse point where his jaw meets his neck that will certainly turn purple, and another slightly lower, just above the dip of his collarbone, accessible by the stretched neckline.Ā Ā
Seokjin lets out a low, involuntary grunt as the pressure registers, his body tensing beneath the points of contact.Ā
You pull back just far enough that your breath ghosts across his skin. You look at the two prominent, reddening marks you left.Ā
āIs that good?ā you ask, your voice soft and breathy, the pragmatic question feeling absurdly out of place given the heat of the contact.Ā
SeokjinĀ doesnātĀ open his eyes, his head still resting near yours. The warmth of him is intoxicating.Ā
āMhm,ā he murmurs, the sound low in his throat.Ā YouĀ probably wouldnātĀ have heard it if youĀ werenātĀ so close.Ā Ā
His hand moves to your waist,Ā and youĀ jolt,Ā heĀ lets out aĀ breathyĀ chuckle, pulling back, but not too far from you.Ā The wayĀ heāsĀ looking at youĀ makes you want to stick your head in some dirt and scream. Or, well,Ā maybe justĀ hide under the blanketsĀ for a bit until the warmth of your skin settles andĀ doesnātĀ muddle your brain all that much.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ about to open your mouth to really ask ifĀ heāsĀ okay now, becauseĀ heāsĀ done nothing but stare at you, but you barely get the chance.Ā Ā
He leans in again, pulling you flush against him.Ā
This second kiss is completely different. It has nothing to do withĀ TaejinĀ orĀ DoyunĀ or the news cycle.Ā ItāsĀ deep and possessive, a silent question he demands you answer with equalĀ fervour.Ā His good hand hooks around your back, pulling you taut against the solid wall of his chest. His lips are insistent, demanding, and you melt into the contact, answering the unexpected aggression with a sudden, matching hunger.Ā
He presses you back onto the bed untilĀ youāreĀ half-lying on the pristine white duvet, the kiss only breaking when he needs air.Ā
He finally backs up and away from you,Ā swiping at his bottom lip with his thumb.Ā He clears his throat, staring out the window as your right yourself on the bed.Ā Ā
āI need you watch.ā He says, looking at you briefly before looking away again. He almost looks shy, and the red flush to his ears had crawledĀ itsĀ way down his neck.Ā Shy!Ā After all of that.Ā Ā
YouāreĀ no better.Ā Ā
You fumble to findĀ the release pad of your watchband, and in a second it loosens and slides down your arm. You hold it out to him, sniffling loudly.Ā Ā
SeokjinĀ takes the watch from you, navigating to the camera app. He adjusts the settings for a quick, vertical video upload.Ā
āWe need the right lighting,ā he murmurs, already moving. He directs you back toward the headboard, where the morning light is just starting to streak across the duvet from the window. He sits down, leaning slightly against the headboard, and turns your watch camera to face both of you.Ā
āOkay,ā he instructs, gesturing with his head. āSit behind me. Lean your chest against my back, arms over my shoulders---gently, the sling.āĀ
YouĀ manoeuvreĀ yourself awkwardly behind him. You can feel the heat radiating through the fabric of his shirt, and the solid, muscled plane of his back is surprisingly comforting. You carefully drape your arms over his shoulders, ensuring you avoid putting any pressure on the sling protecting his left arm.Ā
HeĀ brings the watch up, tilting it slightly. The angle is a bit tricky, but it works: it perfectly frames his face, his messy hair, the hickey you left near his jaw and the one that peaks above the collar of his tee. Behind him, your face is cut off just above the bridge of your nose, ensuring your eyes and identity are hidden, but your chin, the curve of your neck, and the angry, reddeningĀ marksĀ he left on you are prominently displayed.Ā
He nods to himself, checking the composition. His features instantly soften into a look of casual, rumpled contentment---the kind that makes magazines millions. āRight.āĀ
He taps the record button, and a small red light starts blinking on the watch face.Ā
The camera is rolling.Ā Ā Ā
You settle your chin onto the ridge of his shoulder, your arms lying limply over his chest. You keep your neck rigidly straight to ensure the hickey is visible. You think,Ā thisĀ is how people sit whenĀ theyāreĀ together. Casual, relaxed. You blink slowly and wait.Ā
SeokjinĀ maintainsĀ the passive, satisfied expression for about fifteen seconds, then sighs, silently ending the recording.Ā
He slowly rotates his body slightly to look at you over his shoulder;Ā his brow furrowed in confusion.Ā
ā...What?ā you ask, genuinely confused. Did the camera overheat?Ā
His expression is utterly deadpan. āWhatĀ are you doing?āĀ
āIāmĀ sitting here.Ā IāmĀ being still,ā you defend, tilting your head so thatĀ youāreĀ not looking down your nose at him.Ā
āI know what still is and youāre beingĀ stiff, very big difference there.ā He counters, exasperated. His professional ease is completely shattered by your complete lack of performance skills. He gestures toward the watch. āLook at yourself. You look likeĀ youāreĀ being held hostage.Ā YouāreĀ stiff as a board! Just act natural. Be comfortable. Put your head down, rub my neck, whatever. Have you never had a boyfriend before?āĀ
The accusation of awkwardness stings, hitting close to your deep-seated discomfort with emotional performance. You almost laugh at the fact thatĀ heāsĀ taking this so seriously ---it isĀ pretty seriousĀ ---but it also reminds you that despite his flaws in the eyes of the public, Kim Seokjin is the CEO ofĀ Vionix.Ā HeāsĀ spent most of his corporate time in front of a camera, for magazines, ads,Ā interviewsĀ and youĀ donātĀ doubt somewhere in his childhoodĀ heāsĀ had media training. He knows his way around a camera,Ā and he certainly knows how to fake an image.Ā Ā
āIām not a virgin if thatās what youāre asking,ā you retort, your voice sharp.Ā
Seokjin stops, turning his head further back to stare at you, his eyes wide in genuine, disbelieving shock.Ā
āThat isĀ notĀ what Iām asking you!ā he cries, the absurdity of the statement breaking through his focus. He throws his head back with a loud, surprised burst of laughter. He catches himself on the headboard to avoid jostling his sling.Ā
You ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks.Ā
āItās notĀ as hard as you think.ā He says, taking a deep breath and wiping the smile away, though his eyesĀ remainĀ crinkled at the corners. āJust try to look like you hate the camera, not me.Ā LetāsĀ go again.āĀ
Seokjin resets the watch camera. He holds his face closer to the lens, pulling focus only onto his eyes and the new mark on his neck.Ā
āLook, you donāt have to do anything,ā he explains patiently. āJust lean your head against my back, likeĀ youāreĀ comfortable but annoyed thatĀ IāmĀ making this video. You can move your fingers on my chest or whatever feels right. Make it look like you own the space.āĀ
Own the space. You can do that!Ā ItāsĀ less acting and more asserting dominance.
He hits record again.Ā
This time, you drop your chin onto the cushion of his shoulder, letting your body weight settle fully against his back. You deliberately soften your posture, mimicking the exhaustion of a truly long weekend. You let your fingers, draped over his chest, drag slowly across the fabric of his tee, just enough to be seen in the close-up shot.Ā
SeokjinĀ immediatelyĀ responds to the shift. His eyes, though still conveying a reckless, satisfied look for the camera, lose the tightness of the strategist. He lets his head tilt back slightly, a silent, possessive gesture that draws the viewerās attention to the contrast between his neck and your chin.Ā
He lets the video roll for about twenty seconds, just long enough to capture the mood, the marks, and the rumpled morning light. Then, he ends the recording.Ā
āPerfect,ā he murmurs, his tone low and professional once more, the intimate moment sealed off. HeĀ immediatelyĀ navigates your watch to his social media interface---an elegant, obsidian-black app that runs the new age equivalent of Instagram;Ā a platform known asĀ Aura.Ā Ā
He quickly reviews the video, using the watchās augmented features to crop the edges into a neat, vertical story format.Ā He types a short, dismissive phrase onto the screen, blurring the text slightly so it looks flippant and unplanned: āDidnāt realize I was supposed to check in.ā Then, he quickly assigns a popular, generic pop song from the platformās library to loop softly in the background---something catchy, easily ignored, andĀ veryĀ unserious.Ā
He hesitates for just a fraction of a second, his thumb hovering over the post button. ThisĀ isnātĀ just a flippant upload; this is the officialĀ countermoveĀ to a corporate coup.Ā
āPosting now,ā he warns.Ā
He taps the screen.Ā
Within five minutes, the silent, intimate twenty-second video is viral. Which is as terrifying as it is insane to you. Seokjin couldĀ probably postĀ a video about him eating a slice of cake and people would cheer him on.Ā Ā
The watch begins to buzz softly on the bed next to you, alerting Seokjin to the exponential surge. The news channels, which had been tentatively running the āMissing CEOā ticker, are forced to scramble. TheĀ āmissingāĀ narrative dies instantly. The focus is entirely on the identity of theĀ Mystery Woman, who is now definitivelyĀ The Girlfriend, a sudden, reckless, and highly scrutinized feature of the worldās most eligible CEO.Ā
āThat should buy us forty-eight hours of silence from the police and the board,ā he says, putting the watch down. āTheyāll be too busy fighting the optics of this to track my location.āĀ
Over the next couple of hours, the video continues to be shared across platforms. You and Seokjin stand around in the kitchen, discussing your next course of action.Ā Ā
ThereāsĀ still one tiny issue in theĀ VeryĀ BigĀ Problem: the photo of you on the news. The one that had spread like a fire in a dry field after this morningās broadcast.Ā Ā
Luckily, the photo itself is yourĀ saving grace, your face is nowhere in it. However, caution is your best friend right about now.Ā Technology is so advanced thatĀ evenĀ if your faceĀ is mistakenly a blurry, grainy reflection on the club buildingās exterior, someone can make something of it.Ā Ā
Unfortunately,Ā thereāsĀ only so much you can do from your watch.Ā Jimin knows his way around hacking systems but not on the scale you need.Ā Ā
āI know a guy.ā You told Seokjin, waving off his worry before it becomes yours.Ā
This would be the part in an epic movie where the main character gets toĀ contact a very cool guy thatĀ probably knowsĀ a way cooler guy to do some stuff valuable to the plot. Unfortunately, this guy is just your ex,Ā and he owes you a favour.Ā DoesnātĀ make him less valuable, just makes it a lot harder toĀ actually reachĀ out.Ā Ā
YouādĀ left Seokjin in the living room,Ā using aĀ HolowatchĀ heādĀ magicallyĀ procuredĀ from a drawer in his server room to contact Jimin forĀ āexplaining the situationā.Ā Itās not that you donāt trust Seokjin,Ā though, purely based on the fact that heās so good at fooling people,Ā you suspect thatās not the only reason he needs to speak toĀ yourĀ best friend-āwhoĀ you didnāt want involved in any of this!---withoutĀ you in the room.Ā Ā
Your list of contacts is... dismal at best, and itĀ doesnātĀ take long to find theĀ contactĀ name you never switched out. Like you said before, it endedĀ well enough, in a way that you were still in contact as friends afterwards and just...stopped talking.Ā Amicable.Ā Ā
YouĀ hadnātĀ spoken to him inĀ a long while,Ā youāreĀ not even sure ifĀ his contact is still the same. ItĀ better be. OrĀ youādĀ have to get Jimin to do it. And he and Jimin are...well...cordial at best.Ā Ā
Your finger hover over hisĀ contactĀ name,Ā and you take a breath before tapping on it.Ā Ā
It rings, which is a good thing, and by the fourth, just as you thinkĀ itāsĀ going into voicemail, he picks up.Ā Ā
āNero.āĀ Comes the grumble on the other side.Ā Ā
You snort, āIs this your work number, now?āĀ Ā
ThereāsĀ a pause, and then a low laugh, āWell, well, well. Fancy hearing from you,Ā Birdie.āĀ He drawls. Your watch beeps as he requests a video call.Ā Sighing, you accept,Ā he smiles when the feed loads. āBeen, what, two years?āĀ
āTwo and a half.āĀ Ā
āOuch.ā He says, a hand on his chest,Ā and his eyes narrowed in a show of mock hurt,Ā āthought we were better than that.āĀ Ā
āYoongi.āĀ Ā
āI saw your fine ass on the news this morning.Ā WhatchaĀ got yourself into this time?āĀ Ā
Min Yoongi, fellow hacker in the underground, adept in making people disappear.Ā If you wantĀ to not be found, have all traces of you gone from every system?Ā HeāsĀ your guy.Ā Ā
āIām calling in the marker.āĀ You say and he pokes his tongue into his cheek. From whereĀ heāsĀ sitting, you can see thatĀ heāsĀ in his work room.Ā ItāsĀ a deliberately dark, comfortable space, lit primarily by the cool, steady glow of a massive,Ā curved wall of monitors that fill the background behind his desk. The black couchĀ youādĀ spend many days on is tucked into a corner, and the guitar you bought him is propped up against the wall next to it.Ā
āI mean...āĀ he drags the word out, spinning slightly on his chair, āIāmĀ kindaĀ busy....working.āĀ Ā
āThis is literally important.ā You deadpan, āAnd I know your assĀ isnātĀ doing shit.Ā You go off grid when you work.Ā YouĀ wouldnātĀ have answered my call.āĀ Ā
āMaybe youāreĀ special.āĀ He smiles, allĀ gummy,Ā but he nods, āYou need meĀ to ghost you, right?āĀ Ā
āI wouldnātĀ have called otherwise.āĀ Ā
āTreated like a common whore.ā Yoongi shakes his head,Ā āGive me a minute.āĀ
He spins his chair to face his wall of glowing monitors. You watch his profile go rigid, his fingers flying across the keyboard, already executing background searches. The silence stretches, filled only by the frantic click of keys and the low hum of his server farm.Ā
It only takes a couple of minutes for him to run the deep search, cross-referencing the news broadcasts from the morning. The quiet clicking stops, and he leans back in his chair, rotating slowly to face you again.Ā
His mouth is a thin, flat line, but his eyes hold a spark of respect for the sheer scale of the digitalĀ cleanup.Ā
āDamn,āĀ he says, shaking his head slowly.Ā āThey spread your assĀ far and wide... the image is everywhere. Luckily for you,Ā IāmĀ a professional.āĀ
He spins back to the monitors, pulling up a complex, dark-themed dashboard. āIāveĀ tagged the source image and mirrored theĀ initialĀ suppression command across the main news conduits.Ā ItāllĀ start scrubbing copies, butĀ itāsĀ going to take time to completely disappear from all caches and social mirrors. Expect it to be gone from major networks within the hour, andĀ almost completelyĀ untraceable by tomorrow morning.āĀ
He glances at the feed. āIāveĀ done you anĀ additionalĀ favour and cleaned LumenāsĀ footage.Ā Tell thatĀ boyfriendĀ of yours yourĀ exĀ says hi.āĀ Ā
āHeās not my boyfriend.āĀ Ā
YoongiĀ doesnātĀ wait for a reply, his face already intense as he focuses on his complex task. The video feedĀ remainsĀ open, a silent window into the world-class operation he is running on your behalf.Ā
āYou owe me, Birdie.ā He says before the video drops andĀ heāsĀ gone. Seconds later you receive a pop up of a black cat disappearing behind a lamppostĀ and a āTag, youāre it.āĀ text.Ā Ā
You walk to the living room, Seokjin is no longer talking to Jimin,Ā and youĀ donātĀ have the chance to ask him about it.Ā Ā
āOkay.ā He begins, turning to face you as you sit on the couch next to him, āI have a plan.āĀ Ā
Tags: @dontstoptime @themwordsblog @haru-jiminn @yukina0521
please, please, please. A lot of effort and time went into the creation of this fic, taking the time to write a comment would be so nice! Don't be a silent reader!! Ask questions, rant, anything at all is appreciated. Also!!! Reblog! rebloging is very important for visibility and for other folks that enjoy these types of fics to discover em!
Dating upp ā„
I wished more fanfic writers wrote for League. I'm here, talentless, actively suffering from the lack of Yone x reader š
Dating young Silco in Zaun like-

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on everyone's soul this is what happened
I've existed here for so long that blogs I followed for one thing either don't exist here anymore or turned into K-pop blogs š
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Fountain Of Axtaliah - KSJ ||Teaser ||
Summary: YouāreĀ a hacker, and aĀ damnĀ goodĀ oneĀ ---Ā if you do say so yourself.Ā A legend in underground forums,Ā the kind of person corporateĀ sharks pretendĀ donātĀ exist. Your jobĀ isĀ simple:Ā hack into the database of some spoiled CEO, dig up whatever dirt you could find and cash out. Easy money.Ā
Until itāsĀ not that simple.Ā
Genre: SY-FY, cyber-punkish, strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, a bit of espionage, fake dating, angst, action, fluff.
Teaser word count: 847w
Warnings: mature language, dark dystopian/post-apocalyptic themes (including descriptions of environmental and societal collapse), implied violence, and brief mentions of parental neglect and widespread criminality. Reader discretion is advised.
Posting date: TBA
Masterlist
Notes: I've been having lots of Seokjin thoughts lately oml he won't leave me ALONE. But we love the inspiration. So have a sneak peek at this :D. As usual, if you wanna be tagged, drop a comment if this fic's up your alley.
If you were wondering, just a tad bit, how exactly the world would look a couple hundred years from now, letās just say itās probably not what youāre thinking.
If your thoughts went along the lines of world peace, zero crime, and Mother Nature finally getting her moment to do some mother-ing---youād be wrong.
See, Earthās always been a shithole. Itās in the archives---whatās left of them, anyway. Environmental collapse. The rich preying on the desperate. Overpopulation so bad cities started building up instead of out. The ice caps melted in ā25, half the world drowned---the Great Flood 2.0, except Noah didnāt give a damn---and the rest choked on its own smoke. Snow fell in deserts. Acid rain burned through skylines. Humanity watched, cursed, then adapted---because thatās what it does best.
And thatās how The Rise began.
They called it a new dawn. But you know how people are with pretty names. What it really was, it was a scramble. A desperate attempt to build higher, dig deeper, wire the world until even the dirt had a login.
Fast-forward a couple dozen generations, and the world hums different now. The skyās owned by corporations, the ground by data farms. Cities glow like circuit boards---veins of neon running through towers that never sleep. The air buzzes like itās carrying a thousand conversations at once.
Land of freedom, they call it. Donāt like your face? Get a new one. Want to date that robot server downtown? Go for it, Jan! No one bats an eye at anything anymore. Want to take a holiday on the Jupiter resort? Spend millions for your gate pass to fly out of orbit---youād be lucky to get perks with that. Kids can get tattoos at twelve---yeah, that one threw you for a loop.
When you were twelve, your head was buried in books because you had a good-for-nothing dad and a mother who couldnāt care less. Too smart for your own good, theyād said. But college was just as hard to get into as it was two centuries ago.
The worldās still the same, no matter how much it twinkles. The strong eat the weak. The rich donāt give a damn about anyone and the governmentās still lawless.
In less words---itās an even bigger shithole.
But hey! At least the lights are pretty.
At least for people like you, thereās always something to get by on. The world runs on circuits now. Wires breathe in every corner you look, systems locked tighter than the Pentagon.
Well⦠not for you, anyway.
Hackers are criminals---or so the government would tell you in their oppressive propaganda. Theyāre rats chewing through the wires of your brand-new TV set. But you? You can get into anywhere. No challenge is a challenge for you.
You probably couldāve used that big brain of yours to solve world hunger, or cure whatever plagues are still chewing through the slums.
Instead, you used it to get rich.
Sometimes itās petty: lift a street vendorās bogus card reader logs so she can steal back a weekās pay from a local courier whoās been skimming fares. Swap a jealous exās social feed for an embarrassing loop of their own old speeches. Patch a friendās rent account with a tiny, invisible micro-transfer that keeps them fed for a month. Those are the scripts you run before breakfast---cheap, clean and satisfying.
Sometimes itās elegant: ghost a senatorās public schedule so their bodyguard chases a ghost appointment while you slip a protest group past checkpoints. Reconstruct a deceased artistās lost archive from corrupted shards and sell the restored files to a private buyer who wants the exclusivity. You trace fingerprints through six layers of obfuscation and stitch a reputation back together like it was never torn. Those jobs pay in more than credits---they pay in favours and stories that sell your name.
And then there are the big ones. The jobs that leave scorch marks on your trail.
Youāve rewritten corporate balance sheets so a charity got a controversial multi-millionaireās hidden philanthropic fund. You made an absolute liability vanish from the police servers long enough for an innocent person to get out of jail. Once, for a very specific client, you built a smell-proof blackbox that let them ferry a person past biometric tolls using nothing but a sequence of fake heartbeats and a rewired thermal signature. That one paid for a year of luxuries and some mistakes you still keep in a locked subroutine.
Youāve breached private vaults where people store not jewellery but memories---stitched consciousness backups saved under dead names. You donāt always take them. You admire how fragile those files are, how people tuck their whole lives into folders like theyāre safe. Sometimes you return them, sometimes you sell them to collectors who like owning other peopleās pasts.
You flirt with danger because youāre good at it. You like the artistry of a clean breach: a cascade of permissions peeling away like onion skin, a final tunnel that opens into a vault no one was meant to see. You write your own keys and you know where to press.
Another banger I fear š¤

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Shout out to everyone who is just so tired So so exhausted So very very tired so very fatigued so sleepy and tired So
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