📂 Case File: anamnesis by @woncheolisms

🔦Administrators: Choi Seungcheol x reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: VOID by @hannieoftheyear

🔦Administrators: Yoon Jeonghan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Everything humanity has ever wanted is now at reach with the touch of a button, yet, the world is as empty as ever. Most prefer to live their lives in the digital reality, where you can be cities away in the blink of an eye and where the sun shines uninterrupted. The only ones left are those who first developed the idea, stuck in an abandoned world and cursed to watch as their families deteriorate inside machines. When a malfunction opens up the possibility to break the system, they seize the opportunity to make those who used a falling city as the stepping stone for their empire pay once and for all.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: systematic error by @straylightdream

🔦Administrators: Joshua Hong x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it’s not unusual for artificially intelligent robots to blend in seamlessly to society. many years ago you found a android and upgraded his programming. As time passed you often forget he’s not a human, unfortunately he can’t escape the feelings and tainted thoughts that he’s just an android. after falling in love, you’ve become companions as you navigate the dark neon city together, and attempt to take down the biggest corporation.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PRIME by @joshujin

🔦Administrators: Wen Junhui x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Six years ago, you unknowingly changed the course of Arcadian Prime forever. Five years ago, you erased your own existence and went into hiding. And approximately half an hour ago, the very first image of you, the city-state's most wanted fugitive, went online. Now… now, you run.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Ground by @mylovesstuffs

🔦Administrators: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: on the ground, the poor starve. in the sky, the rich live like gods. six months of playing the clumsy, star struck girl from the slums boils down to a single night in a luxury penthouse. to avenge and save her father from their misery, she has to trap the elite’s most untouchable corporate heir, hoshi, in a game of her own making— and then betray him.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Shadow District by @thestraybunny

🔦Administrators: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Skyfall Industries is taking over the city, where the rich will benefit while the poor will suffer. With body modifications, sex, drugs, and alcohol there to help numb people from reality of it all. Your world is small, and is just getting smaller. So, when Skyfall Inds is finally at your door and threatening your home, you and Wonwoo will have a choice to make.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PROJECT: KILL SWITCH by @callisrecords

🔦Administrators: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: On a trip to the Wastelands, you don't expect to find much that's intact. Definitely not an escape pod or a man still inside it. Lee Jihoon seems to be unregistered, unchipped and jarringly not from this century. In a city held together by a network no one can escape, he is the only thing it cannot read, cannot follow, and cannot override. As details about a mission that predates everything you’ve ever known begin to surface, you realise Jihoon’s existence is more than just an anomaly. Somewhere within the structure of the megacorp that controls the city lies a failsafe: a kill switch tied to an authority long believed dead. Except maybe it isn’t.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: through the haze by @aeristudios

🔦Administrators: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: You're the star of Neo City Nights, the hottest nightclub in the city. Your voice brings in people from all over, including the handsome stranger Seokmin who you can't stay away from. Too bad you don't remember him from your past life, before the accident that happened, which changed your life forever.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: butterfly by @sailorsoons

🔦Administrators: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In a city where technology makes it possible to shed your body as easily as changing clothes, Mingyu has built his reputation hunting criminals who disappear behind new faces. So when you become the prime suspect in a brutal string of serial murders, he should have no trouble closing the case. Except... the more he investigates you, the less he's convinced you're guilty.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: REMNANT by @wheeboo

🔦Administrators: Xu Minghao x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In the year 2197, Xu Minghao works as a government shadow operative, hired to hunt down political dissidents. After surviving a catastrophic accident that should have ended his life, his body had been rewired to become nothing more than a living weapon solely engineered for one purpose: obedience. You live a different kind of double life. By day, a reclusive digital artist curating an elite art gallery; by night, a ghost hacker where you siphon secrets from the city’s corrupt core. But when your latest hack uncovers an unsettling truth, a target is painted on your back—and Minghao is assigned to terminate you.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: synapse//ZERO by @cheollollipop

🔦Administrators: Boo Seungkwan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when Synapse//ZERO launches, thousands of players eagerly enter the world's first fully immersive neural VR game. hours later, they're trapped. with her younger brother and best friend seungkwan among them, YN enters the game's sprawling cyberpunk metropolis, determined to bring them home. but in a world where the system adapts, remembers, and watches, escaping may not be enough. inspired by sword art online!

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: kingslayer by @100vern

🔦Administrators: Chwe Hansol x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it's been years since you worked for the ministry of welfare. since you were partnered with hansol as a rookie inspector in the criminal investigation unit. since the two of you were assigned to a case so devastating it cost hansol his freedom and sent you into hiding. it's been years, but there's no time limit on vengeance—and there's nothing you wouldn't do to protect hansol.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: got you (in my sights) by @minisugakoobies

🔦Administrators: Lee Chan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when a job goes bad, elite assassin lee chan ends up the victim of a botched memory wipe. lost on the streets of new seoul and in need of help, he turns to the only person he can remember - just a face, a name, and a feeling. you have no idea why a rival assassin is begging on your doorstep, but agree to help him, thinking it will be an opportunity to steal his clients. but when the client who ordered the memory hit learns he hasn't been wiped, they target you both. can you trust chan enough to work together to save yourselves? or will you lose more than your memories?

The Malware 🚫 The Code

“Hey baby, you looking for a good time?” A sleazy voice called out when you walked past; the heavy unpleasant smell of booze, piss, old oil, and cigarette smoke heavily coming from that direction. It made your lips curl in disgust when the mixture met your nose and kept your eyes forward.

Pulling the large thick trench coat tighter around your body, you hoped that it would hide away the little outfit you wore to work and took the chance to inhale the comforting scent of your boyfriend that lingered on the fabric. Keeping you grounded and giving you the strength to bite your tongue.

You ignored the man and his friend yelling insults at your back as you continued your journey through the near empty streets of the Shadow District, back home. With one hand gripping the knife under the thick sleeves, one that Wonwoo had insisted you carry for protection. Luckily, you were able to go another day without having to use it, with the most those men could do was yell out names at your back as you disappear in the crowd.

Even with how early it was, or late depending on the person, the streets were still filled with people. Stores opening their doors to sell synthetically processed foods and supplements to help curve your hunger or thirst, groups of people still enjoying the night life despite the sky glowing grey with smog and sunrise, or those hiding in the shadows, waiting for someone to approach them for the drugs they had in their pockets.

Eagerly waiting for the next victim to get hooked and keep coming back for more.

That was life here in Huimang, named with the intentions of being a City of Hope, but hope was not even a luxury that many people could have. You being one of them, but this was still your home.

The apartment was quiet when you got in, with the grey morning light peeking through the blinds and violet lights that Wonwoo left for you. He was long asleep in your bedroom, greeted by golden eyes and soft meows from your shared cat instead. Her soft dark fur feeling comforting against your leg, and you were quick to shed the coat to pick her up.

“Hello to you too, Doodle Bug.” You cooed at the small feline, scratching the side of her head as you made your way into the small kitchen. Wiggling free, Doodle jumped from your arms to the floor, only to look back at you to meow and it brought a smile to your face, “Didn’t your dad feed you before he went to bed?”

This earned another meow from her, and you chuckled. “Alright, alright. You win. Early breakfast it is.”

After feeding the cat a can of her favorite food, you made sure her water bowl was full before making your way to the bathroom to clean up. The boots you switched to after work kicked off to a random corner of the small living room, the revealing top thrown over the back of the sofa, and your shorts that felt more like underwear left on the ground by the bathroom. You didn’t care that you would need to pick up everything later.

The shower felt amazing on your skin, the hot water washing away everything that had clung to you from working that night—sweat, spilled booze, tobacco smoke, the disgusting things that had been said to you, and the ghost of hands that tried to touch you as you tried to serve drinks.

It left the stripped away version of you. The real version of you, or what was left of it from years of running and trying to survive.

When you emerged from the steamy shower, the cold air of the apartment bit at your damp skin and a shiver ran through you. You were ready to slip into the warmth of your bed, into the warmth of Wonwoo. The shower may have washed everything away, but it also made you aware of how sore your muscles were, and how tired you were. Each day growing heavier on you, no matter how many hot showers you took.

You didn’t bother putting on any pajamas, just slipping onto the old worn bed, with your boyfriend sleeping on his side. His back faces you as you settled under the bedding and moved to mold your body against it, pressing your lips against his bare shoulder.

“How was work?” His voice was deeper than usual, rough with sleep, taking one of your hands that rested against his stomach. The sound and gesture making your lips upturn against his skin.

“The usual. Rich, drunk and high assholes that don’t know how to or even capable of keeping their hands too themselves. Thinking that flaunting their wealth, and expensive body mods will impress anyone enough to sleep with them.” You let out a soft sigh, eyes closed while you welcome the warmth of your boyfriend, feeling his thumb run over the back of your hand.

Wonwoo stopped before he shifted himself to sit up, causing you to lift your head in confusion. There was some dried drool at the corner of his mouth, his black hair a tangled mess from sleep, and a frown on his lips. He had taken his left eye out to sleep, so only his right one was opened and trained on you with concern.

Just looking at him made your heart flutter still after years together, still the most beautiful person you ever laid eyes on. You couldn’t stop from thinking of how lucky you were to have him love you and be in your corner. Your missing piece.

“They touched you?” He asked calmly, that sleepy rasp was now gone and something dangerous took center stage. “And Seungcheol did nothing about this?”

“Seungcheol wasn’t there tonight. You know if he was, or any of us said something, they would be out on their asses. Their credits aren’t any good there if they fuck with the servers, no matter how rich they claim to be.” You answer, rolling onto your back, trying to not giggle when his eye dropped to your bare breasts when they moved. You reached out to run your hand over his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s not anything I can’t handle, baby. They eventually get bored when they realized that I wouldn’t let them fuck me in the bathroom.”

“I should kill them for touching you.” His words sounded more like a growl while he leaned over you. His gaze slid over your frame before it returned to your face. “Only I can touch you.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I rather keep you next to me and not behind a glass window.” The hand that had been resting on his arm moved up to his neck so you could pull him into a kiss.

Wonwoo didn’t resist your pull, leaning down to find your lips, tasting the minty flavor of the teeth cleaning tablet still fresh on your tongue. The kiss was brief, but it still ignited a fire in you, your body warming, and it seeped to your core. You found yourself chasing his lips when he pulled back, the soft whine that left you earned a smirk from your boyfriend.

“Only I’m allowed to touch you.” He repeated, his mouth brushing against yours, slipping on top of you and his hips pushing your thighs open without any resistance from you. He didn’t wear clothes to bed, so when he pressed down, there was no barriers against his hardening cock and your own bare heat. Another moan escaped you, as your hips instinctually moved as if you would be able to catch the tip of his thick length just the right way. “Only I can fuck you in those bathrooms.”

“Is that so?” You teased, trying to not let your lashes flutter at the way Wonwoo’s strong hand grabbed your hips, holding it there with more pressure than needed, but you didn’t mind his possessiveness over you. He pulled his face back to give you a look, knowing that bratty but aroused smirk all too well, and had to hold back a very vocal groan feeling your cunt getting slicker against the underneath of his cock.

“Last I checked, I am in charge of who touches me, and where I get fucked.”

Wonwoo’s mouth latched onto yours, this time his kiss hungry to taste you again, relishing that you returned that same hunger. You were tired, your body desperate for sleep, but you could never pass up a moment like this; especially when you know letting him fuck you would help you sleep better.

His hands moved down your body, caressing your breasts and teased your hardened peaks, while his tongue took claim of yours. Teasing and sucking on it, each of you swallowing moans his hips moving against yours, his cock sliding through your slit teasingly. Letting himself be coated by your arousal, teasing you.

“You want to play a little, or just want me to fuck you?” Wonwoo asked, pulling from the kiss, his eye looking over your face, a lazy smirk playing over his lips. The question made you laugh because it didn’t sound the least bit romantic or intimate, but at the same time, neither of you were aiming for that. Except you weren’t going to miss a chance to pick on him. “What?”

“You sure know how to romance a…oooh.” The words were lost when he shifted his hips back so that he could slip a hand between your legs, slender fingertips slipping between your folds and found your clit with practiced ease. “Fuck… Wonwoo…”

“If you want me to be romantic…” His voice was soft, his touch matched it in movement. Slow, gentle circles around your sensitive bud, teasing and earned whimpers from you. He was doing this on purpose. His lips barely brushed against your as he spoke again. “Then you’re out of luck.” You went to roll your eyes, but instead they rolled back when two fingers pushed into you, a little gasp leaving you while a groan left him. “Always so wet for me. This is why only I can fuck you.”

“Then do it, you dick.” You snapped, though there was no punch behind it, only to earn a chuckle from him. His fingers were going at a slow agonizing pace, like he hadn’t just woken from a deep sleep, and you didn’t just spend all night working. Taking his time like it wasn’t early hours in the morning.

“You’re demanding.”

“But you love me and will listen anyways.” And he did listen, withdrawing his fingers so he could line himself up; the thick tip barely pressed into you making you groan in a mix of frustration and anticipation. He may have listened, but he sure as hell was going to torture you a bit and pulled back when you would try to roll your hips. “Wonwoo!”

He did this to you a few more times before finally sinking into you, earning a moan of pleasure and relief as he took a quick inhale of breath. Your inner walls squeezed and molding to him in such a delicious way that he had to clear his head or he was going to cum right then.

“Fuck baby…” He groaned, stilling after he filled you completely, his forehead pressed against yours and both eyes squeezed shut this time. Your own body was shaking, relishing in the feel of him on top of you and inside you, fitting together like missing pieces.

When he finally started to move, Wonwoo created a tantalizing pace with his thrusts, making sure not only you felt every inch of his length but for his own enjoyment as well. He wasn’t in a rush, but neither of you were going to last long.

“I love you.” You moaned out, clinging to him in need to feel him over every inch of your skin. You needed to feel the weight of him on you, to be grounded, to know he’s still real, that you were still alive. Wonwoo’s mouth was hot on your collarbone, one hand holding onto your hip using his strength to keep you where he wanted you while the other massaged one of your breasts, leaving marks where it would be hard to hide.

“I love you too, fuck. I love you so fucking much,” His words came out labored, the deep vibrations of his voice sending waves over you with his words, his thrusts started to get sloppy quickly. Too lost in the feeling of you and exhaustion that still clung to him.

He was getting close to his release; except he refused to let go first. He had to make you come undone around him before he could. Wonwoo was a lot of things in life, but he was never a selfish lover; at least he never was one with you.

The hand that was massaging the fatty flesh of your breast slipped between you to give you a bit of help to get to your release. He smirked against your skin, gently pressing his lips to a fresh mark, when you let out a small cry when he started to tease your clit. Your nails raked down his back and left red scratch marks down his back.

You weren’t sure if you were just sensitive from the hot shower, and exhaustion but the mixture of his cock plunging into your warmth and his quick finger movements was just enough to push you over the edge. Your body shaking as your release washed over you, any moans and gasps leaving you were now swallowed up by Wonwoo. His mouth was hot against your lips, tongue eagerly licking the inside of your mouth; his moans turning into soft whines.

You were already snug around him, but when you came it was like you were squeezing the life from him. Wonwoo tried to hold out a little longer, until your hands moved down his body to grab his ass, pushing his hips into you to grind and that was it for him. Letting himself go inside you, filling you until he couldn’t give any more.

Neither of you moved for a moment, his kiss now slowing to a gentle make out and a hand cupping your cheek. The room dim and quiet, letting you both forget that there was a dark world out the confides of your little apartment. When that moment passed, Wonwoo pulled himself out with a sensitive wince and rolled himself off you with a groan.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He muttered, now on his back and pulling you to his side. Giving you enough time to move so you were facing him before you were pressed against his slick skin.

“You’re the one who started it.” You mumbled, still attempting to catch your breath as your eyes closed. Your body is completely relaxed, and exhaustion had finally taken you under.

Barely awake, you said in a sleepy tone, “We need to clean up.”

“No we don’t.” Wonwoo grumbled, sleep taking back over him, turning his head to press a kiss to your hairline. “We need to sleep.”

The excessive knocking started to turn into pounding and finally ripped you from your deep sleep. An annoyed groan left your lips as you rolled onto Wonwoo’s side of the bed, empty and feeling cool against your skin. Showing he had been up and gone for a while.

“Fuck off…” You mumbled, but whoever was at your door was persistent, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer. Getting up, you stumbled through the room to find clothes since you weren’t going to answer naked. Luckily, you found a pair of shorts and a shirt of Wonwoo’s, and whoever it was now full on pounding at the door. Causing you to exhaustedly yell, “Fucking stop it! I’m coming!”

Padding through the small apartment, you were tempted to grab a knife from the kitchen once you realized who it was. Especially when the pounding turned into some kind of beat since this asshole thought he was clever.

Ripping the door open, you were met with the bane of your existence leaning against the door frame; acting like he didn’t just use your door as his personal beat box. His attention on his cybernetic hand that he currently had out as a claw. To the Shadow District, he was Hoshi, but to you and a small group of people, he was Kwon Soonyoung. Your best friend by force more times than choice at this point.

“Finally. Thought I was going to have to claw this door down.” He mused, turning his sharp eyes on you with his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek.

“And if I don’t kill you for it, Wonwoo definitely will.” You snapped, turning from open door to walk to the kitchen. Pushing off the frame, Soonyoung grabbed a plastic bag that was resting at his feet before sauntering into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon.” He pointed out, and you shot him a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I worked late last night, you idiot.” You grumbled, and this made him chuckle, retracting his tiger claws so it was normal metal hand. “What are you doing here anyways? Besides pissing me off while the sun is still out.”

“Was able to get my hands one some fresh fruits, like fresh from a farm type. Wanted to share them with one of my bestest friends.” Soonyoung watched as you froze, turning toward him slowly with interest. Your eyes dropped to the plastic bag in his hand filled with strawberries, oranges, and peaches dangling from his normal hand, only for you to look back up at his face. Seeing right through him, and from the look on his face, he knew it too. “Aaaannnddd maybe some credits.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You no longer felt sleepy or even tired anymore, instead you felt a rush of anger through you. You knew that he was using the fruit to attempt to butter you up. “Why didn’t you use the credits you used on the fruit?”

“Didn’t pay for these. I actually called in a favor from a friend. Figured bring an offering to sweeten the passing of credits.”

You groaned in frustration as you snatched the bag from him. He didn’t put up a fight, instead diverting toward the sofa while you moved to the small kitchen to clean and have some of the fruit for breakfast. Frustrated that he’d known you would take the fruit, but he didn’t know you weren’t going to give him a single credit.

“Go away, Soonyoung. Come back around when you’re not wanting something from us.” You told him, waving your hand dismissively in the air. “I told you before, I am not supporting your addiction anymore. Me and Wonwoo are barely making ends meet as it is.”

The blond tsked before he said your name in a slow and condescending tone, one that made your stomach turn uncomfortably, his sharp eyes looking in your direction. Taking in that your hair was still sleep ridden, Wonwoo’s shirt was actually inside out, and your shorts peeking from under just enough to show you rushed to get dressed. Analyzing you and your blatant lie.

“See… you and I both know that is a lie.” He went to say more, but Doodle had distracted him by jumping onto the sofa, meowing, knowing perfectly well that Soonyoung would give her the attention that she was ‘desperate’ for. Reaching out to pet the feline, he finally continued. “If I’m not mistaken, but isn’t your mother still sending you your monthly allowance? With an extra two thousand credits to convince you to leave Wonwoo and come home.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You huffed out, knowing that the only reason your friend was bringing that up was because he was fiending; needing another hit to numb himself like everyone else in this city.

Tears started to sting your eyes, because you hated this side of him. The Soonyoung you once knew wouldn’t do this to you, he would never resort to blackmail, but the fiend version of him would and does with no remorse.

“Oh, we both know you do.” He responded in a calm voice, a wide smile on Soonyoung’s face as he played with Doodle. “What better way to say, ‘fuck you Mom’ than letting me use the credits to buy drugs and you can continue to live with Wonwoo and he can stay blissfully unaware of that little account.”

“Fuck you, Soonyoung.” There was a silence between you, a tense one with the only sound was Doodle’s little chirps. “Get out.”

“I guess, you’re right.” He leaned forward to peck the top of your cat’s head, with her meeting his lips with a soft headbutt. Standing, Soonyoung adjusted his ridiculously baggy pants and his compression shirt. “Wonwoo should be at the docks, right? Him and Gyu doing some recon by helping unload some freight? Maybe I should pay him a bit of a visit, see how him and that deliciously muscular man are doing.” He started toward the door, stopping as he reached for the handle, “Would be such a shame if I happen to let it slip that you’ve been hiding who you were before coming to the Shadow District… or well… ran away to it. I am pretty sure he wouldn’t like knowing the person he loves and trusts isn’t who he thought she was and is hiding a dark secret.”

“You’re a real piece of fucking work, you know that right?”

“I know, one of a kind. No one else like me. So a thousand credits sound good?” Soonyoung then turned around, crossing his arms and leaned against the door. The triumphant smile that graced his lips made your nose scrunch in disgust.

“Not a chance.” You shook your head and the smirk he was wearing started to twitch. “I can give you fifty credits.”

“Now, that isn’t going to work, but I’ll bump it down.” Soonyoung scratched his chin like he was thinking of a new total, before snapping his fingers. “Seven hundred.”

“No. Fifty credits.”

“Listen, I brought you fresh fruit!” He dropped his arms to his sides and stomped his feet childishly, but you didn’t miss the way his cybernetic fingers started to lengthen in claws. “This shit is hard to get.”

“Hard to get fresh fruit, that you didn’t pay for.” You could see the way his eyes were darkening dangerously, but you couldn’t give him the amount he wanted. You didn’t have it, and that account he referenced was one you refused to touch or even acknowledge. “I can do seventy five right now if you leave my fucking apartment.”

“You know you drive a hard bargain.” That smirk was back, and he took a few steps toward you, flexing the now clawed adorned hand. “I’ll take that seventy five, and then I am going to stroll down to those docks.” He held it up when you went to speak, and you closed your mouth. “Now, if you don’t want that, then I will gladly take two hundred credits now and your secret stays safe with me.”

“You’re an asshole.” You answered in defeat, turning away from him to wipe away a stray tear from your cheek and went to find your phone to send the credits. You didn’t want him to see you cry, knowing that this Soonyoung wouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for it, nor did you want to see the way he bounced excitedly. “Don’t come back around after this, because I’m not giving you another fucking thing. Just take the credits and leave me alone.”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t believe you when you said this, he never did. Hell, you didn’t even believe the words that came out of your mouth. “You and I both know that you can’t live without your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.” You told him, your stomach sick as you sent the credits through the thin device. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes to push back any more tears and attempted to calm yourself before you threw a knife at his head. With a slow breath out, you turned to look at the stranger where Soonyoung once stood. “My best friend died the moment he got hooked on that shit. You’re just the scum that came out of the ashes.”

“Ah, haven’t been referred to as a Phoenix before. I think I prefer tigers still.” He was able to hear the hurt in your voice, he was able to see the pain in your eyes, but he didn’t care. He was too excited that he was able to get high on your credits. “Pleasure doing business with you. Let me know how Wonwoo likes the strawberries. Made sure to grab those for him.”

“Just leave.” You looked away from him, your words felt more like a plea then a demand, one that he actually listened to. But only cause he had what he wanted.

You heard the door open, and his heavy boots walk through the threshold, but you didn’t hear the door close.

“Oh, I forgot to mention.” He spoke slowly, his voice still smug, but there was something softer to it. Like for a moment, your best friend was trying to push past the fiend. “Seokmin saw notices on Holiday. Eviction notices.” Your back stiffened at those words, that sick feeling in your stomach turned into acid in your throat, but you didn’t look back at him. Holiday was a street right before the Shadow District. “I think you and I both know what that means.”

You knew perfectly well what that meant.

“Guess you can’t run from your mom or Skyfall forever.” And with that, Soonyoung closed the door behind him. Leaving you to stand there, next to the counter filled with the fruits he brought.

Tainted with blackmail and betrayal, but that was nothing compared to the anger and fear that you were feeling by his parting words. You felt like you were thrown off kilter, your body no longer felt like yours but the intense emotions that coursed through you.

After all these years that you lied to yourself that the Shadow District wouldn’t be touched by the filthy hands of those rich bastards. Convincing yourself that the home you found here with Wonwoo, with your friends, didn’t always have a looming threat at your door. That you could go a lifetime without seeing her.

It had been years since you ran, but it was still not enough time. It was never enough time to stay away.

The frustrated scream that left you didn’t sound like you, it was raw and from somewhere deep inside you, as you angrily swiped the fruit off the counter and onto the ground. Forgetting that you had pulled out a knife to cut them up and sliced your hand.

“Fuck!” You grasped your wrist, blood starting to come out of the cut, more tears breaking through. Sinking to the ground, you let out a wail as your cried. You were in pain, you were hurting deeper than pain, you were scared.

You were naïve to think that anywhere was safe. Safe from her, safe from Skyfall Industries, safe from the suffocating feeling of greed that came to be a constant in this greedy city.

You lied to Wonwoo when he came home that day, told him that you cut yourself slicing up the fruit Soonyoung had dropped off. Worked it in a way that you wanted him to believe that you had bought them from him, refused to say what happened during your former best friend’s visit, but adamant that the cut happened after he left.

You tried not to look at him when his left eye lens flickered as he scanned your body but failed. Allowing him to read your vitals, take any changes in them, but he didn’t question you further despite of what he’d seen. He didn’t even need to scan you though, unable to hide your distress. That something had happened with Soonyoung, and something deadly started to stir.

He could’ve easily leave, find Soonyoung and put a knife to his throat for upsetting you, for making you feel like you needed to lie to him, but he didn’t. Wonwoo was the quick tempered type, and he had no problem punching or stabbing someone instead of talking it out or walk away, especially when it came to you. But Wonwoo also knew that there was some things that he couldn’t resolve with violence.

Soonyoung, unfortunately, was one of those some things. You were too protective over him, no matter how much the fiend hurt you, but he knew that there was more to it. And whatever that fiend had over you, it kept you from cutting him off. It kept you from telling him.

“Earth to Wonwoo,” Vernon spoke up, pulling the older man from his thoughts and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. The younger man was sitting on a filing cabinet that was in the corner of Jihoon’s office, one arm resting on his knee while his head leaned back against the wall. “I know it sucks down here, but we are talking business.”

“Sorry.” Wonwoo answered with a sigh, his eyes moved toward the other two men in the room. Jihoon was sitting at his desk chair, his attention on the tablet in his hands and not on the rest on the room. Mingyu was leaning against the wall next to the door, and his attention on his best friend, sensing something was up the moment he saw him. “What was the question again?”

“What did you see in the boxes from the dock yesterday?” Jihoon repeated, and a scoff left Vernon when he did. “Mingyu said you saw something in some of the boxes.”

“It wasn’t what I saw, it was what I didn’t see.” Wonwoo could hear Mingyu murmuring an apology for getting it wrong and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. This made Jihoon finally look at him. “That and where they were going.”

“What you mean you couldn’t see?” It was Vernon who spoke, another scoff leaving him as he looked for a pack of cigarettes in the pockets of his jumpsuit, not caring that he received a dark look. “Thought that hacked ass eye of yours could see through shit. You know through thermal scans or some shit.”

“I am not above putting a knife through your own fucking eye. Make you just like me.” Wonwoo warned, which only earned another cocky laugh. The cybernetic-free punk ass knew that he wasn’t joking or bluffing, but they just didn’t give a shit, making his hand twitch toward the knife that he kept hidden away.

“Just get to it.” Jihoon snapped, shooting his own dark look toward both of them. “Why couldn’t you see?”

“Most the boxes, easy to scan and act like I am verifying cargo, but there was about three or four large ones. Couldn’t get a reading at all.” Adjusting in his seat, Wonwoo continued to speak. “Boxes came up empty, but they were definitely not.”

“Took ten of us just to move one onto the truck.” Mingyu grumbled, sounding annoyed that he had to be reminded of the labor he had to do. “No way we were going to be able to move those with the forklift.”

“Well, where are they taking them?” Vernon asked, while Jihoon looked between the two men before them.

“The Factory.” Mingyu answered. The Factory was a warehouse on the dock, typically a storage unit for parts until they are shipped to facilities to build or specialize in installing them on people.  

“Why is that so weird? Everything goes there.” Jihoon sat the tablet down onto his desk to stand, a low grimace sketched over his face, his hand reaching down to massage his leg only to be met with metal. The rest of the group watched in silence as Jihoon schooled his expression and cautiously took steps away from his desk.

“That’s their first stop. The next stop is an address on Holiday. Skyfall Cybernetics Shop, but the address is a set of apartments right now.” This brought an uncomfortable silence over them, one that even Vernon was part of. This was too close to home, and none of them wanted to actually say what it could mean. After a heartbeat of silence, Wonwoo was the one to say it, “This is becoming more than stealing parts.”

“You’re right.” Jihoon nodded, not looking toward anyone as he tried to pace but only manage an awkward limp. Without thinking, Wonwoo’s left eye flickered behind his glasses, scanning his friend and boss to analyze him. Checked for anything different in his vitals.

Jihoon may have been good at keeping himself levelheaded in front of his crew, he never liked showing his worry nor when he was in pain, but he couldn’t hide it away from Wonwoo. And it wasn’t like it was something he typically did, he wouldn’t just scan his friends unless he felt like he needed to, but something told him to do it, and he was right to. Not only was his friend in pain, but he could tell by the increased vitals that there was more than that.

This was more than a simple heist job, this was more than stealing a few parts for a few thousand credits to split. They could easily still go on with the job, focus on the parts on the list and ignore the large boxes since they weren’t what they were looking for. But if Skyfall Industries took the steps to make it where not even scanners could penetrate the boxes, then that possibly meant more security so their usual ways weren’t going to cut it.

It caused the unspoken question hang heavy among the four of them. Was taking this job a good idea after all?

A familiar rhythmic knock broke through the silence that had followed Jihoon’s words, causing the four of them to look toward the opening door. It was Soonyoung, practically skipping into the room with wide eyes, pupils completely blown out, and his skin had a glow to it. His blond hair spiked up, and it was a surprise that the corner of his lips weren’t splitting from the size of his shit eating grin he wore.

The fucking fiend was on a high, and it was obvious to the rest of the people in the room. No scan was needed for this.

“Why hello there gentlemen. Lovely day isn’t it?” He said with a chirpy voice, shooting a smug look toward Wonwoo as he went to close the door. Like he was rubbing something into his face without saying what it was, and that deadly feeling started to stir inside again.

His thoughts went back to when he had come home to you, your hand wrapped in gauze and a few droplets of blood that you missed on the floor. He thought back to how you wouldn’t look at him when you told him that you did it while cutting fruit, the fruit that you ‘bought’ off Soonyoung, and the way your voice was raspy but still full of tears. You made him promise to not go and off the fiend, that he had nothing to do with your hand or your state.

And Wonwoo tried to keep his promise to you, even though he didn’t believe you, because you were so protective over Soonyoung. But that smug look on that mother fucker’s face, while your teary and sad look was burned into his brain, snapped something in him. He was out of his seat before he could stop himself.

A hiss of pain left Soonyoung when Wonwoo slammed him against the door, the doorknob jabbing into his back while a knife was pressed to his throat. Pinning him to the office door and made the three other men yell in surprise.

“You got some fucking nerve showing your face around me right now.” Wonwoo hissed, pressing his sharp knife to Soonyoung’s jugular, more than willing to slice his neck open. “Not after how you left my girl yesterday.”

“Oh that…” Soonyoung sighed dramatically, his cybernetic hand resting on Wonwoo’s arm with the tips of the metal fingers lengthened to sharp claws. A warning from the fiend, but Wonwoo didn’t care. He was seeing so much red that it triggered his fake eye to turn the bright color behind his glasses, and Soonyoung’s smug look turned sadistic. Wonwoo wanted to end him right then and there, ready to watch him bleed out on Jihoon’s office floor. “You’re being so dramatic, all I did was sell her some fruit.”

“You drugged up mother fucker.” The words came out like venom which switched something in Soonyoung, because his blown out eyes flashed and the claws of his hand started to rip the sleeves of his coat. His unserious warning now turning deadly in its own right. Either of them could kill the other right then and there easily.

Neither man would do it though. Wonwoo wouldn’t because he would lose you for good if he did, while there was still shards of the old Soonyoung inside the fiend somewhere that stopped him. Except it didn’t stop them from wanting to, and that was enough to have the other men on them quickly.

Mingyu’s tight grip on Soonyoung’s metal wrist, attempting to loosen his hold on him while Vernon and Jihoon attempted to pull Wonwoo away. Especially the hand that held the knife to the fiend’s throat.

“Let go of him.” Jihoon commanded, while the three men struggled to pull them apart. “Do you think she would be happy with you if you killed him?”

“Yeah, Wonwoo baby.” That smug look was back, but this time there was something sinister and wild to it. He was getting off on this, and it only made Wonwoo’s grip tighten on his knife. “Be a good boy and listen to Jihoonie. Don’t want your princess unhappy with you, do you?”

“Soonyoung shut up, or we will let him kill you and help him lie about what happened to you.” Jihoon scowled, then leaned closer toward Wonwoo. His voice softer in hopes that will help defuse the situation. “Come on, he’s trying to get you to do something stupid. He’s not worth it.”

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu also tried to reason with him, his dark eyes on the older man and were filled with concern.

After a moment, Wonwoo finally pulled the knife away and stepping back while Soonyoung released his grip. The metal claws retracting back to fingers, while his human hand went to his neck to run over the skin where the knife was pressed into him, checking to see if blood was drawn. Only to be disappointed to find that Wonwoo didn’t leave any nicks on him, unable to find a reason to villainize him.

“You should thank her.” Wonwoo told the fiend flatly, more distance created as the two youngest of the group stepped between them. Vernon’s eyes on Soonyoung and Mingyu’s on Wonwoo, both wearing unsure looks on their faces. Neither trusted the fiend or Wonwoo to go back after each other. “If it wasn’t for her, I would have killed you long ago.”

“How generous of you.” Soonyoung was dry with his words, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. The claws were completely put away, but his sharp eyes were still wild and shining with dare. Daring Wonwoo to come at him again.

“Enough.” Jihoon demanded, a hiss of pain followed when he took unsteady steps back from the situation. With a hand planted on the desk, the shorter man shifted on his feet to take pressure of his cybernetic leg. “What are you doing here, Soonyoung? We’re not interested in your bullshit today.”

“Jihoonie. My baby, the love of my life, the sparkle to my eye…”

“I am none of those things to you.” Jihoon sneered while Soonyoung clutched his chest as he changed the sweet talk to hurt.

“…You wound my heart. You wound my soul.” Soonyoung let out an over exaggerated wail, and the rest of the men in the room rolled their eyes. When he wasn’t going to get any other reaction out of them, Soonyoung just sighed and crossed his arms. “I came by just to see my favorite boytoy…”

“Not your boytoy.”

“…But I couldn’t help but overhear when opening the door that you guys were talking about Holiday.” The way the fiend’s lip twitched into a smirk, and it was clear that he found a way to take advantage for his own gain. “I think I may have some information that may benefit you.”

“I’m not paying you shit for whatever you have.” Jihoon saw right through him, just like the rest did. Wonwoo found his place back in his chair, more slouched as he glared at the fiend while the two younger went back to their places in the office. Though Mingyu was standing closer toward Soonyoung, ready to grab him if needed. “I don’t have some promise to not kill you going, so you can either tell me, or I’ll shoot you in the shin.”

“That’s one way to get me on my knees for you baby, but for a few credits, I’ll do it without the bullet.” He went to take a step further into the office, but with a sharp nod from Jihoon, he was stopped by Mingyu. Keeping him by the door and acted as the line in the sand.

“Just get with it.” It was Vernon who spoke, perched back on the filing cabinet, and sounding just as fed up the rest of them. “You’re not going to extort us like you do others. With us, aside from wiped boy over here,” He smirked when he earned a dirty look and a finger from Wonwoo, “you’ll either tell us, you keep your mouth shut, or the next parts you get will not be cosmetic.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.” Soonyoung scoffed, crossing his arms and rolled his eyes. “Fine…I’ll tell you…”

Growing up, you’d always heard about the Shadow District from the people around you. To the adults in your life, it was seen as a cesspool of filth and crime. They viewed the people who resided there as criminals and low life individuals with no hope or place in their future society. The area was supposedly so bad that not even your mother or the rest of the elites at Skyfall wanted to set foot in or even want to touch.

They viewed it as a lost cause and ordered others around your age to stay away.

To your peers, they had shared the same view as the adults, that only criminals and low lives lived there but that didn’t stop many of them from venturing over. Mostly to buy the drugs that were offer, addicting and fun party favors to take to the parties they would throw in their empty penthouse apartments, try to sneak into the roughest bars and clubs, or whatever else teens did to cause problems. They saw going into the district as a challenge, when really all it was were cries of attention that their parents would never give.

To Soonyoung, the boy whose mom raised you more than your own mother did, it was home. He was the only person you knew that would talk about the Shadow District in a positive light, making sure you knew that was still beauty beyond the stories that others would tell you. That deep past the crime and poverty, it had a community stronger than anywhere else in the city.

People weren’t fake as the ones in West Hills Parkway where you grew up, or any other rich area in Huimang. Good but guarded people, even if many lost their way in their fight to survive because of the elites running the rest of the city. They were all more than just stolen cybernetics, drugs that would numb them enough to live another day or had to break laws to make ends meet.

He would always talk about taking you there, so he could show you that beauty behind the ugly. Even joking that he was sure you would find a sense of belonging there instead of the world you grew up in and was expected to assimilate to what everyone else expected you to be.

Because in the Shadow District, no one expected you to behave a certain way, no one expected you to be perfect there. No one cared enough, because they all had their own shit to worry about. There you could be anyone you wanted, disappear and become a completely different person than who you were. It was a reality you dreamt to be in, no matter how dark it was, and at one point those jokes stopped being just jokes.

So, the first time Soonyoung took you there, you had finally ran away from your old life and a version of you that wasn’t real. You ran away from the expectations that were laid before you, the evils that were behind the closed doors of Skyfall, left behind a last name that never felt was yours, and changing yourself to someone different.

You became someone else, just another soul trying to survive like everyone else around you.

It hadn’t been easy by any means. You weren’t proud of some of the things that you did along the way, having to adapt and change to survive, but you were happier. Eventually you met Wonwoo, someone who wasn’t meant to be anything more than a dick to ride and a bed to sleep in for the night and fell in love. It was still hard, but together you made it work with him giving you love and shelter while you returned that love and made that shelter a place you both could call home.

You lost a lot over the years for your choices, family and friends, but you also gained just as many. You were free to be who you were and free from your mother’s control, her demands. You were struggling, but you were happy.

But that all came crashing down after Soonyoung’s recent visit, pulling out that flicker of fear you hid away by everything else. The fear that Skyfall would decide that the Shadow District and its real estate was worth their attention. Now, you had to face the reality.

The reality that your past is catching up to you, the reality that Wonwoo will learn of the who you used to be and ran from. Find out that you’ve lied to him for so long. It distracted you, it clouded your thoughts, made you keep looking over your shoulder as you walked to work and was late. The night didn’t get any better either.

Chan snapped his fingers to bring you out of your thoughts, bringing back to Cherries’ busy bar and the full tray of drinks waiting for one of your tables. He raised his brow to you, silently questioning where your head was that night, and all you could do was force a smile at him. It was meant to be your way of telling him you were fine, but your lips felt tight over your teeth. You could only hope that he bought it or didn’t care enough to believe it.

The only response you got from Chan was a shrug, moving away from you to tend to the other customers and servers waiting for their drinks. You picked up the full tray of drinks and carefully balanced them as you made your way through the crowded club. Easily maneuvering through the groups of people standing together, too focused on not bumping into anyone and get to the table with their order, so you weren’t paying attention to the faces of the people around you.

So when a hand reached out and caught you by the hip, it startled you and nearly caused you to drop the tray. Rebalancing yourself, you twisted your head where the hand that held onto you came from, a frown playing over your features. The owner was a smug business type at one of the booths, sleek expensive clothes, hair styled back that people like to see as ‘professional’, and the cybernetics weren’t for because he needed it. They purely for aesthetic and status purposes.

Especially with the type of metal that was used, the highest of qualities that was buffed to shine. It would have looked nice with the flashing lights hitting it, had it been on anyone else and they didn’t touch you like you were a toy to grab. With a jerk of your hips, you pulled yourself away from his touch as a sickening feeling crept up you from where his hand was. Like you just touched poison.

“I will be right back with you.” You yelled over the music, taking a step away from the table to your destination when they spoke your name. You froze on the spot.

It wasn’t because he called you by your first name, most of the patrons here knew it. It was the last name. Your old last name. Your mother’s last name.

“It’s you isn’t it?” He had stood from his seat, you felt him take a step toward you and reach for you again.

“No.” You responded, shooting him a dirty look and pushed forward through the crowd. Blood rushed through your ears, not liking that he still had that smug look on his face, a mixture of anger and panic coursing through you.

You don’t recognize him, it had been so long since you’d seen anyone from your past that they all became nothing but blur of faces and metals, so you couldn’t think of his name or what family he was from. Except he recognized you. You were cybernetic free and looked nearly the same as you did when you ran, just older, more mature, and signs of you learning to survive. He recognized you and called you out by your old name.

As you got closer to the table you were serving, you decided that you were going to circle back to the bar from the other side of the club and get one of the other girls to help him and his table. Maybe even avoid this side for the rest of the night.

It all happened quickly after that. You were so lost in your plans that you missed a girl taking a step back, and you collided right into her. The tray full of drinks flew through the air, splashing the people sitting at the table and everyone standing around them while you landed on the ground with a thud.

The girl who had tripped you was quick to help you up, apologizing to you as you apologized profusely to the people at the table. Your hands moved quickly to grab all the spilled glasses and rush to the bar to get towels from Chan; who was already had a stack of small of them on the bar to help clean up. His expression unreadable, with a new set of glasses already out so he could remake their drinks.

You cleaned up the mess the best you could and was able to get the new drinks to them, while Seungkwan, your manager, tried to placate one of the girls in the group. She was the only one who didn’t get hit with alcohol, but she made a fuss and complained to him about you. Not giving a single damn if she was being truthful or that you were still standing there.

“Go get some air,” Seungkwan spoke to you at one point, cutting off the girl to do so and she looked like she was ready to explode. “I will talk to you when I am done here.”

With a solemn nod, you turned to head to the back of the club. With a glance toward the bar, you saw Chan give you a sympathetic look but was quick to return back to his job, so he wasn’t joining you in getting yelled at. You couldn’t blame him for that, because you didn’t want to be in this position either.

The back of the club was a private alley, one that was fenced off by Cherries’ owner Seungcheol so that not only was there no issues with inventory deliveries, but so his staff had somewhere to hide away. It stopped them from being harassed when they would go smoke or be able to take a breather away from a busy night. It was the only club in the area that did this, and you were grateful that you worked there and not anywhere else.

The cool night air felt like a relief to your hot and sweat covered skin, instantly relaxing you as you breathed in the smell of rain and a permanent smell of oil. It grounded you, giving you the chance to center yourself and remind yourself that you were better than this.

The sound of the back door opening caused you to twist around as Seungkwan walked out with a cigarette in his hand. Leaning against the wall, he took his time lighting the wrapped tobacco and let the heavy door shut before speaking.

“You going to tell me what happened in there?” He asked, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air before his tongue pressed against his cheek, and the brief respite you had was taken away. “I had to comp two rounds of drinks just now, and not to mention, Chan has been saying you been acting strange all night.” He took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowed. “Are you on something?”

“What? No, of course not.” You answered tensely, not liking that he accused you of that. “I just have a lot on my mind. I wasn’t paying attention as well as I should have.” Looking down at your hands, purposely leaving out your encounter with the nameless guy. No one here knew you by that name, and you couldn’t afford it getting out. “I’m sorry. I will do better.”

There was a beat of silence, and you cast your gaze nervously up toward Seungkwan, only to see his eyes were on his cigarette and not you, his expression hard to read. Which made your stomach churn uncomfortably since your manager was an expressive man, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He made sure that he said what was on his mind, even if it got him in trouble or hurt someone’s feelings.

“Listen…” He finally spoke as he blew out another cloud of smoke then licked his lips. “The first rule at Cherries is plain and simple, whatever shit you have going on in your life is left at the door. You’re here to work, not fucking worry about shit that has nothing to do with this place.”

“I know, Kwan. I am…”

“Sorry. Yeah, I know. You guys always are.” A scoff left him as he said this, taking a final drag of his cigarette then dropped it into a small rain puddle next to him. “You’re paying for all the drinks I had to comp tonight, Chan's tallying it all up now and will be taking it from your tips and earnings tonight.”

Hearing these words made you feel sick, that churning turned sour and felt like bile was already creeping up. After Soonyoung’s blackmail, you couldn’t have this happen since those credits you just lost was needed to recover that loss and for rent. You couldn’t afford to lose another credit, not when you weren’t sure what the payoff was for the job Jihoon had Wonwoo doing.

And you refused to touch that account your mother had for you.

“Understood.” You told him after a long moment of silence on your part, forced to accept this fate of yours. There was no point in arguing with Seungkwan without giving too much away, without giving yourself away. You were in a lose/lose situation here.

“I know that it seems unfair, but you got lucky here since we have fired others for less.” Seungkwan went to grab the door handle to go back inside, before stopping and looking at you with a resigned expression. “Guess is pays that Cheol has a soft spot for Wonwoo, or you wouldn’t just be paying for those drinks, you’d be looking for another job. Take a few minutes to get your head right and then get back in here. We need you tonight, or I would’ve sent your ass home.”

With that, he disappeared through the large metal door. His words echoed through your brain, the contempt he had when he mentioned your boyfriend’s name and his pull with the Cherries’ owner. And by proxy you as well.

You took that few minutes before returning to your job and managed to finish the night with no further mistakes, but you were not able to push your thoughts away. After what happened that night, that nameless guy who knew you by your old name, and Skyfall Industries finally deciding that the Shadow District was worthy for their development, you couldn’t ignore the crushing realization that the two worlds you knew were colliding.

It was early in the morning when you got home and was surprised to see Wonwoo already up and in the kitchen making coffee. With his hair sticking up in different directions, one eye barely open while the other stayed shut, his face still had the indents of his pillow, and sleep still heavy on him. He wasn't in anything more than a pair of dark grey boxers, giving you a perfect view of the rest of his body.

A lean muscular frame with naturally broad shoulders, long legs, and strong arms that was normally hidden away by dark heavy clothes due to the scars that littered on different places on his body. Old wounds from fights he got into over the years, from the accident that caused him to lose his left eye, and from other stupid shit he did. You were seeing one of the barest version of him, a version that only you see, and it was your favorite.

When he looked at you, it made your heart squeeze when a sleepy smile broke across his lips, and a hand reach out to you. One that you reached for without hesitation, your body moving without needing to think too much about it, just ready to be in his presence.

"Hey baby." His voice was rough, his fingers interlocking with yours to pull you into him, before his lips found the top of your head. Pressing them against your hair, before breathing you in. "You smell good."

"I smell gross." You giggle softly, tilting your head so that his lips could find yours. The soft press of his lips helped loosen some of the tension that was clinging to you, but not enough to help you forget. You still had to tell him about that you lose money instead of bringing any home.

"I don't think so." He shook his head, before pressed another kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, his brows then furrowed when he saw your face. "What's wrong? Did something happen at work?"

"Just had a shitty night. Spilled a tray of alcohol all over a table full of people, and Seungkwan was not happy because he had to comp two rounds of drinks." You answered with a small voice and attempted to turn away from him but one of his hands grasped your face to stop you. It hurt to see that smile gone, and concern shine through his eye. "I ended up having to pay for the drinks that we lost today and was told I am lucky that I wasn’t fired." You let out a shaky sigh, "We needed those credits."

You earned silence from your boyfriend, the frown deepened and his eye stayed on you. The sleep that was still clinging to him when you walked in gone, with only the physical signs left. The arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist had tightened, pressing you more against his near bare frame, while the hand on your face held you there. His expression was dark, and it made you slightly nervous.

"I'm sorry…" Your voice sounded small, and this earned a dark laugh from Wonwoo, his thumb brushing against your cheek affectionately. "I'll talk to Seungcheol when he's in next and see if I can get an extra shift to make up for what I lost today."

"Don't worry about it. Shit happens." Wonwoo shook his head, though his expression didn’t changed and his tone was sharper. You knew that he was pissed with you, it wasn't hard to read him when he was like this, but he was holding himself back.

A fight wasn’t something either of you needed, and it left a heavy tension between you both. You avoided his gaze that was searching your face, threatening to pull your secrets that now lingered under the surface than buried deep without the help of his eye. With one look, he would know everything you hid from him, and you would lose everything. You couldn’t have that.

“I love you.” You finally said after a long beat of silence, your fingers brushing against the back of the hand that held your face as you pressed yourself against him. Your eyes flicked up toward his, wanting to be sure that he saw the tip of your tongue run over your bottom lip before you leaned forward to kiss the curve of his collarbone.

“I love you too, but what’s going on? You haven’t—fuck.” A soft groan left him when your mouth moved to his neck, kissing the kiss as your free hand moved down between you. Your hand slid over the fabric of his underwear, cupping his hardened cock through the thin material.

You weren't proud of what you were doing, but it was the only way to distract him. You weren't ready for it all to come out. You weren't ready for him to walk away and hate you.

"Everything is fine, don’t worry." You lied, grateful that he didn't have his left eye in, or he would’ve seen right through you, and used it to your advantage, pulling from his hold to move your mouth over his chest. You earned a moan from him when your teeth grazed his skin, massaging the twitching bulge with your hand, and gave the thick member a gentle squeeze.

"Don't… ah… think I don't know what you're doing." Wonwoo managed to get out with effort, his right eye watching as you slipped down onto your knees. Not caring that you were still in the deep red dress that you had worn that night for work, because you were on a mission. You left a reminder of yourself on his hip, fingers hooking the band of his underwear to pull down. Freeing his cock from its confides.

You chose to not respond, your thighs pressed together at the sight of him, so easily ready for you. His fingers brushed against your hairline, and you looked up to him while your own wrapped around his length, catching the way his face contorted in pleasure when you tentatively stroked him. Mouth slightly opened, with breathy moans escaped while he tried to keep his one eye open to take in the way you looked for him.

Wonwoo went to speak you name in a stern voice, but it was lost when your mouth brushed the tip of his cock before planting an open mouth kiss on it. Pulling back, you gathered some spit in your mouth to dribble it onto his length, coating it with your hand so it easier to stroke what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

The hand that had been brushing your hairline now was going to grip at your hair when you finally took him between your lips, taking nearly half of him in one go and ignored the need to gag when it hit the back of your throat. Wonwoo's head dropped back, no longer concerned over anything exchanged between the two of you, already lost in you. Too lost in the wet heat of your mouth and your tongue pressed against his underneath.

Your hand moved in sync of your mouth, at a pace that he liked, and took him as far down your throat as you could go. It left your boyfriend a mess before you, his grip on your hair tightened but wouldn't take control. The sight of him from this angle made you clench around nothing, your already wet underwear stick to your cunt uncomfortably. To relief the feeling, you slipped a free hand between your thighs.

The feeling of your touch over the covered heat caused you do a quick inhale through your nose that was followed by a whimper. The sound made Wonwoo's head to snap forward, prying open his eye to take in the sight of you. Your mouth stretched over his cock, lips red, and eyes glossed over. Your red dress pushed up your hips and giving him view of one of your hands between your legs, touching yourself while you pleasured him.

The sight made him twitch in your mouth, and found himself quickly near the edge, but Wonwoo was a greedy man. He wanted his as well as yours and watching as you touched yourself as you worked to give him his own was not enough. He needed to feel it himself, he felt like a fiend needing their fix.

With a firm tug of your hair, Wonwoo pulled you off his cock, a groan left his lips when he saw a string of spit trail from your mouth to his cock.

"Get up." He commanded, releasing your hair to help you stand. His own hands rough as he moved you how he wanted you, and you let him. Loving the way he would handle you and took control.

The smell of coffee and sex filled the small apartment as you rested your arms onto the kitchen counter while Wonwoo took his place behind you. He pushed the dress up so that it was now at your waist, and your ruined underwear pulled down. The cook air of the apartment had sent shivers through you when it meat your wet head, leaving you to be the one whimpering.

"Wonwoo…" You weren't sure what you were going to say after this, his name felt right on your tongue in that moment. Especially when you felt the thick head of his cock tease your wet slit, catching your opening just right and you attempted to push your hips back. "Please."

"You know, I have to leave soon…" The words were slightly muffled, Wonwoo's mouth pressed against your shoulder. He continued to tease you, knowing that it would make you lose your mind. "I am supposed to meet Vernon out on the dock today." You found it funny that he said this while he took his time, wording it like it's your fault. It was, but you only intended to suck him off. "Good thing that fucking prick is always late."

You went to respond, only for your mouth to drop when he sunk his teeth into your shoulder and filled you completely in one thrust. It made your eyes roll, the stretch was enough to numb your own mind of everything that was playing in it. This may have started to distract him, but the way he filled you and the way his body enveloped you, maybe you needed this yourself.

Wonwoo didn't stay still too long, pulling back until he was only half out, before snapping his hips forward. The force of the thrust jerked you into the counter, causing your grip to tighten on the counter’s edge to steady yourself. A soft cry left you as you attempted to meet his thrusts but his grip on your hips stopped you. It left you to take what he gave you.

His breath hot against your shoulder as he fucked you in the middle of your shared kitchen, each thrust felt rougher than the last. Filling the apartment with the sounds of skin slapping, the moans that left you both, and the slick sounds of his cock plunging into your cunt. Every time you squeezed around him a string of curses left him, loosening his grip on your hips enough to adjust and pulled you to an upright position.

Your back pressed against his chest, while his mouth was on your neck, running his tongue over the sweat that was starting to collect from your activities. His hands roamed your body as one of your own reached back to grab his hair, trying to find an anchor at the new angle of his thrusts. No longer was he the only mess in this, you were too.

"Wonwoo." You whimpered out his name, with tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling your release almost within reach. Slipping a hand between your legs, you started to desperately rubbing your clit to help him push you over.

Your release hit you harder than you expected, your knees nearly buckled and was more than grateful that you were being held up in that moment. Wonwoo's release quickly followed with a low groan in your ear, and kept you anchored against him. Your breathing labored as you came down from your highs.

Dropping your head back against his shoulder, your boyfriend pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Don't worry too much about the money right now," He murmured against your skin, pulling out of you after a few moments and turned you to face him. Skin flushed, sweat falling from his brow, breathing came out in slight pants, as he looked at you with one eye. "This job that Jihoon is having us do will bring in a decent amount of credits each and bring more parts to the district." He smiled softly. "It'll be enough to keep us comfortable for a while, and maybe even enough to get you, me, and Doodle out of the city. Start over somewhere new."

It was something he always said when Jihoon had him do a job, it was a promise that he kept trying to speak into fruition. It would bring you hope every time he would say it, but this time, it only brought back that uncomfortable twist in your stomach.

“I don’t see why we’re still trying to do this job.” Vernon muttered, blowing smoke from his cigarette, and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but at the dock with Wonwoo. The two had been tasked to stake out the Factory and report back to Jihoon, “Look at the fucking place. Covered in guards that look more like cyborgs than human. What the fuck do they have that needs that much security?”

“Whatever was in those boxes.” Wonwoo answered, declining the pack of cigarettes the younger had offered him. He was tempted, but he didn’t want to pull his mask down as his eyes stayed trained on the building. His eye flickered every so often as he took photos of the large warehouse and the guards that patrolled it, while making sure to notes any patterns he caught. “Jihoon wants us to get photos and videos of everything.”

“Better be so that he can demand more credits if they really want us to do this.” Vernon scoffed as a set of cars pulled up to the Factory’s entrance. Sleek vehicles that screamed status and money. “Hazard pay or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

“That and he’s brought the Angel in to help. If these guards are more parts than human, then we’ll need his help and insight on this.”

“We’re definitely fucked if he had to bring that asshole in.” Vernon grumbled as he pulled his beanie further onto his head and Wonwoo let out a huff of a laugh. They watched one of the car doors open so a woman could get out.

She was older, dark red suit, hair perfectly styled, and a heavy aura of power that clung to her like a second skin. It was clear she was someone important as she was greeted by one of the guards, something that he made sure to note. Then she briefly looked in their direction, and Wonwoo felt a sudden familiarity to her.

The woman was then joined by two more men from the other car, all talking with the guard before making their way into the building. Not before Wonwoo’s eye was able to zoom in and get some photos of all of them. Included in them was a good shot of the woman’s face, and it was then he started to realize that she looked like you, but an older version. There was subtle differences, but it was like he was seeing you over twenty years in the future.

“That woman looks like Y/N.” Vernon pointed out, not looking in Wonwoo’s direction to see that he was having a moment himself. “But like older, richer, and probably a bigger bitch.” The older man shot him a look that Vernon caught. “What? I ain’t saying she’s a bitch all the time, but the girl bites.”

“Don’t I know it.” Wonwoo answered, the photo of the woman still on the screen of his eye. Analyzing her features and matching them to  you with something unsettling in his stomach. He had known you weren’t a native to the Shadow District when he met you, but he remembered you  telling him that you had no family and the closest to family you had was Soonyoung.

He didn’t have a reason to not believe you, it was just sex. It wasn’t important at the time, and the subject of your family had been a sore spot for you. Now looking at this woman, her likeness to you, it made him wonder if you had lied to him.

“How much longer do we have to be here?” Vernon’s bored tone tore Wonwoo from his thoughts, as well as his attention from the building to look in his direction to see he had lit another cigarette.

“I’m sorry, but do you have some other plans that you need to get to?” The words came out harsher than he intended, which earned a sneer from Vernon. “You haven’t shut the fuck up since we got here.”

“Well seeing as this shit keeps getting more complicated, not to mention the looming reality that Skyfall is kicking people out of their homes for whatever ‘redevelopment’ bullshit they have going on. I would say that my bitching and lack of wanting to be on a fucking suicide mission is reasonable.” Vernon waved his hand toward Wonwoo. “I honestly don’t see what this is supposed to accomplish having us fucking sit here? This place fucking stinks of fish and oil, and all that’s going on is you’re taking pictures with that fuck ass eye of yours.” The laugh that left him was bitter. “This surveillance we are doing isn’t going to do shit for us when those fucking things are guarding this shit.”

“Jihoon isn’t holding a gun to your head to do this, you know that right? You don’t have to be part of this.”

“Nah, I rather get the credits.” This answer made Wonwoo roll his eyes, before shaking his head. “I am going to take off though. This shit doesn’t need both of us.” Vernon then pushed off the set of boxes they’d been perched on since early that morning and gave him a nod. “I’d say it was a pleasure, but you annoy the shit out of me, so bye.”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself.” Despite the harsh words, the two did a weird handshake before Vernon was gone. Leaving Wonwoo to finish getting a few more shots and videos, and when he looked back to the building, he caught the woman had excited to go back to her car. As if she was able to feel his eyes on her, she looked in his direction and made eye contact with him.

Wonwoo had his face hidden pretty well, with a mask covering most of his face and his glasses covering the other half. His beanie and thick hood covered his hair, so she had no idea what he looked like, but it didn’t feel that way with the way she looked at him. Like she knew exactly who he was.

He didn’t look away either, taking several more photos of her with his eyes; ones of her head on. No longer caring what he was there for as the realization that she was someone to you, and from the similarities, family, hit him hard.

She then smirked at him before she slipped into the back of the car, letting the driver close the door behind her. Wonwoo didn’t move, catching images of the plates of as the vehicle left the docks.

 Several blocks from the docks, you couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried. After sex with Wonwoo didn’t work, you tried to take a hot shower, drank some tea that you were saving, read, laid in silence, laid with a window open so you could hear the street below, but sleep still didn’t happen. You ended up giving up and found yourself on the sofa, wrapped up in your boyfriend’s clothes that smelled like him, and Doodle laid on your lap purring softly.

The comforting feeling of his Wonwoo’s clothes, his smell, and the soft purrs of your pet grounded you, but it didn’t settle anything. You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream and cry in despair and worry or throw and punch things in anger and rage. Nor were you sure where to direct it all.

At life. At your mother and Skyfall Industries. Or at yourself for making this worse by keeping this secret from Wonwoo as long as you did.

The knock at the door and Doodle rushing off the sofa in a panic startled you. The feline stopped once one the floor to look at the door, her eyes wide and pupils dilated in fear before disappearing when another knock came. Her reaction was unusual and didn’t sit right with you as you slipped off the sofa.

When you reached the door, you cautiously looked through the peephole to see who was there, and your mouth went dry. Standing there was a woman with an annoyed and mildly disgusted look on her face and looked like she would rather be anywhere else. The sight of her stirred emotions that you remembered feeling every day growing up.

“I would recommend opening up.” She sighed as she adjusted her expensive designer bag onto her other arm. “I know you are there, and this is no way to treat your mother after all these years.” You didn’t move, or say anything in response, that earned another sigh from her as she spoke your name. “I think it would be wise to open this door, or I will have my men pick up that boyfriend of yours for sniffing around the Factory.”

She knew that would get what she wanted when you ripped open the door with a snarl to your lips.

“You touch him, and I will kill you without a second though.” You seethed to your uncaring mother, who just laughed and shook her head. “What do you want?”

“I wasn’t going to be in the area and pass up a chance to see my daughter.” She pushed past you, her shoulder bumping against yours while she took in the sight of the small apartment. Her eyes moved from the old furniture to the run down cat tree in one corner of the living room, then to the small kitchen that had a few dishes in the sink before they landed on you. The look on her face the same judgmental one that you knew all too well. “I can see that you are putting your monthly allowance to good use.”

“We both know I don’t touch those credits. I don’t need them.”

“Oh, I am aware and sure you don’t.” She waved you off, stopping herself from setting her bag down at the sight of Doodle’s cat hair. “This place screams it.”

“You’re not welcomed here.” You crossed your arms as you said this to her, trying to not visibly flinch when her sharp gaze turned on you. A look that reduced you back to that child she never thought was good enough. “Not in the Shadow District, and sure as hell not in my apartment.”

“Skyfall Industries owns the entire city, foolish girl. And as a member of the board of directors, I am welcome wherever I so please. And that includes…” Your mother then gestured toward the apartment, gold cybernetic metal shining in the low light of your apartment. “…your apartment.”

“Get the fuck out.” You snapped right before her hand connected with your cheek and your head jerked to the side. The metal on her hand sliced your cheek deep, drawing blood and a bruise was quick to follow.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” The older woman hissed, her anger turning palatable when you didn’t move for a moment. Your eyes closed as you slowly breathed through your nose, trying to control the familiar shake that would come with this. That anger and fear toward this woman mixing inside you.

Fear tried to reduce you back to that girl that she once controlled near perfectly, and the anger reminded you of the person you had to become because of that control.

“Why are you even here?” You asked coldly. The question was simple as you turned to look at her again, your hand slow to pull the hair that was stuck to the blood on your face. “Thought no one wanted to touch the Shadow District. It didn’t fit your project model for a perfect city. Needing a place to house the lower classes that would bring you your precious cybernetics.”

“You are such a stupid child.” She didn’t seem to care that your expression was dark and cold, or that you refused to wipe away the blood from your cut cheek. A dark bruise quickly formed around it from the force of the slap. Your fists clenched, with your anger started to take over and you had to fight to contain it. “It was always in the plan, it was always going to be redeveloped, but considering that I’m a generous mother…”

“To who?” You asked, your words venom, but she ignored you.

“I managed to keep the project at bay so you could have your little rebellious phase, let you playhouse with this one eye criminal before you finally came home and this place is bulldozed to the ground.” It was then that she reached out and cupped the cheek that she didn’t strike, a soft smile playing over her lips. It was meant to be loving, and if you were still that little girl, you’d be tricked by it like always. “I held it off as long as I could but not only is this disgusting stain on the city getting the makeover it desperately needs. I finally can bring you back home.”

“Had it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to go back? That my real phase was trying to be that perfect model child for you all those years, willing to do anything to earn your love, or your approval.” Your words caused that fake smile to crack, her hand dropping when you recoiled from her touch. “I am home, mom. This is my home, and that one eyed criminal is my family and have been for years. We actually love each other.”

“He loves the lie that you fed him.” She responded, making you look at her in shock and confusion. “You think I don’t know? You don’t think that I don’t know that you been lying to him about who you are and where you came from? Buried me with your father.”

“Don’t you dare bring Dad into this.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, or act like this life is so much better when it’s built on a lie.” Your mother smile then turned dangerous, and that left you rooted to the spot. “I thought I taught you better than this and actually feel bad for the pathetic fool.”

You watched as she opened a purse and pulled out an envelope. You knew what was inside it, an eviction notice.

“It’s time to end this foolishness and come back home. Your position is still waiting for you at Skyfall, and I have a lovely gentleman who is willing to look passed the… things you did while out here.” Her voice was smug as you took the envelope from her and she gestured to the apartment then to your appearance. Wonwoo’s clothes, hair a mess, dark circles under your eyes, and the bruise she gave you. Your hand was still wrapped from when you cut it and trembled holding the envelope. “I mean, it’ll be the only place you will have to go in thirty days. Which is more than what the rest of these people are being given.”

“You’re not getting the Shadow District.” You told her with confidence. The laugh that left her would have left you terrified years ago, but now it only fueled the anger inside you. “We won’t let you.”

“Who is this we? You? Your boyfriend and that little gang he’s part of? That fiend that fed your head with all that nonsense?” Smoothing out her suit, your mother regarded you. “You don’t have a choice in this matter. It’s time to wake up and face reality, stupid girl. Your time for fun is up.”

“We aren’t going down without a fight.”

“Of course you will.” Her shoulder hit yours as she passed and made her way toward the apartment door. “It’s evitable. Just like your place at Skyfall with me.”

“I rather die than go back to any kind of life with you.” You yelled as your turned toward her and the door, only for your whole body to freeze. Because standing at the doorway was Wonwoo. His face was still covered so you could not see his expression, but by his posture, he had heard it all.

“Looks like I should be expecting you back sooner.” Her satisfactory tone in her voice made you feel sick and that anger building turned to deep rage.

You lunged toward her, a high pitch angry cry ripping through you, but Wonwoo was already there to pull you back. Holding you to him as you thrashed in his arms, wanting to wrap your hands around your mother’s throat.

With a final look of satisfaction, your mother clothes the door behind her. Leaving you to continue to struggle to free yourself from your boyfriend’s arms, the tears that had been burning behind your eyes finally broke through.

Your mother was sorely mistaken if she thought she could snap her fingers and you would fall in line easily. You weren’t the same person as you were all those years ago, and you weren’t going to leave Wonwoo or the life you had.

And you sure as hell won’t let them take the Shadow District.

📂 Case File: anamnesis by @woncheolisms

🔦Administrators: Choi Seungcheol x reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: VOID by @hannieoftheyear

🔦Administrators: Yoon Jeonghan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Everything humanity has ever wanted is now at reach with the touch of a button, yet, the world is as empty as ever. Most prefer to live their lives in the digital reality, where you can be cities away in the blink of an eye and where the sun shines uninterrupted. The only ones left are those who first developed the idea, stuck in an abandoned world and cursed to watch as their families deteriorate inside machines. When a malfunction opens up the possibility to break the system, they seize the opportunity to make those who used a falling city as the stepping stone for their empire pay once and for all.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: systematic error by @straylightdream

🔦Administrators: Joshua Hong x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it’s not unusual for artificially intelligent robots to blend in seamlessly to society. many years ago you found a android and upgraded his programming. As time passed you often forget he’s not a human, unfortunately he can’t escape the feelings and tainted thoughts that he’s just an android. after falling in love, you’ve become companions as you navigate the dark neon city together, and attempt to take down the biggest corporation.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PRIME by @joshujin

🔦Administrators: Wen Junhui x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Six years ago, you unknowingly changed the course of Arcadian Prime forever. Five years ago, you erased your own existence and went into hiding. And approximately half an hour ago, the very first image of you, the city-state's most wanted fugitive, went online. Now… now, you run.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Ground by @mylovesstuffs

🔦Administrators: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: on the ground, the poor starve. in the sky, the rich live like gods. six months of playing the clumsy, star struck girl from the slums boils down to a single night in a luxury penthouse. to avenge and save her father from their misery, she has to trap the elite’s most untouchable corporate heir, hoshi, in a game of her own making— and then betray him.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Shadow District by @thestraybunny

🔦Administrators: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Skyfall Industries is taking over the city, where the rich will benefit while the poor will suffer. With body modifications, sex, drugs, and alcohol there to help numb people from reality of it all. Your world is small, and is just getting smaller. So, when Skyfall Inds is finally at your door and threatening your home, you and Wonwoo will have a choice to make.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PROJECT: KILL SWITCH by @callisrecords

🔦Administrators: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: On a trip to the Wastelands, you don't expect to find much that's intact. Definitely not an escape pod or a man still inside it. Lee Jihoon seems to be unregistered, unchipped and jarringly not from this century. In a city held together by a network no one can escape, he is the only thing it cannot read, cannot follow, and cannot override. As details about a mission that predates everything you’ve ever known begin to surface, you realise Jihoon’s existence is more than just an anomaly. Somewhere within the structure of the megacorp that controls the city lies a failsafe: a kill switch tied to an authority long believed dead. Except maybe it isn’t.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: through the haze by @aeristudios

🔦Administrators: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: You're the star of Neo City Nights, the hottest nightclub in the city. Your voice brings in people from all over, including the handsome stranger Seokmin who you can't stay away from. Too bad you don't remember him from your past life, before the accident that happened, which changed your life forever.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: butterfly by @sailorsoons

🔦Administrators: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In a city where technology makes it possible to shed your body as easily as changing clothes, Mingyu has built his reputation hunting criminals who disappear behind new faces. So when you become the prime suspect in a brutal string of serial murders, he should have no trouble closing the case. Except... the more he investigates you, the less he's convinced you're guilty.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: REMNANT by @wheeboo

🔦Administrators: Xu Minghao x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In the year 2197, Xu Minghao works as a government shadow operative, hired to hunt down political dissidents. After surviving a catastrophic accident that should have ended his life, his body had been rewired to become nothing more than a living weapon solely engineered for one purpose: obedience. You live a different kind of double life. By day, a reclusive digital artist curating an elite art gallery; by night, a ghost hacker where you siphon secrets from the city’s corrupt core. But when your latest hack uncovers an unsettling truth, a target is painted on your back—and Minghao is assigned to terminate you.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: synapse//ZERO by @cheollollipop

🔦Administrators: Boo Seungkwan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when Synapse//ZERO launches, thousands of players eagerly enter the world's first fully immersive neural VR game. hours later, they're trapped. with her younger brother and best friend seungkwan among them, YN enters the game's sprawling cyberpunk metropolis, determined to bring them home. but in a world where the system adapts, remembers, and watches, escaping may not be enough. inspired by sword art online!

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: kingslayer by @100vern

🔦Administrators: Chwe Hansol x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it's been years since you worked for the ministry of welfare. since you were partnered with hansol as a rookie inspector in the criminal investigation unit. since the two of you were assigned to a case so devastating it cost hansol his freedom and sent you into hiding. it's been years, but there's no time limit on vengeance—and there's nothing you wouldn't do to protect hansol.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: got you (in my sights) by @minisugakoobies

🔦Administrators: Lee Chan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when a job goes bad, elite assassin lee chan ends up the victim of a botched memory wipe. lost on the streets of new seoul and in need of help, he turns to the only person he can remember - just a face, a name, and a feeling. you have no idea why a rival assassin is begging on your doorstep, but agree to help him, thinking it will be an opportunity to steal his clients. but when the client who ordered the memory hit learns he hasn't been wiped, they target you both. can you trust chan enough to work together to save yourselves? or will you lose more than your memories?

The Malware 🚫 The Code

Ooh, fall and free, fall and free Fall and free, fall and free Fall and free

Your accident made news all over the city, the scandal of a promising club singer robbed of her memories overshadowing the ongoing murders haunting the darkest corners. As far as you know, you slipped and fell during a robbery gone wrong, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You woke up at Neo City Memorial Hospital with your head wrapped in bandages and swollen, black eyes. Your mother prayed in front of a holographic Bible, clutching her Rosary tightly, while your father stared blankly out the window, lost in thought. It was the worst day of your life that you can remember, and it lingers in your mind.

So it’s no surprise that people from all over would come to see this mysterious person with a great voice and missing patches of her life put on a performance, because that’s what this city lives and breathes on. Scandals, violence, and sex mixed in between. You’ve figured out your role, and you play it well—it’s the only way you can survive.

I feel love I feel love I feel love

The beat fades out as you’re back on stage, the purple lights shifting slightly and shining on you, the enigma. Claps and cheers erupt in the club, and you let yourself bask in it all as the velvet curtains close. Buzzing from the energy of the crowd, you stand there rooted in place, your eyes closed as you hear them chant ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE! The buzz you get from this can never be replicated, no matter how much kosmi dust you snort. 

“Well done, gorgeous.”

Turning around, you face your boss, Cado, who walks towards you, clapping his hands. Your buzz drops like a free fall.

“Just doing my job, boss,” you sarcastically salute, the energy in the room shifting to something colder. It’s no surprise your boss is attracted to you, and you don’t miss the way he gazes over your body as something to possess rather than something to behold. He’s offered many times to get you to do “work” on the side for him, but you never budged. Maybe it’s worked on others, but not you. You don’t shit where you eat.

He’s unfortunately a conventionally attractive man, with a jawline sculpted by a god and dark, seductive brown eyes you can get trapped in. Cado takes good care of his body, bragging about how much he works out and sometimes flexing his arms or flashing his abs. All he talks about is himself and his money; it doesn’t impress you.

“You know my offer still stands, if you are looking for extra work,” Cado offers, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes.

Giving him a slow once-over, you snort. “I don’t need the extra money. You know that,” you scoff. “I’m sure one of the waitresses might.”

You walk away before he can say another word, exiting the side stage and heading to the bar. The need for a stiff drink is strong as ever, craving a shot of Sunshine Mist that’ll burn your throat and numb you in the best way. You only put up with Cado’s advances because this club feels familiar to you, even though you don't remember working here before. The nice guy facade he tried to put on at first, you saw through that early on. You see him for who he is, and you’ve made it clear every chance you get.

Holding your fingers up towards the bartender, Chan, you take a seat on the stool as the lively chatter and studio music fade into the background. Your head bobs lightly, your fingers drumming on the counter as you wait for your drink.

“Rough night?” Chan asks, twirling the cocktail shaker.

“Eh, just Cado being Cado,” you quip.

“My condolences,” he chuckles, sliding the shot towards you.

You snort, grabbing the glass and throwing it back. It gives you an almost therapeutic burn, instantly putting you at ease. Sunshine Mist is one of the strongest drinks concocted, and while not everyone can stand its aftereffects, it’s your preferred drink here, especially when dealing with the likes of Cado. For a moment, everything softens, and your buzz has returned, leaving your skin tingling all over.

“Mind if I join you?”

You turn towards an unfairly attractive stranger standing beside you, staring at him blankly before realizing you were. His dark hair falls across his forehead, his smile bright enough to rival the neon lights flooding the club. He definitely doesn’t fit this crowd, and you don’t recall ever seeing him, but you are not a stranger to unusual occurrences.

You gesture towards the stool next to you, and he follows your lead, scooting his seat closer to you.

Chan gives him a measured look. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the same thing she’s having,” the stranger responds, tapping his watch and revealing a digicard. “And put hers on my tab.”

“Thank you,” you say, the curves of your mouth twitching.

“You’re welcome, gorgeous.”

Your eyebrows lift, followed by a silvery laugh. Studying him more carefully, you can’t help but notice the shape of his eyes, the curve of his smile, the timbre of his voice. A flutter of butterflies invades your stomach; you shake your head as the heat creeps up your neck.

“So, what’s the catch?”

It’s his turn to lift his brow. “Catch?”

Sitting up straighter, you throw him a look. “You bought me a drink, which is greatly appreciated, but I have the feeling that you didn’t come over here to take a shot with me.”

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes twinkle when he laughs. “Okay, you caught me,” he says, raising his hands. “I just wanted to tell you I liked your performance.”

You stare at him blankly, and then you laugh. “That’s it?” You flash him a smile. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Give me time.”

Chan slides the drink over to the stranger, who catches the rim with the tips of his fingers. The veins on his hands pop suddenly, and you shake away the thoughts that are creeping into your head. He thanks Chan as he takes his shot, shooting it back in the same manner you did. The burning liquor doesn't faze him at all, and you sit there impressed.

“Seokmin.”

Your brows knit together. “Excuse me?”

He pulls out his hand to shake. “My name is Seokmin.”

You giggle, realizing he was introducing himself. “Nice to meet you,” you say, shaking his hand in return. “My name is—”

“I know who you are,” he says smoothly. His hand is warm and soft, and you can’t shake this sensation in your chest. You gaze at each other, your body feeling drawn to him, as if magnetism is pushing you together. Your hand is still in his, and you are in no hurry to let it go.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” you say suddenly. “But have we met before?”

Seokmin falters slightly before regaining his composure, slowly taking his hand from yours. “I—”

“Hey, boss wants us to go over the set list for tomorrow night.”

Your manager, nicknamed Snake-Eyes, appears from behind, holding a holographic tablet with a floating stylus. Looking past your manager, you eye Cado towards the back, watching you intently with a cigarette in his mouth. Of course, he wants to talk about it now, of all the times.

Glancing back at Seokmin, you let out a small sigh, your mood soured once again thanks to your boss. “I’m sorry we have to cut this short,” you say. “Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“Maybe,” Seokmin smiles softly, sending more butterflies to your stomach.

He gives you a hand to slide off the stool, his cologne appealing to your nose. It smells familiar, and you can’t pinpoint where it’s from. Maybe it’s something you came across in the years you can’t remember. Lucky you.

You start to walk away, but something tells you to turn around, and you find him still standing in place, watching you walk away. “Don’t be a stranger?”

He smiles. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll be seeing more of me.”

For some reason, those words resonate with you for the rest of the night.

Seokmin steps out into the wet night, lighting a cigarette from the corner of his mouth. The petrichor is fresh and calming as he deeply inhales, letting the enhanced tobacco burn his throat. It’s past two a.m., and the city is still alive, with no sign of slowing down. Neon lights and advertisements are shoved in his face at every corner, drug paraphernalia in the streets, and people coming from all directions looking for adventure. He remembers when he was that carefree and full of life, looking forward to the next day and many after. But so much has changed, and it feels like a distant memory, a whole lifetime ago.

Seokmin takes another puff as he watches on, lost in the thoughts that have been tormenting him for the past two years. He came to the club to find peace, to get answers to the darkness in his soul and the mystery that refuses to rest in his mind. Seokmin sought a reprieve that can only be cured by one, and when he watched you perform for the crowd, with the light shining on you like the star you are, it made him sadder. You don’t remember him, or your past life together, and every day it gets harder to bear. You are the light of his life, the one thing that has kept him alive, and he is determined to help you remember him, or at least, know the truth.

The authorities say it was an accident. Sure, like he will believe a fall like that will leave you on the brink of death with black eyes, broken ribs, and needing surgery. Seokmin has been a private investigator for many years and has seen a lot of shit, and the insult to his intelligence is laughable. He’s mentioned it to your parents, but they practically threatened to call the police if he came on their property again. The reaction didn’t surprise him much—your parents never thought he was good enough for you anyway.

They never told you about Seokmin and your life together. Your father is a very powerful man, and he had every trace of you and him wiped out of digital existence. It’s almost amusing the lengths he went through to erase Seokmin from your life. But what’s cruelly ironic is that he cannot take Seokmin’s memories away from him. It’s what helps Seokmin sleep at night.

There were many times he sat in the dark, in the apartment that you shared, and thought about barging into the hospital room or the club and telling you the full truth, hoping it would trigger something. But he can’t tell you anything he doesn’t know himself. How were you hurt? Who would do this to you? Why were you targeted? These are questions that have been wrestling in his mind with little to no answers, and forcing the truth on you wouldn’t serve you any better.

But being in your orbit again, hearing your voice and seeing the warmth in your eyes, renewed something in Seokmin’s spirit. He’s more determined than ever to uncover the truth and secure the justice you deserve. To bring you home.

God help anyone who tries to get in Seokmin’s way.

“Hi, baby.”

The voice is a low, honeyed murmur that makes you smile. A kiss is planted on your shoulder in a haze, and your body automatically eases. You reach back, blindly massaging the head of the hidden person as you watch the sun rise in an apartment. He feels familiar, as if you’ve known him for some time, even though you can't see his face.

“Have you been to sleep yet?”

You shake your head, a peaceful smile on your lips as sunlight rises over the horizon. It’s the first time you have seen the sun in days because of the rain, and you're too wired to sleep, thanks to the cup of coffee you had when you came home. “I just wanted to see this—the sun rise,” you explain. “There aren’t enough artificial sun rooms that can compare to the real thing.”

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement. “You are right about that, baby.”

He shifts, placing a lingering kiss beneath your earlobe. A moan escapes your lips as tingles spread throughout your body. His hands are warm, comforting as they grab your waist, pulling you closer to him. His cologne is pleasing, its scent unlike any of the synthetic materials made in factories throughout the city. It’s fresh and comforting, like vanilla, with a hint of aromatic spice. More kisses trail down your neck, his soft lips each imprinting electric and hard to ignore. Your nipples harden at his sensuality, your skin suddenly feeling hot and in need of more touch.

“I’m supposed to be watching the sunrise.” Your protest is weak with little effort. The hidden figure smirks against your skin, a low chuckle booming through his throat. “Not funny,” you sigh.

You turn to face him, kissing him with your eyes closed, allowing your body and mind to give yourself to him completely. His hands roam your body as if they know you, and your spirit isn’t disturbed—instead, your intuition tells you it’s okay, and he’s yours. Your shirt rises over your head, and you lean back into your pillows. Your blanket is caught in between your fingers, a tug of something metal caught in its snag. Raising your hand in the light reveals a ruby ring on a silver band, sitting perfectly on your ring finger.

“I fall in love with this ring every time I see it,” you sigh, the words flowing from your heart. “Good job, lover.”

You look up at him properly, trying to catch the shape of your stranger’s face. But it keeps slipping at the edges, the rays of light refusing to let you focus too hard. His presence, however, feels steady, familiar in a way your thoughts don’t know how to argue with.

“I missed you, you know,” he says, his hands cupping your face. He kisses you deeply, and you lose all feeling in your legs. “I could do this all day.”

You raise a brow, a smirk on your lips. “Technically, you can.”

“I could.” He lets out a silvery laugh. “But Seungcheol wouldn’t like that.”

You don’t know who he is, but somehow the name doesn’t seem foreign to you. Sitting up slightly, you cock your head to the side. “Well, tell Seungcheol you have plans and will be busy all day.”

“And what are those plans?” He asks, trailing his fingers along your shorts.

Despite his face being covered in a shroud of light, you know he’s staring at your body, ogling your breasts that were made just for him. Lifting slightly, you help yourself out of your shorts, revealing your bare center, and part your legs slightly, just for his view.

“Tell him you will be busy eating out your fiancé,” you half-joke, placing your foot on his shoulder.

He guffaws as he lays his head on your foot, massaging it. You don’t know why the words ‘fiancé’ came out of your mouth. You don’t even know who you are in bed with. It like deja vu, and you can’t explain it, but it feels right. This is where you are supposed to be.

“I don’t think I can tell him that, baby,” he breathes in between laughs. “I’ll think of something.”

His free hand spreads your legs apart further, dipping his fingers into your wet heat. You hiss at the contact, every nerve in your body on alert.

“You're soaked, baby,” he coos, his thumb rubbing against your clit. “Maybe I’ll tell Seungcheol there was a leak that needs fixing.”

You're buzzing, unfocused, enthralled with the pleasure he is giving you. “Mmhmm, sure.”

The stranger shuffles, spreading your legs wider as he lowers himself to your center. His tongue takes a long swipe without warning, leaving you clutching your sheets. He moans and grunts in your pussy, tasting and sucking you as you squirm in his hands, the haze you are in multiplying by the second. Lip smacking, slurping, and lewd moans fill the room, lifting you further on cloud nine.

“Fuck, I—” you sound pathetic, but the incessant need to cum in his mouth is greater. You try to pull yourself together, but the pleasure is too great, and you succumb to him completely. Tugging his hair, you ride the wave of his tongue, chasing your release until it washes over you suddenly, leaving you with a vision of white and shaky breath.

“I got you, baby,” he says smoothly. “Give me all of it.”

You let out a guttural moan that ripples through you, gushing in his mouth unabashedly. He doesn’t let up, licking you until there is nothing left, leaving a kiss on your pulsing clit that makes you shudder. You dissolve into the blanket, slowly coming down from your high. Lying there with half-sleepy eyes and a smile on your face, the sunlight shifting as it rises in the sky. You turn your head as your lover lifts his face, the sunlight no longer protecting him, revealing him at least.

“I love you.”

You jolt upright, your heart beating heavily, your vision blurry, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. He disappears, and you’re no longer in the dreamy haze of light; instead, the softness shifts cruelly into a large room of unnatural darkness. Your alarm clock is blaring on the walls, the constant chirping grating on your nerves.

“Maxima, I’m awake,” you croak to the virtual assistant.

It takes a moment for your vision to fully come back, replaying what just happened in your bed. You dismiss it as a dream, but it feels so real, like an unlocked memory calling to you. You glance down at your crotch, noticing the obvious wetness between your legs. Letting out a loud groan, you scoot to the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, trying to make sense of it all.

Seokmin.

He was the man of your dreams. You were in love, you were happy, and seemingly engaged. Your parents never mentioned you to him, and maybe it is all just a dream, but you still remember how your body reacted when you were near him, as if he were a familiar instead of a stranger. Or maybe it is all in your head—a fantasy constructed by a lonely brain.

But something tells you there is more to the story, and if you want your mind to rest, you will need answers.

Aug 02 2061. 

That was the day Seokmin’s life changed forever.

He remembers the day like it was yesterday. You two watched the sun rise together, made love, and he watched you fall asleep before he left for the day. He did not, in fact, tell Seungcheol you had a leak that needed fixing, but Seokmin promised he would spend the next day with you. He had it all worked out with Seungcheol, and he was so excited to come home to you that night, to tell you the good news and plan the day together, or do nothing at all. It didn’t matter as long as he was with you.

But when you didn’t come home, and the minutes turned into hours, he knew something was wrong. Seokmin checked your location and noticed it was headed towards the opposite end of the city. He rushed out of the apartment like a bat out of hell, following your signal until it came to an abrupt stop at Neo City Memorial. Seokmin pushed on the gas pedal as hard as he could, running every traffic light and evading law enforcement to get to you. Every fear he had came true that night—you were hurt almost beyond repair, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

Seokmin shakes his head slowly, taking himself out of that day and back to reality, in an apartment where the sun no longer shines, barren of the life and love you brought into it. His phone buzzes again, and he sighs, grabbing the phone and swiping the screen up. His colleague and friend, Wonwoo, has been helping him with his investigation, digging into records that are behind red tape and out of his reach. A large file was sent to Seokmin’s email, encrypted with a password that only he knows.

Vulpes.

Entering his password, he connects his phone to a projector as the files load, filled with contacts of people who were at the club the night you were hurt. Scrolling through the list, he recognizes some of the names: bigwigs, politicians, and gang leaders who contribute to the corruption of Neo City. Nothing out of the ordinary. His attention turns to the file that holds the video footage, the icon blinking in sequences of threes. Tapping on his screen, he sees the video display on his wall, the frame still focused on a back entrance. 

“Let’s do this,” Seokmin sighs before pressing play. 

The video is audioless, with heavy rain pouring from the sky, slightly obscuring the street camera's lens. Seokmin watches intently, his fingers drumming on his leg in anticipation, not wanting to miss anything amiss. Growing impatient, he fast-forwards the video, the minutes dragging on with little to no movement to the back entrance. Did Wonwoo make a mistake? Seokmin thinks to himself. Maybe this is the wrong vid—

At 2:03 am, the back entrance door swings open, with two large men carrying what appears to be a woman, who is twisting and turning wildly, trying to get loose. A light flashed on the figure, briefly but clearly enough, which gave Seokmin pause. The blue dress, one he has seen too many times, is on display, and a chill shoots up his spine. Rewinding slowly, he stops at the frame, his chest tightening at the frozen image before him.

It’s you.

Seokmin stares for far too long, almost unable to believe what he is seeing. You were being carried out and manhandled like you didn’t matter, as if there wasn’t anyone out there who loved you and wouldn’t care if you disappeared. His blood boils with anger as he hastily taps the screen to let the video continue. One of the guards made the mistake of letting go of one of your legs, and you used it to your advantage, kicking him in the chest. He fell back, losing his step and falling ass-first onto the wet pavement. The other guard had your arms pinned behind your back, and as hard as you wrangled, you couldn’t get out of his lock. Even without audio, Seokmin knows you were giving them a good verbal lashing, a look of rage on your delicate face that Seokmin has never seen.

“Atta’ girl,” Seokmin says out loud. At least you still fought back.

Seokmin’s smile vanishes quickly when the fallen guard rose from the ground, stumbling towards you furiously. His fist connected with your left cheek, stunning you into shock. Blow after blow, the man assaulted you, hitting every exposed area he could. Seokmin watched your body go limp, the glee in the guard’s eyes embedded in his head. The guard holding you said something to your assaulter, who stopped his onslaught with a look of satisfaction on his face. Seokmin watches on, his stomach in knots, the anger burning deeper in his gut. These men will never see the light of fucking day again.

You're dragged to a waiting vehicle, set aside the passenger door like some sort of rag doll, your chest rising and falling slowly, your face swollen and bloodied. A figure stepped out of the back entrance, the light catching him, and Seokmin recognized him: Cado. Seokmin always sensed he didn’t like him much, and it’s not lost on him how Cado looked like you with carnality in his eyes. Cado knew better than to try anything in front of him, though.

Cado hustled over to the car, raising his hands angrily and slapping the backs of the heads of the guards. Opening the back door, he motioned for your assaulter to put you in the car. As he grabbed your arms, it is as if you were brought to life, and as an act of defiance, you spat in his face. The light goes out suddenly, just for a few seconds, but when it comes back on, you are on the wet ground, rain pouring on your face, with blood pooling from your head. Cado was enraged, picking you up and shoving you unceremoniously in the car, shouting and pointing in the north direction. Both guards entered the car, driving off suddenly, and Cado re-enters the club, the door shutting swiftly behind him.

The video stops playing, and Seokmin stands there, rooted in place and stewing in rage. He couldn’t be there to protect you, and he had to watch you experience the worst day of your life, and indirectly his too. You were supposed to be married now and living happy lives, but instead, you are apart, and you don’t remember a any of it.

Swiping to a different screen, he presses Wonwoo’s contact, the phone ringing once before he answers.

“You saw the video?”

“No shit,” Seokmin scoffs. “I want those guards found—”

“I’m already ahead of you, Seokmin,” Wonwoo answers. “I’m going to send you this address for the one who did the most damage.”

“Do that, and tell Seungcheol to meet me there,” Seokmin instructs. “Things will get extremely messy.”

“Well. You weren’t exaggerating about the mess.”

Seungcheol walks into the blood-splattered small apartment, slapping on a pair of black gloves made of matte obsidian and seamless synthetic polymer that clings like a second skin. Built with tech that alters fingerprint texture, it makes the person who uses it basically untraceable.

“I take it they are still alive?” Seungcheol surmises, stepping over broken glass.

“Barely,” Seokmin mumbles. Kneeling, he turns the head of one of the guards, the assaulter, Scion, lifting a finger under his nose.

As soon as Seokmin retrieved the address from Wonwoo, he was there in no time. He could’ve waited for Seungcheol to do things the ‘right way’, but all Seokmin could see was you being beaten and thrown around. He could have granted them mercy, but why should he? They gave you less than that, and now you’re both paying the price.

Seokmin hears shuffling behind him, and he turns, watching Seungcheol drag the other guard, Brucus, into the bathroom. He quickly learned their life story from the information Wonwoo sent over. Brucus’s family all died in the war in the neighboring desert, Dismiscus, a decade ago, and Scion comes from a family of lowlifes who are either dead, in jail, or walking the streets.

Basically, nobody would miss them when Seokmin wipes them off the face of the planet.

The bathroom door opens, and Seunghcheol comes out, his nose crinkling at the protruding smell that is starting to fill the space. “I’m pretty sure that guy took his last breath in the tub,” Seungcheol comments, surveying the living room. “I didn’t see any stab wounds or gunshots. What did you use?”

Seokmin holds up his left hand, showing off a glove made of synthetic chromium. “My goal was to make sure he stopped breathing.”

“Goal met,” Seungcheol quips.

Seokmin turns his attention back to Scion, tapping his cheek with two slaps. “Wake up.”

Scion doesn’t stir, his chest rising and falling as if he is in a deep coma. Without a second thought, Seokmin lowers a fist to his ribs, hearing a bone-shattering crack that satisfies him. Scion’s eyes almost bulge out of his sockets, followed by a piercing howl that is quickly covered by Seokmin’s fist.

“This pain is nothing compared to what you gave her,” Seokmin grits his teeth. “Tighten the fuck up.” Crimson slowly coats Scion’s lips. Seokmin stands straight, observing the weak man in this state. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you are going to tell me everything I need to know.”

Scion slowly raises his head, meeting your gaze for the first time. “I’ve…seen…you…club.” His mouth twitches, a slight smirk on his lips. “You come to see our Vixen.”

Seokmin clenches his jaw, anger stirring in his stomach and hardening from within. He referred to you by your stage name, a nickname Seokmin gave you, and it makes him want to wring Scion's neck. Seungcheol appears to his left, adjusting his gloves. “So you know why he’s here then.”

Letting out a weak scoff, he attempts to sit up but winces, sliding further down the carpet. “Let’s…not play games.”

Seokmin couldn’t agree more. “Aug 02 2061,” he began. “Why was she being carried out of the club?”

Scion attempts to sit up again, lifting off the ground until he is comfortable. He doesn’t answer, instead pulling a cigarette from his front pocket and slipping it into his mouth.

“You got a light?”

Seokmin and Seungcheol exchange annoyed looks, shaking their heads in unison. Seungcheol digs into his pocket, pulls out a lighter, and flicks the switch to ignite the flame. Seokmin is in his right mind to take that cigarette and shove it down his throat while it’s still lit.

Scion looks at you carefully, inhales deeply, and lets out a wet cough. “It was on the boss’s orders.”

Seokmin stares, his jaw ticking in annoyance. “Cado?”

He nods, taking another puff. “That’s the one.” Wiping his nose with his sleeve, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. “She saw something she wasn’t supposed to see.”

That catches Seokmin’s attention. “What wasn’t she supposed to see?”

A slow, evil grin is on his lips, followed by a chuckle. “Business. Stuff way above my pay grade.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Seokmin grits his teeth.

Scion doesn’t answer, instead burning out the cigarette in his hand. Seokmin takes a good look at him, watching the color slowly drain from his face. A long white scar trails from his sea-green, baggy eye to the corner of his mouth, and he looked rugged, rough around the edges, with tattoos and more scars riddling his arms. It would scare the average person walking down the street, but one thing Seokmin has learned in life is that it doesn’t matter how tough you look if you can’t back it up.

“You still want to protect your boss in death? That’s almost admirable.” Seokmin reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a 9 mm silencer. Taking a deep breath, he points the gun at his head, his index finger steady on the trigger. “I suggest you think long and hard about your answer.”

Flashes of your face and your smile flood his mind. The woman he knows, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, was taken away from him cruelly. He will work day and night to get you back, and if a few brains have to be splattered on some walls, so be it.

“I’m not telling you shit—”

The gun goes off before Scion could finish his sentence, blood splattering on his face. Seokmin is numb, not bothered by the violence he had to inflict. He could do it ten times over and still wouldn’t satisfy him.

“Go, Seok,” Seungcheol commands, taking the weapon out of his hands. “I’ll clean up here.”

Seokmin nods, leaving without saying a word. He wasn’t concerned about the noise, since the apartment is in a shitty part of the city and everyone minds their own business. The rain starts to fall heavily from the sky, washing the blood off his face and his leather jacket. Seokmin stands there for a moment, soaking it all in, letting the memories of you dancing in the rain fill his mind. You were always carefree, a pretty bird in a city of terror, and he would give anything to have that back.

Climbing onto his motorcycle, he loads “I Feel Love” into his headphones and roars out of sight, the venom of vengeance consuming him whole.

You can’t stop thinking about Seokmin.

He encompasses every corner of your mind, the montage of your moment together fresh in your head. You seemed to be a couple in love, a familiarity that you somehow feel in your heart, and it bothers you. You don’t know who Seokmin is; you met him for the first time last week at the club. Why does it feel like you were meant to know him?

You gaze at your bare ring finger, rubbing it with your index finger as you're lost in thought. For the past few days, it has felt weird not having a ring there, and if you stare long enough, you imagine seeing an imprint of something that might have been there at one point. You don’t know.

“Is everything alright?”

Slowly coming out of your reverie, you glance at your mother, whose eyes mirror yours in color. “I’m fine,” you clear your throat, shaking your head. “Just a bit tired.”

You stab your fork lazily into your seared lemon trout, taking a small bite to appease your mother. You aren’t sure what your relationship was like during the years you were gone, but before then, she was barely a parent. You were raised by the various nannies that were employed in your home; your mother spent her time playing the perfect wife, and your father was hardly around. You were merely an afterthought unless there was an event that required the whole family to be together. Chin up and smile wide, your mother would dutifully remind you. You don’t want to embarrass your father or the company. Your name carries weight in Neo City, and your parents will protect it by all means, even making you a pawn whether you like it or not.

“Are you still working at that club?” Your mother grimaces. “I don’t know why you bother setting foot in that soiled establishment.”

“Because I like to sing, Mom, and being there lets me do that,” you respond, feeling slightly irritated. You glance at your father, who watches you carefully, his silence louder than anything your mother could say. Crossing your arms, you feel the erratic thump of your heart. “I know you guys are worried about me, but aside from a weird dream, I’m fine—”

“What dream?”

Your father’s voice is soft yet commanding, catching you off guard. He hasn’t talked much since you arrived, barely shown any interest in the daughter walking around with partial amnesia.

“It’s nothing really, Dad,” you dismiss it, shaking your head. “I doubt it means anything.”

“Tell me.”

Your eyes drift from your father to your plate, and you let out a quiet breath. Your finger taps on your leg, unease settling on your chest. If you say it out loud, it becomes real, this dream, that moment with Seokmin. You don’t know what to make of it, and it scares you, experiencing a level of intimacy with a stranger you only met once. But knowing your parents, they will not let it go, and you might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.

“I had a dream about someone who came into the club,” you start, running your fingers through your hair. “I don’t think I know him, but in the dream, it felt like I did. Like maybe I knew him before.”

“Oh?” Your mother’s eyes light up as she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “And you’re sure you don’t know him?”

“Yeah,” you shake your head. “This guy, Seokmin, I have never met him before—”

“Wait,” your father cuts in, raising his hand. “What did you say his name was again?”

‘Seokmin,” you confirm. Grabbing your glass of white wine, you take a sip, noticing his brow furrow with annoyance. “Do you know him, Dad?”

‘What?” Your dad slurs before shaking his head. “No, I don’t know him. I am just concerned about you having dreams about a stranger.” He smiles reassuringly, though it doesn’t match his eyes. “You are still taking your medication, right?”

You throw him an incredulous look and scoff. “Yes, I’m taking my medication!” you spit, rising from your seat. “How could you think that?”

“Well, hold on,” your mother leaps out of her seat, raising her hands. “Your father and I just want what’s best for you.” Her voice cracks at the end, tears welling in her eyes. “We almost lost you.”

You stare at your mother and father, the burning ember of anger brewing in your stomach slowly cooling off. There is something indescribable in your father’s eyes that leaves you uneasy, an ice-cold shiver spreading down your spine.

“It was just a dream,” your mother says. “I wouldn’t worry about it, okay?”

“Your mother is right,” your father agrees. “Sit down and finish dinner.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but you don’t have any more will to fight with your family tonight. You do as you're told, slowly putting on your poker face as you finish your meal in silence. But something your gut tells you is more than just a dream, and even more sinister, your father might know something about it.

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since Seokmin has seen you, and the distance physically aches. Not that he hasn’t wanted to, but he’s been busy, cracking heads and taking names—so to speak.

He’s gone through the list of names that were there the night you were hurt, and showed up to a few of those places, gathering all of the information he could get. Some gave it to him willingly; others were harder to convince. It didn’t matter how he got it done, as long as he got what he was looking for. Some survived to see another day; others weren’t so lucky.

Seokmin stares at his hands in the bathroom, his hands covered with dirt and dried-up blood, bruised knuckles that are turning into a nasty shade of purple. Turning on the warm water, he washes the blood away with a fluxus genorum soap he acquired from the Neo City black market, which specializes in rapidly healing most injuries. It was created by a scientist who wanted to cure humanity of their ailments, but the government had other plans. It’s said that the scientist refused, and the scientist suddenly went missing, presumed to be killed by the others of your very own Senator. Yet somehow, his creation can be accessed by certain means. Seokmin always found that interesting.

He unbuttons his shirt, revealing fading bruises he didn’t care to heal. In a way, Seokmin is addicted to the pain. It’s one of the few things that’s real to him; the feeling of a fist trying to crush his abdomen or a pole that swings wildly on his arm. It’s an adrenaline high that he is not trying to be cured from. It keeps him focused and guarded on his investigation to reveal the truth and set you free.

And bring you back to him.

Seokmin strips off the rest of his clothes, washes up quickly, and changes into jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, then pairs them with his leather motorcycle jacket. He puts on the cologne you like, hoping it will stir your memory in some way. He reminisces about the first time you brought the bottle home and sprayed it on him without warning.

“Whoa there, baby. What did you put on me?”

“Your good luck charm,” you said cheekily, holding up a small yellow bottle.

“My good luck charm is standing in front of me,” Seokmin flirted, pulling you by your waist.

“Well, yes,” you agreed, pressing the bottle onto his chest. “But this will give you an extra boost. It smells good.”

Seokmin squinted, trying to detect any deceit. You loved to prank him, and even though he knew what you were doing before it happened, he let you do it anyway. Seeing the joy in your eyes, the warm laugh that bubbled from your throat gave him endorphins no one else could replicate.

"This isn’t some sort of joke, is it?” Seokmin murmured, his hand drifting lower to squeeze your derriere.

“Mm mm,” you shook your head. “No joke, baby. I bought this with you in mind, and I hope it makes you think of me.”

“I think of you all the time,” Seokmin chuckled, leaning in. “It doesn’t take much.”

“Good, my sunflower,” you nodded proudly. You spray his neck lightly, rubbing in the cologne with your fingers. “Now take me to bed.”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Seokmin jolts himself back to the present, clutching the gun hidden in the back of his waistband. He wasn’t expecting anyone over, and aside from Seungcheol and Wonwoo, no one knows where he lives. He stalks towards the door, his heart racing, wondering if all of the bloodshed is catching up to him. Slowly looking into the peephole, he lets out a small breath of relief, followed by an annoyed scoff.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Seokmin unlocks the door, swinging it widely, facing the unwanted visitor.

“Silas.”

“Seokmin.”

The older man lets himself in, brushing his shoulder against Seokmin as a silent test to see if Seokmin will bite. He knows this type of man, the kind who gets a rise out of pushing buttons; they snap, and then the victim becomes the villain, fitting their narrative. Seokmin was almost always one step ahead of him, and he’s sure it's one of the many reasons he hates him.

“Yes, come in.’ he says under his breath, shutting the door.

“Why are you bothering her at the club?” Silas gets right to the point.

Seokmin gives him a slow, unimpressed once-over. “Because she’s my fiancée,” he answers bluntly. “That’s never going to change, no matter how you try to spin it.”

Silas snorts, surveying the space. “I think you need to get your head checked, boy. My daughter doesn’t and will not have anything to do with you.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Seokmin scoffs, holding eye contact. “Did you come all this way to puff out your chest? Or are you going to finally be the father she needs?”

Silas’s eyes narrow into menacing slits as he steps toward him, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You don’t know shit about what she needs.”

Seokmin lets out a short, dry laugh, feeling it deep in his gut. “Old man, I know way more than you think.” Stepping around him, he opens the door. “If that’s all you have to say.”

Silas does not invoke any fear in Seokmin’s heart. It doesn’t matter how many connections your father has; Seokmin will still find a way to take them down, and he’s doing alright so far.

Silas sneers, turning on his heel and storming down the hall. “You will regret this!” He barks over his shoulder.

“No, I won’t,” Seokmin yells back, slamming the door behind him.

The sound echoes through his apartment, and Seokmin lets out a long, drawn breath, relieving the tension in his abdomen. A visit from Silas is never a good thing, but it doesn’t deter him—it pushes him to dig even deeper to uncover the lies just beneath the surface. How did he know Seokmin was coming to the club? Aside from the obvious, why is Silas bothered by it?

A myriad of questions swirl in his head, his suspicions growing louder. Pulling out his phone, he presses the dial button and is immediately met with a voicemail. 

“Wonwoo. Look into Silas—yes, that Silas. I have a feeling this is bigger than we thought.”

I'm gonna tell you about love Let's forget your life Forget your problems Administration, bills and loads Come with me

You’re one with the rhythm, twirling in a sensual circle as you swing the mic in the air. There is a large attendance tonight, due to a convention in Neo City that brings nerds from all over the planet. You changed up your makeup at the last minute, going for a more divine look that brings out your eyes. Cado gave you shit for it, but you know what you’re doing, and it’s working; once again, everyone is at your mercy, their mouths partly open as you seduce the crowd with your voice.

Connect to the sky Future lovers ride their ambitions high, would you like to try? Let me be your guide, cut inside your pride Future lovers hide love inside their eyes

The red light sparkles on your dress, a tight, short number that accentuates your legs, paired with heels that are an accessory in their own right. Scanning the room, you let the vibrant energy take over, falling into a trance while you perform. Being on stage is truly your happy place, and there isn’t anywhere else you’d want to be.

As you sing, you’re drawn to a pair of warm brown eyes you could get lost in, a slow smile on his lips as he watches your every move. Excitement tingles through your body, and you keep your composure as you strut over to the man of your dreams.

Love controlled by time Future lovers shine for eternity in a world that's free Put away your past, love will never last If you're holding on to a dream that's gone I'm gonna tell you about love Would you like to try?

The final note lingers in the air, a shimmering vibration that seems to hold the entire room in an intoxicating suspension. As the crowd roars in applause, you wink at him, the shimmer of your makeup catching the strobe lights before you gracefully leave the stage.

Your heart is racing, but it’s not just because of the performance. Instead of heading to your dressing room, you detour to the floor, searching for him among all the bodies in colorful attire. You find your dream guy at the bar, ordering a drink with Chan. Despite the butterflies invading your stomach, you take a seat next to him.

“Hey, stranger,” you greet him with your signature low, sultry voice. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You did?” Seokmin responds, a gentle grin on his lips. “That just made my night.”

“I’m glad I could be of service.” You wink again. Feeling confident, you grab his hand, slide off your stool, and pull him along. “Walk with me?”

His hands feel the same as they did in your dream; warm, inviting, and safe. You notice the way his eyes dance as you lead him outside to your hideaway spot near the front entrance. You’re fully aware you’re acting recklessly, and you don’t really know Seokmin. For all you know, he could be a mass murderer. But despite all that, something in the back of your mind tells you it’s okay.

You stop in a tucked-away spot in the dimly lit alley, two patio chairs in front of an abandoned building. Streaks of magenta and cyan from the neon signs spread across the brick walls, alternating sides as the light adjusts according to its programming. No one else comes here, and you come here to think whenever the noise gets too loud. It’s your own little sanctuary, a small bit of peace that’s of your own making.

Seokmin digs into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of menthols and opening the carton toward you.

“Want one?”

You smile, taking one and slipping it between your lips. He lights it, his eyes not leaving yours, sending a jolt of sparks throughout your body.

“The man of my dreams,” you murmur as you exhale.

“Am I?” His eyes shift to something softer and unspoken, and you feel heat creep up on your neck.

“Figuratively speaking, of course,” you lie, inhaling deeply.

You exhale the smoke with a perfect ‘O’, watching it rise in the night air until it dissipates. You feel his eyes burning on you, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to explain that you feel drawn to him, and it feels like you were meant to know him. You haven’t had another dream since then, and yet, Seokmin has been in the back of your mind with every thought. You tried shaking it away, meditating away, even sexing it away with someone you met at a bar that you knew you would never see again. Nothing has worked, and you are starting to feel you are truly fucked.

“So what do you do, Seokmin?” you ask, discarding the ash from the stick.

“I’m a private investigator,” he answers, taking a puff of his cigarette. “Been doing it for a while.”

“Yeah?” You say, amused. “So you probably have seen a lot of crazy things.”

“Something like that.”

A sly grin curves on his lips, making him more attractive. “I bet you handle yourself well.”

“I… do my best,” he alludes. “I’m still breathing.”

“You look good and alive to me,” you laugh, your nerves suddenly getting to you. Turning to the side, you slap your hand lightly on your head. This has never been you. You don’t tumble over your words or get tongue-tied over anything, especially men. And yet, Seokmin has you all over the place, stumbling over everything you thought you knew.

“So… what do you do when you’re not hypnotizing clubs or terrorizing your boss?”

You let out an embarrassing snicker, caught off guard by his statement. “What makes you think I terrorize my boss?”

Seokmin throws you a look, a twinkle in his eye as he raises a brow. “You perform like that on stage, and you tell me you aren’t driving your boss nuts?”

You almost choke on your cigarette, laughing. The nerves leave you as easy as they came. “Is it terrorizing or just knowing that I’m right?”

He shrugs with a smirk on his lips. “Touche.”

You shake your head playfully, putting out half of your cigarette. You aren’t really a smoker, but he offered, and you didn’t want to turn him down. Gazing at the sky, the two moons of the planet are full, in a shade of red that appears only once every millennium. How ironic that you are sharing it with the man of your dreams.

“I would ask if you come here often, but I think we know the answer to that,” you say, sauntering closer to him. “I never forget a face—brain injury aside.”

Seokmin bites his bottom lip, turning away slightly to hide a grin.

“It’s okay to laugh,” you encourage him. “My accident didn’t deprive me of my sense of humor, thank gods.”

He lets out a guffaw, his voice echoing off the walls of the alley. In the darkness, you see the light in his eyes, and it melts you. He's even more handsome than he was the first day you saw him.

“You… are funny,” Seokmin manages to say in between breaths. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a comedian?”

“Nah.” You scrunch your nose playfully. “I’d get bored.”

The time on the nearest building dings midnight, signaling your break being over. You don’t want to leave; you want to stay in this place and get to know him, figure out what makes him tick and why you can’t get him out of your head. Silence falls between you two, loud thoughts running through your mind, unsure of what to say next.

“So will you be coming back—”

“—Do you want to go out with me sometime?”

You stare at each other, the silence thick and charged with the kind of electricity that would raise your hair in the wind, followed by a lightning strike. A slow, playful smile curves on your lips as you lean in, the scent of his vanilla-and-spice cologne swirling around you, mixed with the sharp tang of menthols.

“You wanna go out with me?” you tease him. “How do you know I’m not a crazy person who takes their victims into dark alleys?”

Seokmin’s laugh is silvery, his foot itching closer to you, the warmth of his presence vibrating off you. “You’re a creative woman. I’m sure you could do better than that.”

You cock your head back in laughter, almost at a loss for words. “Touche.” Looking back towards the club, you turn to him again. “Walk me back?”

Seokmin holds out his arm to you, and you slip into it easily, like a fitted glove. The walk back is mostly quiet, aside from exchanging numbers and agreeing to see each other in two days. The neon lights dance on your skin, and the club's impending noise grows louder with each step. It’s like you're in your own bubble, existing with him with ease, feeling a sort of peace you didn’t know you needed.

When you reach the entrance, the bubble bursts as Cado leans against the doorframe, arms folded with irritation on his face. His eyes land on you two, his dark pupils narrowing into predatory splits.

“You’re late for your second set, Vixen,” Cado says with a smile that doesn’t match his eyes. “Let’s get you inside, gorgeous.”

He holds out his hand, but his gaze is on Seokmin, his poker face faltering with each second. You glance at Seokmin, who meets the gaze with an unimpressed stare, stepping back slightly to give you space.

“I’ll see you Friday, sunflower.”

You watch him walk away, disappearing into the night. Giddiness takes over; you wish you could leap forward two days. You feel Cado’s hands grip your upper arm, a tad too much pressure, making you wince. You’re ushered back inside, the thumping bass, the thick smoke, and expensive perfume irritating your nose.

“You don’t have to guide me to my dressing room,” you bite. “I’m not a child.”

“If only you knew the concept of time is money,” Cado snaps. “You have five minutes.”

You step into the dim light of your dressing room, the mirror reflecting your image in all of its glory. You quickly tousle your hair, adjust your dress and makeup, and touch your lips with a shade of red that would make the devil jealous. You were done in two minutes instead of five, rolling your eyes at Cado’s attitude earlier.

“I don’t know what his issue is,” you mutter to yourself. “I’m already done.”

Swinging the door open, you make your way to the stage, passing by the boss’s door, which is left slightly ajar.

“Yeah, she’s in the dressing room now… yes, I will keep an eye on her.”

You come to a halt, a chill coming down your spine. You may have lost part of your memory, but you aren’t naive—he is talking about you.

“Yeah… yeah… He was here again.”

Your heart starts to race, everything suddenly feeling heightened as you continue the conversation. Why is Cado so invested in you and who you keep your company with?

“Are you alright?”

You turn around suddenly, facing Chan, who is standing in the hallway, holding boxes of liquor, presumably to stock the bar. You blink, your ears burning from embarrassment and being caught red-handed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you croak, clearing your throat. “I just have a slight headache, that’s all.”

“Oh, if you want, I can give you coltis powder later; that’ll clear it up.”

You give him a weak smile. “I would appreciate it, Chan.”

He nods and walks around you, going back to the bar. You pinch your nose, shaking your head as you let out a loud sigh. Fuck, that was close. Turning around, you see Cado’s door is now closed, ending any chance you had to hear more of the conversation. Disappointment starts to seep in like a leak, but you push it aside, realizing your five minutes are up and it’s time to get on stage. You put on your best poker face, going on stage to applause and cheers, your hands resting on the microphone as you begin your next set.

“Who’s ready for more?”

The crowd cheers.

Turning to your right, you meet the eyes of Cado, who watches you intently with an all-knowing look you can’t understand. You wink at him and begin your set, seemingly showing everyone all is right in the world.

But that’s the opposite of the truth, and it’s far from over.

Part 2 will be posted soon! Let me know what you think in the comments or reblogs <3

📂 Case File: anamnesis by @woncheolisms

🔦Administrators: Choi Seungcheol x reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: VOID by @hannieoftheyear

🔦Administrators: Yoon Jeonghan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Everything humanity has ever wanted is now at reach with the touch of a button, yet, the world is as empty as ever. Most prefer to live their lives in the digital reality, where you can be cities away in the blink of an eye and where the sun shines uninterrupted. The only ones left are those who first developed the idea, stuck in an abandoned world and cursed to watch as their families deteriorate inside machines. When a malfunction opens up the possibility to break the system, they seize the opportunity to make those who used a falling city as the stepping stone for their empire pay once and for all.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: systematic error by @straylightdream

🔦Administrators: Joshua Hong x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it’s not unusual for artificially intelligent robots to blend in seamlessly to society. many years ago you found a android and upgraded his programming. As time passed you often forget he’s not a human, unfortunately he can’t escape the feelings and tainted thoughts that he’s just an android. after falling in love, you’ve become companions as you navigate the dark neon city together, and attempt to take down the biggest corporation.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PRIME by @joshujin

🔦Administrators: Wen Junhui x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Six years ago, you unknowingly changed the course of Arcadian Prime forever. Five years ago, you erased your own existence and went into hiding. And approximately half an hour ago, the very first image of you, the city-state's most wanted fugitive, went online. Now… now, you run.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Ground by @mylovesstuffs

🔦Administrators: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: on the ground, the poor starve. in the sky, the rich live like gods. six months of playing the clumsy, star struck girl from the slums boils down to a single night in a luxury penthouse. to avenge and save her father from their misery, she has to trap the elite’s most untouchable corporate heir, hoshi, in a game of her own making— and then betray him.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Shadow District by @thestraybunny

🔦Administrators: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Skyfall Industries is taking over the city, where the rich will benefit while the poor will suffer. With body modifications, sex, drugs, and alcohol there to help numb people from reality of it all. Your world is small, and is just getting smaller. So, when Skyfall Inds is finally at your door and threatening your home, you and Wonwoo will have a choice to make.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PROJECT: KILL SWITCH by @callisrecords

🔦Administrators: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: On a trip to the Wastelands, you don't expect to find much that's intact. Definitely not an escape pod or a man still inside it. Lee Jihoon seems to be unregistered, unchipped and jarringly not from this century. In a city held together by a network no one can escape, he is the only thing it cannot read, cannot follow, and cannot override. As details about a mission that predates everything you’ve ever known begin to surface, you realise Jihoon’s existence is more than just an anomaly. Somewhere within the structure of the megacorp that controls the city lies a failsafe: a kill switch tied to an authority long believed dead. Except maybe it isn’t.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: through the haze by @aeristudios

🔦Administrators: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: You're the star of Neo City Nights, the hottest nightclub in the city. Your voice brings in people from all over, including the handsome stranger Seokmin who you can't stay away from. Too bad you don't remember him from your past life, before the accident that happened, which changed your life forever.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: butterfly by @sailorsoons

🔦Administrators: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In a city where technology makes it possible to shed your body as easily as changing clothes, Mingyu has built his reputation hunting criminals who disappear behind new faces. So when you become the prime suspect in a brutal string of serial murders, he should have no trouble closing the case. Except... the more he investigates you, the less he's convinced you're guilty.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: REMNANT by @wheeboo

🔦Administrators: Xu Minghao x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In the year 2197, Xu Minghao works as a government shadow operative, hired to hunt down political dissidents. After surviving a catastrophic accident that should have ended his life, his body had been rewired to become nothing more than a living weapon solely engineered for one purpose: obedience. You live a different kind of double life. By day, a reclusive digital artist curating an elite art gallery; by night, a ghost hacker where you siphon secrets from the city’s corrupt core. But when your latest hack uncovers an unsettling truth, a target is painted on your back—and Minghao is assigned to terminate you.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: synapse//ZERO by @cheollollipop

🔦Administrators: Boo Seungkwan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when Synapse//ZERO launches, thousands of players eagerly enter the world's first fully immersive neural VR game. hours later, they're trapped. with her younger brother and best friend seungkwan among them, YN enters the game's sprawling cyberpunk metropolis, determined to bring them home. but in a world where the system adapts, remembers, and watches, escaping may not be enough. inspired by sword art online!

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: kingslayer by @100vern

🔦Administrators: Chwe Hansol x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it's been years since you worked for the ministry of welfare. since you were partnered with hansol as a rookie inspector in the criminal investigation unit. since the two of you were assigned to a case so devastating it cost hansol his freedom and sent you into hiding. it's been years, but there's no time limit on vengeance—and there's nothing you wouldn't do to protect hansol.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: got you (in my sights) by @minisugakoobies

🔦Administrators: Lee Chan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when a job goes bad, elite assassin lee chan ends up the victim of a botched memory wipe. lost on the streets of new seoul and in need of help, he turns to the only person he can remember - just a face, a name, and a feeling. you have no idea why a rival assassin is begging on your doorstep, but agree to help him, thinking it will be an opportunity to steal his clients. but when the client who ordered the memory hit learns he hasn't been wiped, they target you both. can you trust chan enough to work together to save yourselves? or will you lose more than your memories?

The Malware 🚫 The Code

It would be so much easier to just hike to a Sector 4 market and buy a sleek, pre-calibrated arm for Aki. But then you’d be handing Lazarus Tech a direct line into your hideout. Vernon isn't just being a prick. He’s the one who showed you the code—the hidden "sleeper" malware Lazarus bakes into every piece of consumer tech. One wrong handshake with a corporate server and your entire crew becomes a collection of meat-puppets, their locations pinged to a tactical team before the limb is even finished calibrating. “Find me something old but still salvageable,” he’d scowled, eyes bloodshot as he pointed a soldering gun at you.  “And don’t bring me rusted junk this time. Even I can’t do anything with that,” he’d added, like you were doing this for fun and not because Aki couldn’t even hold a cup without the current joint locking halfway through. You shove off of the freighter’s hull with a quiet curse, adjusting the weight of your pack. The metal creaks under the shift, brittle with age, flakes of rust coming away against your glove. “Yeah, yeah,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll just pull a factory-fresh elbow out of the dirt for you.” The wind drags across the flats from the rain clouds hanging over the inner city. It catches on the broken skeletons of machines and spits dust through the gaps, fine enough to slip through anything that isn’t sealed tight. Your respirator whirs again, a warning this time.  You ignore it. There’s two more warnings, and they’re usually timed to be thirty minutes apart each. There’s a second one in your pack—equally old, but it’ll run for a while if this one gives up on you. You pick your way through the wreckage. Most of what’s left out here has already been stripped down to nothing worth taking, but every now and then something gets missed. A sealed joint or a pre-Link actuator if you’re lucky.  Your boot catches on something half-buried. You crouch automatically, brushing away grit until an old generator comes into view. Vernon could use the copper coil wirings in this, you think as you dust it off and throw it into your pack. You’re about to stand up again when the scrap pile on your right begins to vibrate violently. The tremor that runs through the pile follows into your knees, the sound of metal scraping against metal being droned out by a sudden deafness. You sit still for half a second, tilting your head to listen to the wind before your chest starts to tighten because of an inexplicable force, like a heavy weight is being pushed onto you. Rising to your feet just as the sound of impact follows, punching through the air and almost bringing you down to the ground again, you look up to see a cloud of dust and smoke not much farther from you.

Well, that’s new, you think as you cough, already moving. A fresh fall means untouched, and untouched means you might actually find something Vernon won’t immediately throw back at your face in a stim-induced stupor. You trudge through at a steady pace first, and then faster once you notice that the ground's fallen through where the impact was made. Still unable to see through the cloud, you cross your fingers and hope that it's some of the debris in the planet's orbit. You'd heard that there'd been sightings of remnants of age-old spaceships dropping down to earth because of gravity.  Judging by how much smoke actually surrounds the place, you're not sure if it's all burnt or still intact. By the time you reach the small crater that's formed, the plume has mostly settled. You sigh in relief. You weren't sure if your respirator would make it through and out of that mess anyway. But the sight in front of your eyes makes you pause.

The object is rather too big to be called one. It looks something like a pod, too intact for something that just tore through the sky and slammed into the ground hard enough to shake the bones out of your legs. You slow without meaning to, boots skidding slightly at the edge of the crater as loose gravel shifts under your weight, your eyes dragging over the surface in quick, assessing passes. No scattered pieces or broken plating blown outward. The outer shell still holds shape and sits mostly upright, vents along the sides pushing out thin streams of vapor that curl and vanish into the air.

“Okay,” you breathe out, a grin pulling at your lips before you can stop it. “Okay, that’s—” That’s good. Really good.

You slide down the slope a little too fast, catching yourself against the side of the thing with your palm, the heat still trapped in the metal bleeding through your glove just enough to make you hiss under your breath. Up close, the white coating of the pod is dulled by soot but intact, scored in long, dark streaks where it burned on the way down. You drag your glove across one of them without thinking, clearing a narrow strip.

There’s writing underneath—not the heavily stamped branding you’re used to seeing on anything that comes out of the city. This is smaller and blends into the surface. Embossed in small, cleanly spaced letters are the words HERMES (I) MISSIONS.  You lean in, eyes narrowing as you try to make sense of it. The name doesn’t ring a bell. 

More markings run along the curve of the hull, broken by seams and panels you hadn’t caught from a distance. Arrows, numbers, and small blocks of text that look like instructions. Your attention shifts to the seams instead. There’s one running along the side, faint but continuous, a thin interruption in the otherwise smooth surface. You follow it with your eyes first, then with your hand, brushing away the dust until your fingers catch on the edge.

A door.

You reach for your pack without looking, flipping the latch open and pulling out the slim pry-bar Vernon built for jobs exactly like this. As you work at the door, you think about how Vernon’s going to lose his mind over this. Once you open this thing up and tell him about it, he’ll be coming here in no time to tear the place apart and take what he wants. 

You lean your weight onto the bar, forcing the gap wider bit by bit. The seal holds for a bit longer than you expect, then breaks all at once. Air rushes out of it immediately—sharp, cold, and too clean for this place, hitting your mask hard enough to make you flinch back a step. Your respirator stutters while trying to adjust to the sudden flood, the filters whining as they struggle to keep up.

You turn your head instinctively, letting it pass over you until the pressure eases enough to breathe properly again.

You push the door open the rest of the way.

The inside is untouched.

With clean, padded walls—pale and smooth with no corroded metal or dust settling into the corners—it doesn’t look like something that belongs out here at all. You’d expect something stripped down, maybe a few intact panels if you were lucky, but this is closer to a cockpit than scrap. Narrow and compact, with everything within arm’s reach of everything else. There are panels along the sides, small screens flickering on and off, thin bundles of wiring tucked and arranged neatly.

You step in, slow at first, your boots sounding muffled against the floor, eyes moving over it all in quick glances, trying to figure out what’s worth taking first and what you’re going to have to come back for once Vernon inevitably drags himself out here.

And then you see it.

Set into the center, bolted low and running along the length of the pod, there’s something that looks like a chamber. Or a pod, even. Long and enclosed, the casing curves over it like it’s meant to protect whatever’s inside.

You stop, the earlier excitement turning into caution before you force yourself to move towards it.

The casing seems to be made of glass or some clear material, but it’s fogged over, although not opaque just yet. There’s movement in the liquid inside, disturbed just enough that it doesn’t sit still, and for a second your brain tries to place it as coolant, or some kind of preservation system Vernon would spend hours ranting about.

Then the shape beneath it resolves.

A face.

You jerk back a step so fast your shoulder clips one of the panels, a dull thud echoing in the tight space.

No. No, absolutely not. 

The body—seemingly a man—doesn’t move. 

He’s submerged almost entirely in the fluid filling the chamber, his body held in place by it, and his face tilted just above the surface. His eyes are closed. There’s no visible movement beyond the faint ripple in the fluid.

You stare. 

For a second, you consider leaving—pretending you never saw this, and letting Vernon come deal with whatever the hell this is. You’ve handled a ton of things for him, but a dead body dropping out of the sky is not one of them.

Instead, you step closer.

It doesn’t feel like a good decision, but it’s the one you make anyway, your gaze dragging from his face to the side of the chamber where a small panel sits half-lit, flickering in and out like it’s running on whatever scraps of power the pod has left.

You crouch beside it, wiping a thumb across the surface.

It’s something that looks like a readout. There’s a heart rate monitor, and his pulse is slow but present. The screen also shows oxygen saturation levels, temperature and something else that might be neural activity. 

You lean back slightly, eyes flicking to him again. 

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “So you’re alive. That’s… good for you.” 

You must’ve pressed something accidentally, because the panel suddenly displays a new message in bright red. 

ACCESS RESTRICTED.

Below it, a smaller prompt blinks at you with a row of empty boxes following it. 

ENTER AUTHORIZATION CODE.

Great. So this is locked too. 

Leaving isn’t really an option anymore, so you drop your pack to the floor and begin to rummage through and pulling out one of Vernon’s toys—a thin, flat chip slotted into a grip the size of your palm, wires branching out from it in short, flexible threads with magnetic tips at the ends. Crude-looking, but you’ve seen it crack locks that were supposed to be unbreakable.

You press the main plate against the panel and let the leads find purchase along the edges, the magnets snapping lightly into place where the casing meets the screen.

The row of empty boxes flickers once before the first digit fills in, the number changing almost immediately, then again and again, fast enough that it stops being readable and turns into a continuous blur of motion. The second box follows, then the third, each one cycling just as quickly, the entire line running through combinations at an aggressive speed.

When the final box fills, for a brief second the entire row stays fixed and just when you think it’s going to reject the code again, the screen flashes green.

ACCESS GRANTED.

The red text disappears, replaced instantly by a flood of new data that pushes the old interface aside, columns of information sliding into place faster than you can process them. 

A controlled hiss cuts through the space as the seal disengages, followed by a series of tight clicks that run along the length of the casing. The fluid inside shifts in response, a heavier movement this time, disturbed by the change in pressure as the top section begins to lift.

You pull your hand back from the panel as the casing opens and wait. But it only opens enough to break the seal and then a little more, so you push it up and out of the way, eyes locked in on the man beneath it.

For a moment, nothing happens.

The silence in the pod is heavy, thick with the sterile smell of the fluid and the dirty air from outside infiltrating the clean air inside the pod. You stay crouched, muscles coiled and ready to bolt if this turns south, watching the way the remaining liquid beads off his skin like oil.

Then, the man’s chest hitches with a jagged, desperate intake of air that sounds like a rusted hinge being forced open. His throat works, a hard swallow that looks painful, and his fingers—pale and pruned—twitch against the bottom of the chamber.

You find yourself holding your own breath as his eyes twitch before they snap open, pupils blown wide for a fraction of a second before they struggle to adjust to the light inside the pod. He inhales again, harder this time, the sound tearing out of him as his back arches slightly, the movement sending what’s left of the fluid sloshing against the sides. 

Your hand lifts anyway, hovering for a second like you’re going to grab him, then stopping short when you realise you don’t actually know what you’d do if he bolts or collapses or starts swinging. You shift your weight instead, bracing one knee against the side of the chamber, close enough to catch him if he tips the wrong way, far enough that you can still move if you have to.

“Hey—” you start, the word coming out sharper than you mean it to, more instinct than anything useful. “Don’t—just—”

He doesn’t hear you.

His head lolls forward as vomits a mouthful of the pale liquid onto the floor. The shivering sets in immediately after, violent enough that it runs through him unchecked, his shoulders hitching, teeth knocking together hard enough to be audible even over the low hum of the pod. His sopping wet clothes stick to him in all places.

You grimace before reaching for your pack again, fingers closing around the spare respirator. He already seems to be struggling and after being unaccustomed to breathing for a while, he’ll find it harder without one of these.

You yank it free, shaking it out once before stepping back in, catching him by the arm as he sways. He’s worse up close like this—skin slick with fluid and cold to the touch.

“Hold still,” you mutter, although you don’t expect him to listen as you bring the mask up and press it over his face, sealing it tight along his nose and mouth.

Your thumb finds the switch and forces it on.

The filter kicks in with a rough, uneven whirr, louder than it should be in the confined space, and for a few seconds you keep your hand there, making sure it’s actually drawing air before you let go.

He drags in a breath through it immediately, sharp and unsteady, before lifting a trembling finger to point at something behind you. You follow the direction of it automatically, your gaze flicking over your shoulder to where he’s pointing. 

There’s an orange box that’s screwed to the walls. You hesitate for half a second, then reach for it.

It opens easily enough. Inside, everything is packed tightly. Folded clothes sit stacked in clean rows along with dried packets of what seems to be food and pouches of water. You reach for the thickest fabric of them all—a towel—before shaking it out once and coming back to wrap it around the man.

He stares at it for a moment like he doesn’t quite recognise what it is, then brings it up awkwardly, pressing it against his face and then his neck. 

You step back to give him some space and take him in properly, now that the initial panic has settled. 

Other than landing from the skies, being asleep in some liquid-filled pod and looking pale and wrinkled up like a prune, there are other things—or rather, the lack of other things that makes him strange.

There’s nothing on the man. No ports, no visible implants or surgery scars or embeds under his skin. Even the usual scarring from old mods—bad installs, cheap replacements, anything—none of it is there. 

You frown slightly, your gaze lingering a second longer than it should as he drags the towel down his arms, wiping off the remaining fluid in shaky motions.

His clothes too. The ones he’s wearing right now, the ones in the box all look different from what you’ve seen before. The fabric is thinner than anything you’d trust out here, softer too, without any embedded mesh or tech woven into it. 

You glance at the man again as he swallows again, his grip tightening against the chamber walls as he steadies himself to look at you properly. 

“Th—thank you,” he manages, the words rough and dragged out of a throat that clearly isn’t ready for them yet, his breath catching halfway through as a cough follows.

His hand comes up to his face almost immediately after, fingers fumbling clumsily over the mask you’ve strapped on him, tracing the edges of it like he’s trying to understand what it is without pulling it off.

“What—what is this,” he asks, voice muffled now, the words breaking slightly as he breathes through it. “Why—”

He doesn’t finish.

Instead, he shifts, bracing one hand against the side of the chamber as if that alone is enough to get him out, his body moving on instinct more than control. For a moment it almost works. He pushes himself upright and tries to swing his legs onto the ground, sending drops of the liquid across the floor.

But his balance fails him immediately as gravity catches up. His knees buckle under him, the rest of his weight pitching forward so quickly, it would’ve sent him straight to the floor if you weren’t already close enough to catch him.

He grabs at you without meaning to, fingers tightening around your arm.

“—sorry,” he mutters quickly, his grip loosening just as abruptly. “I—just—”

He exhales hard through the mask, another cough following, less violent this time.

“…food,” he adds after a second, the word coming out slower, like he’s picking it out through the fog in his mind. “And water. Please.”

The pod is mostly quiet now.

The low hum of whatever systems are still clinging to life runs underneath everything, and the occasional rustle of the food packet breaks through the silence, but neither of you speak.

The worst of the shaking has passed. He sits with his back against the chamber’s walls, one knee drawn up slightly, the other stretched out awkwardly. The empty water pouch sits beside him.

You eye the packet, wondering if it’s the real deal or the lab grown stuff from the lower markets. It looks real enough, and you’re hungry too, but it feels wrong to ask this man about food while he sits looking like that. 

He doesn’t look at you right away.

For a while, his attention stays on smaller things—the food in his hands, the way his fingers still tremble when he lifts it, the slow way he chews, like he’s making sure his body remembers how to. Every now and then his gaze drifts, to the panels along the walls, the flickering screens and strips of light slipping through the hatch behind you.

Then to you. Like you’re the one thing in the room he hasn’t accounted for yet. His brows tighten. You can’t tell if he looks alarmed or suspicious. He glances away again, dropping his attention back to the food. Another bite. Then, like he can’t leave it alone—

“…are you part of the recovery crew?” he asks, throat finally softened by the water. 

“What?” Your brows furrow.  

“The recovery crew,” he repeats, slower this time, like it's obvious and you’re the one missing it. He gestures vaguely around the pod. “Where’s the rest of them? Has mission control been notified?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

His face twists in confusion too. Great. Neither of you knows what the other's saying.

“This,” he says, knuckles weakly tapping the side of the chamber. “The pod. We were supposed to—” He stops, jaw tightening. His gaze flicks past you, to the door, the sliver of grey sky and scrap beyond it.

“This isn’t a water landing,” he says, more to himself than to you, “We didn’t…”

His eyes lock onto you, running up and down before his lips purse.

“What are you wearing?”

The confusion deepens, tipping into disbelief. “Where did I land? Some kind of… themed zone? Convention or something? Are we at Comic Con?”

You blink at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what else this is supposed to be.”

That’s enough.

You bring your wrist up, the interface flickering to life across your skin in a soft blue, thin lines of light forming a curved display just above your hand.

“Name,” you demand. “Tell me your name.”

He stares at the hologram first with widened eyes and a dropped jaw. 

“Hey!” 

“Jihoon,” he says. “Lee Jihoon.” 

You type it in and the system scans through the city’s registry faster than you can follow.

NO MATCH.

You frown and try again.

Still nothing. 

You lower your hand, the projection still hovering. Jihoon hasn’t moved, his attention still locked on your wrist. 

His eyes move from the display to your face and then back. “We didn’t have—” He stops himself.

A few seconds pass before he speaks again, more careful this time

“The time dilation. If I’m back now, it must have been…” The cogs turn visibly. “About fifteen years? Is it 2047?”

“Are you on something?” you scoff, starting to get annoyed. “if this is some sort of a stim trip, you picked a bad place to ride it out.”

The words come out sharper than you mean them to, but it feels like someone’s pulling a prank on you. 

“No, wait—” Jihoon splutters, raising a hand. “What year is it? How long has it been since the launch?”

“What launch? Lazarus hasn’t sent anything to outer space in decades.” You scowl. 

“What year is it?” He asks again. “Please.”

You exhale sharply, massaging your temple before turning back to him. “Fine,” you roll your eyes, feet tapping on the ground. “It’s 2226.”

There’s a brief pause where he looks at you like he’s waiting for you to follow that up with something else—something that makes it make sense—before a faint crease forms between his brows and his gaze drops, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

“Right,” Jihoon says after a few seconds. He nods multiple times before tilting his head up to look at you again, trying to figure out if you’re serious or just committed to whatever this is. “Okay.” 

You say nothing.

He drags a hand through his damp hair before settling it at the back of his neck. It makes him look casual enough. Maybe even awkward, if it wasn’t for the way his cheeks are hollowed with irritation.

“That’s funny,” he adds, without any real humour. “Did they tell you to say that, or—”

“They?” you cut in.

“The recovery team,” he repeats, making you groan. “Or whoever got here first. I don’t know what the plan was, but this—” he nods faintly toward you, “—this isn’t how you debrief someone coming out of hypersleep, sorry.”

You stare at him, the earlier annoyance settling back in. 

What are you going to do with him?

“Listen, I’m not pulling a fucking prank on you, or whatever,” you start, reaching for your pack. “If you don’t believe me, you can come look for yourself. Or you could stay here and be found by people who aren’t going to be as nice or patient.”

When Jihoon doesn’t move or answer right away, you continue. 

“You’re running out of time. Light drops fast out here. If we don’t move now, it isn’t going to be easy to find your way out of here,” your tone flattens out as you step closer, your eyes dropping briefly to his legs.

He follows your gaze, like he’s only just registering it again, then shifts, bracing one hand against the side of the chamber before pushing himself up.

It goes about as well as before.

He exhales sharply through his teeth, frustration flickering across his face before he tries again, slower this time, like he can force his body into remembering how to stand up or walk.

“Give it a second,” Jihoon mutters, more to himself than you. “It’s just—”

He stops, jaw tightening as he finally stands on his feet, although more than half of his body leans against the chamber. 

“I’ve been in microgravity,” he grunts out, “for—if what you say is true—a long, long time. My body needs time to get used to earth’s gravity again.”

“Are you telling me you can’t walk?” You ask, laughing in disbelief. 

“I can walk,” he says, a little too quick for it to sound convincing, shifting his weight off the side just enough to prove a point. It lasts for all of three seconds before he has to hold onto something again.

“…I can walk,” he repeats, quieter this time and less defensive. “Just not… properly.”

“Great,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face before letting it drop back to your side.  

“It’ll come back,” he adds after a moment, more to fill the silence than anything else, his gaze flicking briefly to you before dropping again. “Muscle memory doesn’t just disappear.”

“Whatever,” you sigh, jerking your chin at the door. “I’ll help you walk. I’m going to leave, so try to change out of your clothes if you can. It’s going to get cold outside and you seem to have some in that box.”

He nods, and you take it as a sign to move. Stepping back toward the door, you reach for the respirator where he left it and hold it out to him, waiting until he actually takes it before continuing.

“Put that on before I open this,” you add, already walking to the door. “Air out there’s worse than you can imagine.”

He doesn’t argue and fumbles the mask into place, the seal sitting slightly off before he adjusts it with a clumsy press of his fingers. 

You watch for a second, making sure it’s actually running, then nod toward the box. 

Stepping out of the pod, you drag the door mostly shut behind you, leaving just enough of a gap for air to cycle through while giving him some privacy.

The temperature hits immediately.

Colder now, the sharp wind drags across the crater in uneven bursts that carry dust and grit along with it, settling into the seams of your clothes and the exposed parts of your gear.

You take a few steps up the slope, boots slipping slightly against loose gravel before finding stable ground near the edge, your eyes scanning the stretch of wreckage. Then you look back around at the distance you’d have to cover to get him out of here. 

Yeah, that’s not happening.

You bring your wrist up again, tapping the interface twice until it flickers to life, the projection stabilising quickly in the low light. The signal takes a few seconds to connect. The lines are pretty far from the Wastelands, and you try not to use them most of the time.

“Hoshi,” you say, not bothering with any greeting when it connects.

A beat of pure static.

“—you done?” his voice cuts through, rough but clear enough.

“Yeah,” you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as another gust of wind pushes through. “I need a pickup now.”

“Cool. Vernon’s asking if you got everything he asked for.”

“Tell him to shut the fuck up,” you roll your eyes, glancing back toward the pod as a dull thud echoes faintly from inside, followed by the sound of something scraping against metal and what might’ve been a muffled curse. He’s the reason I’m in this mess anyway. “Oh, and bring Wonwoo. Tell him to bring his bike too.”

A pause. “Why? He says he’s busy.”

“Come on! I don’t ask for shit that’s not required, you know,” you shoot back, tone flattening.

Another pause.

Then a short exhale on the other end.

“Give us ten.”

“Sending my location, make it five,” you say, already lowering your wrist before he can argue, cutting the line clean.

“Hey?” Jihoon’s voice calls out, weak and muffled, from inside the pod. “I’m done. I’m sorry, but can you help me out here?”

You let your hand drop fully, the interface fading back into your skin as you turn toward the pod. 

“Yeah,” you call back, already stepping down the slope. “Give me a second.” 

By the time you reach the door and push it open, he’s already halfway there. As he moves, he uses one hand to drag along the wall for balance, the other catching whatever edge he can reach. It’s messy, inefficient, and stubborn in a way that makes you pause for a second at the threshold, watching him close the distance on his own instead of stepping in immediately.

He’s going to fall.

You can see it before it happens but he catches himself again, letting out an exasperated noise as he forces the correction through.

Right.

You step forward then, closing the last bit of space and catching his arm before he can argue, your grip firm enough that he doesn’t have to fight it.

The climb out isn’t graceful, but it works through slow, uneven steps, his weight leaning heavier into you than he probably realises. You don’t comment on it though, and neither does he.

By the time you reach the edge, his breathing’s picked up again. He huffs out in relief before finally looking up.

As evening sets in, the sky is a bruised gradient of violet and burnt orange, but the neon lights in the skyline almost manage to drown out the natural light. The city on the skyline, Jihoon notices, doesn’t sit against the horizon so much as cut through it—tiered and overbuilt, towers stacked into each other in ways that don’t look structurally possible, their surfaces sheathed in glass that no longer reflects the sky so much as advertises over it. 

Massive vertical panels climb the sides of buildings, cycling through ads that stutter and glitch mid-transition, faces stretching and reforming, text bleeding into symbols before snapping back into place. Entire sections of towers are wrapped in moving light, brands crawling up their surfaces. 

Thin lanes of traffic cut through the air in streams, vehicles reduced to streaks of light that thread between towers in intersecting paths, some dipping lower toward the shadowed base, others climbing higher into clearer air. 

None of it makes sense. 

Jihoon stares wordlessly, breath catching behind his mask. 

“Where are we?” He asks, a few moments later.. 

“The Wastelands,” you say, already starting forward again, forcing him to move with you. “Outside Phoenix.” 

“Phoenix,” he repeats, brows furrowing. “Like the American city?”

You glance at him, frowning. “What?”

“Phoenix, Arizona,” he means to state it, but it comes out like a question.

“No,” you sigh flatly. “Just Phoenix. We’re in Asia.”

“Asia…? How is this possible?” Jihoon mutters to himself. “If I was gone for—” He cuts himself off with a harsh exhale, before he begins to ramble, rerunning the calculations with different variables. 

“If recovery failed and I stayed in orbit… no, decay wouldn’t—two centuries is too long. Fluid degradation alone would—unless they compensated, but that would require—” his hand lifts slightly, fingers flexing like he’s trying to grab hold of the thought and keep it from slipping. “Or drift, but not at this scale. That doesn’t—”

He lets out a loud groan. “Doesn’t make sense. None of this does.”

Behind you, the low, familiar hum of an engine builds gradually under the wind, cutting through the open stretch of the Wastelands. You turn your head slightly this time, already knowing what you’re going to see.

Two bikes roll up along the ridge, the engines tuned low enough that the noise doesn’t carry far. The frames are mismatched in that way everything out here is, with reinforced plates welded over older builds, exposed wiring running along the sides where casing’s been stripped back and never replaced. Thin light strips run under the chassis instead of headlights, casting a narrow glow across the ground instead of lighting up the whole area.

They stop a few feet away. 

Hoshi swings off first, helmet coming off with him, his expression already set in something between expectation and impatience, until he looks at you and then at Jihoon, and his face falls.

“Where’s the rest of the haul?” He asks.

You nudge Jihoon lightly. “Here.”

Hoshi shoots you a look, one eyebrow cocked. “You’re joking.”

Wonwoo pulls his helmet off too, still sitting on his bike, eyes moving over Jihoon slowly, over his face, his clothes and footwear. Then, he glances at you.

“Who is he?”

“Don’t know,” you say finally, “Found him in that thing.”

Hoshi follows your line of sight to the pod, then back to Jihoon, his expression flattening further.

“That’s not helping.”

“That's all I’ve got. Nothing he says makes any sense.”

There’s a brief pause where neither of them look convinced.

Jihoon’s grip tightens on your arm slightly before he pushes off and tries to stand on his own, which he manages to do for a good few seconds before he reaches for you again. He opens his mouth to speak, but Wonwoo beats him to it.

“Why’s he holding onto you?”

“He can’t walk properly,” you sigh, using your free hand to massage your temple. “I found him in some weird sleeping pod, man. He’s apparently been in space for a long time.”

Hoshi lets out a short exhale. “You believe that?”

Jihoon exhales through the mask, sharper this time, like he’s choosing whether to argue or not.

“I’m not—” he starts, then stops, eyes scrunching closed before he corrects himself. “I’m not from here.” 

“Sure, bud. You’re from the Upper City then, huh? One of Lazarus’ stupid experiments maybe?” Hoshi laughs humorlessly.

Jihoon ignores him.

“I was part of a deep space expedition mission,” he says instead, forcing the words out. “It was called the Hermes Missions. There was a problem and we had to abandon it and return to earth. It would take a while, so we went into hypersleep, but the time dilation…” he trails off, voice cracking behind the mask.

“What is that? You keep saying it, but what does it mean?” you groan.

“In space, time doesn't work the same way,” Jihoon explains, his voice thin and strained. “To put it simply: the faster you move out there, the slower time passes for you compared to everyone else. For me, it’s only been a few years since I left. To you…” He looks at the glowing skyline, his eyes wide and hollow. 

“Listen,” he continues, glancing at the three of you. “This may be hard to digest, and it’s hard for me too. But I left earth in 2026. I was supposed to be back in around fifteen to twenty years, not—”

“Two hundred?” Hoshi shakes his head slightly like he’s already decided what to do with all of that. “Yeah, no. I’m not buying it.”

Wonwoo finally speaks again. “I don’t think he’s entirely lying though. Look at him. He doesn’t look like he’s from here.”

“That doesn’t make the rest of it true.”

“No,” Wonwoo agrees. “But it makes him a problem either way.”

“And he’s unchipped too,” you add. “Got absolutely nothing on him. Either way, I think it’s best to take him back home and then have Vernon or someone look at his pod. I didn’t recognize most of the tech, but maybe he could.”

Hoshi lets out a quiet scoff, dragging his hand down his face as he looks between you and Jihoon again, like he’s trying to decide which part of this is worse.

“You’re serious about this,” he says, more a statement than a question.

“How can we leave him here? He’s pure.”

The wind cuts through again, kicking dust up around your boots and along the sides of the bikes. For a second, no one says anything. 

Wonwoo moves first. 

He steps closer, his attention still fixed on Jihoon as he reaches out and takes some of his weight from you without asking. 

“I’m Wonwoo,” he tells Jihoon as they trudge over to his bike. “We’ll take you back to the city and you’ll probably be questioned, but it’s safer than being out here.”

Jihoon nods faintly, like the words take a second to land but he understands enough of them. 

Hoshi exhales sharply behind you. 

“Get him on,” he mutters, already turning back to his bike. “You can get on mine.”

Up close, it’s even more obvious.

No seams under the skin. No faint glow at the wrists. No embedded lines running along the neck or spine. Just unmarked skin, making him stand out more than any modification ever could.

Wonwoo notices it too, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“You need to hold tight.” He says instead.

Jihoon hesitates for half a second, then does as instructed. Wonwoo waits a beat, making sure he’s steady, then reaches back to pull his helmet on, the visor sliding down with a soft click. 

You step back, rolling your shoulders once before moving toward Hoshi’s bike.

He glances at you as you swing on behind him, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

“You better be right about this,” he says.

“I am.”

“You don’t sound convincing.”

“Hoshi, stop being a bitch about it and just drive.” you grumble. 

The engine hums louder under you as he kicks it fully to life, the vibration settling through the frame and into your leg. Ahead of you, Wonwoo’s bike shifts first, turning cleanly toward the path that cuts back through the wreckage.

Jihoon turns his head slightly, looking back at the pod and the crater, like it might still hold some answers, but he turns forward again when he finds none.

The skyline burns brighter now that the last of the light has dropped out completely, neon bleeding into the dark, stretching higher than it has any right to. 

As the bikes pull out in one smooth motion, cutting back across the ridge and into the open stretch of the Wastelands, the wind picking up immediately as they move, Jihoon wonders if there is anything that still anchors this world to his, or if it’s all truly gone.

The first turn into the city is where it starts going wrong again.

Whatever little sense of direction Jihoon had held slips the moment they leave the open stretch behind. The lights come first, sharp and immediate, cutting through his vision in painful streaks. They flare and disappear and flare again from different angles, too bright, too close, and layered over each other until he can’t look at them directly.

He tries to observe his surroundings. He really does, but the glare burns at the back of his eyes, forcing them shut halfway before he can stop it, his grip tightening instinctively as the bike moves again, faster than his body can keep up with. The turns come without warning.

The air feels wrong too. It’s thicker, warmer and every breath he pulls through his mask feels more suffocating than relieving. It tastes like burnt chemicals, a sharp contrast to the sterile air of his spaceship and the pod. 

Every time the bike leans, Jihoon feels his stomach lurch. 

By the time the roar of the engines finally dies down, Wonwoo shifts, the kickstand hitting the pavement with a sharp clack that vibrates right through Jihoon’s bones.

"We’re here," Wonwoo says, his voice flat. "Get off."

Jihoon doesn't move. He can't. His fingers are locked in a death grip around the jacket in front of him. It takes a second for his brain to send the signal to let go, and when he finally manages to swing a leg over the seat, the world tilts to the left.

His boots hit the wet asphalt, and for a moment, he thinks he’s standing. Then, the ground seems to surge upward. He barely manages to stumble two steps away from the bike before he lunges forward, hands wringing the respirator off, and retches.

He vomits a string of thin, bitter preservation fluid and bile, the sound of his own gagging echoing off the narrow alley walls.

"God," Hoshi’s voice cuts through the dark, sounding more annoyed than concerned. "He’s getting that shit everywhere."

You wince, stepping over to Jihoon and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. He’s cold—so cold it bleeds through your gloves. Up close, his skin looks like translucent parchment under the flickering red sign above you.

"Easy," you mutter, though you’re looking at the alley entrance, checking for scanners. "Just get it out. We need to move."

Jihoon doesn’t respond.

He stays bent forward, one hand braced weakly against the wall, the other hanging uselessly at his side as his stomach keeps trying to turn over on nothing.

He drags in a breath. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than the respirator. 

Swallowing hard, Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut for a second longer before forcing them open. His head throbs, the pressure behind his eyes pulsing in time with the flickering lights.

The alley comes into focus slowly.

It’s narrow and closed in, the walls on either side rising higher than they should for how little space there is between them. Water drips somewhere above, running down along exposed wiring before disappearing into the cracks in the ground.

The move from the alley to your safehouse is a blur of dragging feet and muffled curses. Wonwoo doesn’t complain when you ask him to hold up the man again, taking on most of his weight as you try to get him past the door as quickly as possible. The door seals shut behind you with a pressurized thud that vibrates through the floorboards, cutting the city's roar down to a dull, distant thrum. 

“Take him to Vernon,” Hoshi exhales as he moves past the three of you to throw himself onto the sofa. “Let him check the guy again.”

The tone of Hoshi’s voice ticks you off, but you let it pass for now. You can see where he’s coming from, and his instructions are only logical. 

Jihoon doesn’t lift his head fully, but he sees enough.

Work surfaces line one side of the room, cluttered but not disorganised, tools laid out in a way that suggests they’ve been used recently and will be used again soon. Wires run along the walls without being hidden, bundled together in places and left exposed in others, disappearing into panels that have been opened and closed too many times to sit flush anymore. There’s a smell here too, different from outside, less sharp but just as present, something metallic and faintly burnt.

“Vernon,” you call out, not raising your voice but letting it carry.

There’s a pause.

Then the scrape of something being moved, followed by a low, irritated response from somewhere deeper in the room.

“What?”

You don’t bother answering him. Instead you signal Wonwoo to move, not checking if Vernon’s preoccupied.

“I’ve got someone for you,” you say as you walk Jihoon in.

There’s a sound, something dragged across a surface, then a dull clatter. A second later, Vernon steps into view.

Jihoon doesn’t look at him properly at first.

He’s too focused on staying upright, on getting his feet to land where they’re supposed to, on the way the floor doesn’t quite feel stable under him yet. His grip tightens against Wonwoo’s sleeve as they move. The lights inside aren’t as bright or hard to look at, but they’re still overwhelming.

“What do you want me to do?” Vernon asks, eyes trained on Jihoon. He steps closer, tilting his head to look around. “Who is this?”

“We’ll tell you later,” you shake your head, dragging Jihoon to what looks like a surgical table in the middle of the room. “Hoshi wants him cleared first. Check for everything. Biomods, chips, sleepers—specifically anything linked to Lazarus. I doubt you’ll find anything, but still.”

Vernon lets out a short, sharp huff of air that might have been a laugh if he didn’t look so frayed. He wipes his hands on a rag that’s more grease than fabric and gestures toward the table.

“Get him up,” he says. “And try not to let him bleed on the scanners if he’s got any open wounds. I just recalibrated the sensors.”

Wonwoo hoists Jihoon up, seating him on the edge of the cold alloy. It’s a sharp bite that seeps through Jihoon’s clothes and makes his spine stiffen.

Jihoon finally forces his head up.

Vernon is standing right in front of him now. He’s younger than Jihoon expected, with features that might have been soft if they weren't sharpened by the jagged energy of whatever stimulants he's running on. His hair is a washed-out, synthetic blonde, messy and catching the overhead light in a way that makes it look like spun glass. There are thin, glowing lines under the skin of his temple.

You watch as Vernon reaches for one of his devices, his fingers twitching before he flexes them once. He starts at Jihoon’s head, his touch clinical and detached as he tilts Jihoon’s chin up. He’s thorough, his fingers pressing into the soft dip behind the ears, then tracing the vertebrae at the base of the skull. 

Vernon looks for the tell-tale seams of a Lazarus link—a clean metallic chip that should be fused to the bone—first. If the man’s got it, he’s got to go. His thumb digs into the ridge at the base of Jihoon’s skull, a heavy, probing pressure that forces Jihoon’s head forward. 

Jihoon winces, the cold of the probe finally making contact with his skin. It hums in a high-pitched, irritating whine that vibrates against his teeth.

“What are you guys doing to me?” Jihoon gasps out before his eyes land on you. “You said this would be safe.”

“Keep quiet,” Vernon grunts from behind him, gaze fixed on a small monitor to his left. 

The screen shows a flat green line. Nothing.

“He’s got no link,” he lets you know, stepping away from the table before you stop him.

“Check his whole body.” 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell me something at least, before you want me doing all that,” Vernon rolls his eyes. “Maybe you can start with why he looks so clean.”

Jihoon’s eyes stay locked on yours, his chest heaving under the thin fabric of his suit. He’s a long way from the quiet safety of his pod, and being handled like a machine by a twitchy stranger wasn’t a part of the deal.

You glance at him. “Tell him.”

Jihoon lets out a sharp, jagged scoff. The annoyance is starting to burn through the exhaustion now. But if he’s going to trust what his eyes are seeing, then they deserve an explanation.

“I’m not from here,” Jihoon recites, the words sounding practiced by now. “I mean, I am from Earth, just not from this time. I was on a spaceship. A research vessel, if you’d like to call it that.”

Vernon lets out a laugh. “Right. Lazarus hasn’t sent—”

“—anyone to space in decades?” Jihoon cuts him off, his voice sharper than intended. He feels done with this already. “Yeah, I heard. I don’t know what Lazarus is. I wasn’t sent by them.”

“He says he’s from—” you start, turning to him. “Which year are you from, again?”

“2026.” Jihoon sighs. “Listen, I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m having a hard enough time believing any of this is real myself.”

Vernon scoffs, shaking his head before he looks away. “Yeah,” he says, like that answers something for him instead of raising more questions. “That would do it.” 

Jihoon frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Means you’re either the cleanest Lazarus plant I’ve ever seen,” Vernon replies, already turning away from him to grab something else off the work surface, “or you’re exactly what you’re saying you are.” 

“So just do the check, won’t you?” You ask.

“Fine,” Vernon agrees. “Have you looked into him on the NetLink?”

“Yup,” you nod. “Doesn’t exist anywhere.”

Vernon pulls a heavy, ring-shaped scanner from its housing above the table, the joints of the mechanical arm screeching in protest.

“Lie back,” he orders.

Jihoon hesitates, glancing at you with a look that’s becoming increasingly weary, before he lets Wonwoo guide his shoulders down onto the metal.

The scanner ring begins to move, a slow, methodical crawl from his head down toward his feet. For a long time, the only sound is the hum of the machine and the frantic tapping of Vernon’s fingers on a glass keyboard. The screens are a wash of blue and green, mapping out details Jihoon can’t make out clearly.

“His lungs are pristine.” Vernon mutters, his brow furrowed. “No heavy metal deposits, no carbon scarring... it’s like he’s lived in a filter.” 

The scanner reaches Jihoon’s left leg, just above the ankle, and suddenly a sharp, high-pitched ping echoes through the small room. A section of the monitor flashes a warning in amber. 

From the corner of his eye, Jihoon sees the man named Hoshi walk up too. 

Vernon taps the screen, pulling up a 3D render of Jihoon’s tibia. Bolted to the bone is a thin, slightly oxidized plate held in place by four surgical screws. “Old-school compression plate and nails. Titanium, maybe?”

“It was a fracture,” Jihoon lets out almost sheepishly. 

Hoshi leans over Vernon’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the skeletal image on the screen. The annoyance that had been written across his face earlier shifts into a sharp, piercing curiosity. He looks at the metal bolts and then back at Jihoon’s face.

"A fracture," Hoshi repeats, his voice lacking its previous bite. "You broke your leg and they just... put nails in it?"

"It’s what we did," Jihoon mutters, feeling exposed under their gazes.

Vernon reaches out, his gloved fingers hovering just above Jihoon’s skin where the plate is hidden underneath. He almost looks fascinated.

"It’s not even smart-alloy," Vernon whispers, tapping a key to zoom in on the screws. "No bio-syncing. No neural feedback. It’s just dead weight. How do you even walk with these?”

"I just do?" Jihoon says, but it comes out like a question, the simplicity of his own words sounding ridiculous even to him. 

Vernon straightens up, the frantic energy around him somehow amplifying. 

"Aside from that antique in his leg, there’s nothing,” he confirms, nodding toward the monitor. “No trackers, no sleepers. His blood chemistry is... well, it’s perfect. It’s actually kind of disgusting how healthy he is." 

“He’s pure,” he adds before turning to Jihoon. “More than us, too. So you weren’t just making shit up, were you?”

Vernon leans back slightly from the console, eyes still scanning over the data as if it might rearrange itself into something more useful if he stares long enough, his fingers hovering just above the interface before dropping away with a faint click against the glass. 

He turns to you. 

“So you found him in the wastelands after he—let me get this right—fell out of the sky?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s telling us he’s from two hundred years ago.”

Jihoon lets out a tired sigh. “When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” Vernon replies, but he sounds more interested than dismissive like he was before. “But it’s not ignorable.”

You shift from one foot to the other, folding your arms across your chest as you consider Jihoon for a second longer, like you’re deciding how much to say and how to say it without losing him halfway through. 

“Out there,” you start, nodding vaguely toward the direction you came from, “everything that still functions has already been stripped, rebuilt, repurposed, and patched together more times than it was ever designed to handle, and that’s just the machines.”

“And people?” Jihoon asks, the question coming quicker this time.

Wonwoo answers without hesitation. “Same principle.”

“You mean—what, prosthetics?” he asks, searching for a familiar concept to hold onto.

“Not just prosthetics,” Vernon cuts in, pushing himself off the console and stepping closer again, one hand gesturing vaguely toward Jihoon. “Replacements, reinforcements, integrations, whatever keeps things running. You lose something, you replace it. Something starts failing, you patch it before it takes something else down with it.”

“Organs, nerves, sensory inputs, structural support. Doesn’t matter what it is as long as it works.”

Jihoon recoils slightly, a wave of revulsion passing over his face as he looks at Vernon’s glowing temples. He swallows hard, trying to anchor himself against the insanity of this conversation.

"You keep using that word," Jihoon mutters, his voice tight. "Lazarus. What the hell is a Lazarus?" 

Hoshi lets out a quiet scoff, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “They’re a megacorp. They own the city, or close enough that the official wording doesn't even matter anymore. If a light switch flips, a train moves, or a hospital bed turns on, Lazarus takes a cut. If it draws power, they have their hands on the switch.” 

“The chips too,” Vernon adds absently, already half-turned back toward his console as he drags windows across the screen with quick, twitchy movements. “Lazarus Link. That’s what everyone’s carrying around in their heads.” 

Jihoon’s brows pull together faintly, his hands instinctively tracing up to the back of his bare neck.

“It interfaces with the nervous system,” Wonwoo explains before Vernon can answer in the most irritating way possible. “Originally it was marketed as medical support. Helps monitor your health, synchronising other implants and what not.”

“Cheap too,” Vernon mutters. “That’s how they got everyone.”

Jihoon’s gaze flicks between all of you slowly.

“And people just…” He hesitates. “Agreed to that?”

“At first?” Hoshi shrugs. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t they? It worked.”

“There were already biomods before the Link became standard,” Vernon adds absently. “The problem was compatibility. Different manufacturers built different hardware. Implants would reject each other, and your systems would lag trying to process the conflicting codes. Lazarus solved all of it.

“And now the problem is,” you continue, “that they’re making everyone meat-puppets now by making the Link mandatory.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “What does that mean?”

“To put it simply, they can override humans.”

Jihoon goes quiet after that. Not because he’s accepted any of it, but because there’s only so much horror a person can react to at once before it all starts flattening into numbness.

The scanner continues its low mechanical hum somewhere beside him while lines of data drift across Vernon’s monitors, casting pale blue light across the room. Jihoon stares past them without really looking, his eyes unfocused for half a second before he blinks hard and forces himself back into the conversation.

“And you people?” he asks eventually, voice rougher now. “Who exactly are you supposed to be?”

“That’s complicated.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Jihoon mutters.

You catch the way he presses his fingers harder into the edge of the table afterward, like he’s afraid the room might tilt again if he lets go.

Honestly, it might.

He still looks awful. The colour still hasn’t returned to his face, and his damp hair sticks unevenly against his forehead beneath the harsh overhead lighting. Even sitting still seems to take effort now, like he’s holding himself upright through sheer stubbornness.

That is, until Vernon suddenly steps forward again.

At first, Jihoon thinks he’s reaching for the scanner beside him, or maybe adjusting something on the monitor, but then Vernon catches Jihoon’s wrist in one gloved hand with surprising ease and presses something sharp into the inside of his arm before anyone fully registers what’s happening.

Jihoon jerks violently.

“What the fuck—”

Vernon lets go immediately, already stepping back again as he discards the empty injector into a nearby bin like this is perfectly normal. 

The room goes still.

“You injected him?” you snap.

Vernon shrugs before glancing at Jihoon. “You might wanna lie down.”

Jihoon stares at him in open disbelief for half a second before the sensation actually starts spreading through him.

The warmth hits first.

It isn’t painful, which somehow makes it worse. It slips through his bloodstream almost gently, slow heat curling up the inside of his arm before settling heavily behind his eyes and at the base of his skull. 

“Did you just drug me?” Jihoon rasps out, his brows pulling together as he blinks hard.

You sigh, tired. “Vern, seriously?”

“He’s exhausted and overloaded,” Vernon says, sounding almost bored now that the decision’s already been made. “I’m doing him a favour.” 

Jihoon’s thoughts begin slipping strangely against each other, the room around him softening at the edges every time he blinks. 

“You should’ve given him a heads-up, at least,” you say, “ease him into it or something.”

“I literally told him to lie down.”

“That was after you stabbed him.”

Jihoon tries to respond to that, but the words never fully form. Instead he fights the awful sensation of the room drifting sideways again.

His expression goes blank for a few seconds, like his brain has finally stopped keeping up with the rest of him, and before you realize what’s happening his entire body tips forward.

He hits the floor face-first with a heavy thud.

“I told him to lie down,” Vernon sighs, making the three of you glance at him in irritation. “Great. Now we can actually decide if we’re believing him entirely and what we’re going to tell him.”

By the time Minghao and Aki arrive, Jihoon’s already unconscious on your sofa with a fresh scrape across his cheekbone and one shoe half hanging off his foot.

Aki stops short the second she sees him.

“…that’s him?”

“The space guy, yes,” Hoshi replies from across the room. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed,” Aki says slowly, still staring. “I didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this.”

You barely glance up from where you’re crouched beside the sofa, dragging antiseptic carefully across the scrape on Jihoon’s face while he remains entirely unresponsive to it now except for the occasional faint twitch in his brow. The bruise underneath is already beginning to darken beneath his pale skin that still looks absurdly clear under the lights.

“He hit the floor pretty hard,” Wonwoo says from somewhere behind you.

“That was because Vernon drugged him like a psycho,” you reply.

“He’s asleep now instead of having a fucking breakdown in my workspace. I take that as a win.” Vernon says distractedly as he tinkers with the prosthetic he’s put together from the parts you brought. “Aki, let me put this on.”

You press the gauze on Jihoon’s cheek. He flinches faintly when the antiseptic hits the scrape properly this time, his brows tightening for a brief second before smoothing out again immediately. 

Aki drops onto the sofa opposite to you, holding her arm out for Vernon, wires and exposed plating glinting as he reconnects something near the elbow joint in practiced moves. 

Her gaze drifts back to Jihoon.

You peel the backing off a synth-skin strip with your teeth before pressing it carefully against Jihoon’s cheekbone. Up close, the injury looks even more unfair against his face somehow, the redness standing out sharply beneath skin untouched by chemical scarring or interface seams.

“So we’re going to believe him fully?” Aki asks as Minghao drops onto the floor to sit beside you.

Vernon sticks his tongue out slightly, turning a screwdriver into the plates of her prosthetic. “You know how bad the lower orbits are now?”

Aki shrugs. “Bad enough that nobody goes up there anymore.” 

“Yeah, because everything up there’s dead.” Vernon gestures vaguely upward. “Half the satellites crashed decades ago, the rest got taken out by debris collisions. Every time something breaks apart it creates more debris, which breaks more shit apart, and now the entire atmosphere is basically wrapped in a field of metal moving fast enough to cut ships in half.” 

She grimaces faintly. “Right.” 

Vernon nods once toward Jihoon. “So unless Lazarus somehow launched a fake ancient pod through a collapsing graveyard just to trick six disconnected idiots hiding under Sector 17, I’m leaning toward him being real.” 

Then Minghao speaks.

“When we were younger,” he says slowly, still staring at Jihoon, “didn’t there used to be stories about somebody like this?”

Hoshi frowns immediately. “What, like wasteland conspiracy crap?”

“No.” Minghao’s brows furrow. “Not exactly.”

“There was some woman Lazarus wanted brought in alive,” he continues after a moment. “People used to talk about it all the time in the lower sectors. Said she talked about old Earth and missions and space stations and whatever.” 

Aki squints. “I vaguely remember people talking about some old drunk in the market levels.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Minghao says quietly. “People were actually scared of her.”

Hoshi snorts. “People in the lower sectors are scared of everything.”

“I’m serious.” Minghao’s tone finally pushes the room into silence.

He shifts slightly against the sofa, face set in concentration, like he’s reconstructing the memory piece by piece.

“I don’t remember where she came from, or if anyone even knew. I just remember hearing people say she’d been caught somewhere outside the city after talking about old missions and stations and coordinates and shit nobody understood.”

Wonwoo’s gaze lifts from where he’d been standing near the window.

“And Lazarus wanted her alive?”

“Yeah.” Minghao nods. “That’s why I remember it. Because it was weird. Lazarus usually just erases people.”

Aki folds her arms loosely. “You sure it wasn’t some scavenger making things up?”

“Maybe,” Minghao admits. “But there were bounty notices for her for a while.”

“What kind of notices?”

“I don’t know.” Minghao exhales. “I was a kid. But I remember people talking about how much Lazarus was paying to bring her in alive instead of dead.”

Hoshi frowns. “So she was important to them.”

You glance back toward Jihoon instinctively. 

He still hasn’t moved beyond the slow rise and fall of his breathing, one side of his face pressed deep into the worn-out sofa cushion.

Minghao turns to you. “What did you say the name of his mission was?”

“Uh,” you rack your brain. “Hermes. Some old Greek thing, I think. Why?”

“I can look into it,” he replies, glancing at Hoshi. “The chances of finding those bounty posters must be near-zero because Lazarus might’ve made sure to burn them off the planet, but it doesn’t hurt to try. We could see if they’re related.”

Everyone stays silent for a good minute or two. 

“None of this matters until he wakes up anyway.” Vernon finally gets up from the sofa with a loud sigh. “Does this mean you guys are going to tell him the truth about us?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

Hoshi’s head snaps toward you. “Come on!”

You look back at him flatly.

“He already knows enough to realise something’s wrong. And if he’s really disconnected like Vernon says, then hiding who we are from him doesn’t actually help anything.”

Hoshi opens his mouth again, shoulders tightening like he’s about to argue properly this time, but whatever he sees on your face makes him stop halfway through it. His jaw clenches once instead before he exhales and looks away toward the kitchen.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever.”

Aki watches the exchange silently before glancing toward Jihoon again.

“He’s gonna lose his mind when he wakes up.”

“Nothing’s new,” Vernon almost laughs. “He’s done that already.”

You ignore him and reach down to pull the blanket back up where it had slipped off Jihoon’s shoulder. 

“You should check the pod soon,” you say eventually, looking toward Vernon. “If Lazarus hasn’t found it yet, that is. You might know what’s in it.”

“Yeah. I think I should wait for sometime, actually.” 

Hoshi frowns slightly. “Why? You think it’s tapped already?”

“No,” Vernon shakes his head. “I think if it’s a part of a space mission then he might have information that could be important. I wouldn’t want to go in there and fuck it up. It’s old tech after all.”

And so, you wait.

Jihoon wakes a few hours later, and before he knows it, the next two days pass too fast to be properly processed.

Every time he thinks he’s finally caught up to one revelation, somebody drops another one into his lap before the first has even settled. 

Your people who are hiding beneath the city call themselves pure, which initially makes no sense to him considering Vernon has glowing circuitry in his temples, Aki can peel the skin off half her forearm to expose the articulated mechanics underneath, and Hoshi’s spine has been reinforced so heavily that metallic plating flashes beneath the skin at the base of his neck whenever he moves the wrong way under bright lights. Even Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t fully human anymore, his left pupil occasionally catching and refocusing a few seconds too slowly.

And then there’s you.

You’re less obvious than the others until he notices the thin lines—similar to Vernon’s but fainter—disappearing behind your ear whenever you tie your hair back, delicate enough to pass for jewellery if someone wasn’t looking closely.

“That’s different,” you’d told him eventually after watching him stare at all of you in visible confusion.

“How?”

“Because none of us are linked anymore.”

That explanation somehow raises even more questions than it answers.

He learns quickly that disconnected people rarely survive long unless they know exactly how to disappear. Lazarus systems track almost everything automatically now through the Links: movement, transactions, transport access, medical scans. Most people can’t function without it because the city itself isn’t designed to work without it.

People like you exist anyway.

Hidden underneath it all in dead districts and abandoned maintenance levels and old transit routes nobody monitors properly because there’s nothing profitable left there.

Ghosts surviving inside blind spots.

“Like you,” Minghao offers, like that would make him feel any better. 

All Jihoon can think about is how nothing about any of you actually feels human in the way he understands it anymore.

He would’ve liked more time after that.

Time to sit still long enough for the panic to properly catch up to him, maybe. Time to think through the fact that every single person he has ever known is dead, that the world outside no longer functions according to rules he recognises, that corporations apparently control entire nervous systems now and people discuss it over dinner like weather.

Instead, Vernon changes his mind and decides the pod needs to become the immediate priority.

“If Lazarus finds it before we do, we’re fucked,” he says flatly the morning after, already dragging equipment apart across the workshop floor before Jihoon’s even fully awake. “So unless you want your ancient space coffin dissected by scavengers, start making a list.” 

And that becomes Jihoon’s next reality.

Sitting at the low apartment table half-dressed and still exhausted while trying to reconstruct the contents of a spacecraft from memory fast enough for people he met less than seventy-two hours ago to retrieve them before a megacorporation does.

At first, the list stays practical—medical kits, power cells, thermal blankets, atmospheric analysers, all his mission data. But soon enough, it wanders into territory he’s not sure he should go.

Jihoon thinks about the personal storage compartments in the pod. Photographs, journals, his phone which are thingsa thing they don’t seem to have anymore. There are coffee sachets tucked somewhere in the lower food drawers, sour candy and other stuff he’d carried from home. 

Things that suddenly matter more now than they ever did before because somewhere between launch and impact they went from being ordinary belongings to the only surviving pieces of an entire life nobody else on Earth remembers anymore. 

Vernon reads over the list once and immediately asks how exactly he expects them to carry all of that back through the wastelands. 

“A vehicle?” Jihoon suggests tiredly. “You don’t have cars?”

That earns an actual laugh from him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let me just go buy one with my completely legal identity.”

Jihoon stares at him blankly.

It takes several more minutes for someone to explain that people disconnected from Lazarus systems don’t exactly get to make large purchases without immediately attracting attention from the very infrastructure that thinks they’re dead.

After that, the group descends into another argument about transport logistics while Jihoon sits there increasingly aware that he became part of this situation without really agreeing to it.

Eventually they agree on the bikes again.

“If it’s that necessary,” Hoshi mutters while looking over the list, “then we can make multiple trips.”

Jihoon doesn’t miss the way everybody’s eyes linger slightly longer on the mission data section than the rest of the page.

The disguise becomes another problem immediately afterwards. You let him know that he’d stick out like a sore thumb if he went out right now, with his jet-black hair and plain, oversized cotton clothes. 

Clean, pure, unmarked. He’s starting to get tired of hearing those words.

The suggestion of actual biomods gets shut down so quickly it almost startles everyone.

“No,” Jihoon says immediately the first time Vernon even vaguely brings it up. “Absolutely not.”

“It’d make this easier.”

“Anything but that.”

The refusal is so sharp and stubborn that he gives up entirely. Instead, they settle for imitation.

Aki makes him wear different clothes first. Layered fabrics, oversized jackets, and dark synthetic pieces stitched into the shoulders and chest to bulk out his silhouette until he stops looking so painfully out of place beside everybody else. Then come the fake external modifications—decorative plating adhered near his throat, metallic wraps around his fingers, and a hideously coloured wig that he’d only ever seen on himself through a filter while playing around with his niece.

When he walks out of the room, Hoshi doesn’t have the decency to hide his laughter. 

Jihoon ignores it though. Thinking of his niece was a bad decision. 

The memory hits him like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He can still picture her sitting cross-legged beside him on the couch with one of those stupid face-filter apps open on his phone, laughing herself breathless every time it changed his hair into something increasingly ridiculous while he complained about looking like an unemployed SoundCloud rapper. 

But his eyes fall onto the interface opened up above your wrist and the thought falls away immediately, a strange feeling taking over him.

Vernon goes through the route for what feels like the tenth time, marking dead surveillance zones across a cracked projection screen with irritated precision. Hoshi checks weapons Jihoon still hasn’t fully gotten used to seeing lying casually across kitchen counters, while Aki sits cross-legged on the floor modifying one of the bike storage racks to carry more weight.

Jihoon mostly watches all of it happen around him with the detached feeling that his life has started moving too fast for his mind to follow.

At some point while everyone’s distracted, his gaze drifts toward you instead.

You’re crouched beside one of the bikes tightening something near the fuel line, sleeves shoved up past your elbows. His eyes flicker up to the metallic, glowing lines on your ears.

Human. Not human. 

Safe. Unsafe.

He hasn’t figured out how you manage to be both at once yet. 

“You’re not coming?” he asks eventually.

You glance up briefly. “No.”

“You’ll move faster with fewer people,” you continue. “And somebody has to stay here in case things go wrong.”

Half an hour later, Jihoon finds himself climbing onto the back of Hoshi’s bike with his heart beating so hard he can feel it in his throat.

The ride out into the Wastelands feels shorter this time. 

The city falls away behind them in layers of neon and noise, swallowed gradually by dead land and rusted wreckage stretching endlessly.

Vernon’s bike cuts ahead through the dust, headlights flashing briefly whenever the terrain shifts unevenly beneath them. The cold gets worse the farther they move from the city, sharp wind slicing through the gaps in Jihoon’s jacket until his fingers ache around the sides of the seat. 

Jihoon thinks it was hot the day he landed. Maybe the weather’s unpredictable too.

And then the crater appears again. Even from a distance, Jihoon recognises it immediately.

Something inside him tightens so fast it almost hurts.

The pod still sits half-buried where it landed, pale against the dark wasteland.

For a second nobody moves after the bikes stop.

Jihoon stares in silence as dread crawls up his spine. This is the last thing that belongs to his world, and once he’s done retrieving his things, he’s going to let these men ransack it. 

“You coming or what?” Hoshi calls out.

Jihoon blinks hard once before climbing off the bike. 

Up close, the pod looks smaller than he remembers. Smaller and more damaged too.

The heat scars along the outer shell stand out darker beneath the wasteland dust now, while sections of the hull plating have started cooling into warped shapes. Jihoon reaches out once he gets close enough, fingertips brushing across the surface fondly.

Silently, he thanks it for bringing him back alive, although he’s not sure if it’s a good thing anymore.

Hoshi helps him pull the hatch open again, and the smell of sterile air is enough to make tears prick at the corners of his eyes. For one awful second, it feels like he’s simply returned from maintenance and everything outside the hatch is still normal. Like if he turns around quickly enough he’ll hear mission chatter through the comms again or catch somebody laughing somewhere down the corridor. 

But there’s no time to stand there pretending.

Vernon’s already climbing inside behind him before the hatch has fully opened, eyes darting greedily across the walls and control systems while muttering under his breath.

“What the fuck?” he whispers once, almost reverently.

Jihoon moves before he can think too hard again.

The storage compartments come first.

He works quickly now, throwing sealed ration packs into the bags Hoshi brought. Vacuum-sealed meals disappear into dark backpacks one after another alongside emergency medical kits, thermal blankets and stacks of old power cells Vernon nearly rips out of his hands the second he sees them.

“These aren’t linked,” Vernon says, stunned, turning one over in his hands. 

Jihoon barely hears him.

His movements slow only once he reaches the lower compartment beneath the sleeping chamber. The personal stuff.

He stares at it for half a second too long before grabbing it anyway. 

The old plastic casing of his cassette player looks almost embarrassingly fragile sitting in his hands now, absurd-looking against the sharp glow of the pod systems around him. He runs his thumb once across the scratched surface before placing it carefully into one of the padded bags instead of tossing it with the rest.

His phone goes in next, a dead little brick carrying an entire lifetime inside it.

Hoshi watches him shove another handful of belongings into the bag before frowning slightly. “You seriously kept all this?”

Jihoon lets out a breath that almost becomes a laugh. “We were millions of miles from home. You gotta keep something to get you through all that loneliness.”

After that, he forces himself toward the control systems.

The monitors flicker weakly once he reactivates power, pale blue light washing back across the cockpit in uneven pulses while old diagnostic systems drag themselves awake around him.

The familiarity of it makes his chest ache. These controls he remembers. This he understands.

His fingers move automatically across interfaces while Vernon hovers close enough, practically vibrating while watching every input like he’s witnessing alien technology.

“What are you doing?” Hoshi asks eventually.

“Saving what matters.”

Jihoon slots a transparent sapphire disc carefully into the optical bay beneath the console before opening the archival systems. The pod responds sluggishly at first, old data directories unfolding across the screens in layers of telemetry, mission logs, crew recordings and navigation records stretching back years. 

There’s too much to encode onto it and he only has one disc. So he starts cutting pieces away. Research records and mission data stay. He scribbles as many of the important coordinates as he can onto a notebook, but that’s it.

Jihoon operates the pod’s laser manually, jaw tightening in concentration while microscopic lines begin etching themselves silently into the sapphire surface inside the chamber.

Permanent storage that’s untraceable and inaccessible unless someone physically holds it.

Vernon watches the process with undisguised fascination. “You’re burning the data into glass?”

“Sapphire composite,” Jihoon corrects absently.

“That’s insane.”

“Do you reckon you’d be able to build me a machine to read this?” Jihoon asks without looking away from the console. “I can help, but I can’t source materials.” 

“…Probably,” he says after a second. “Might take a little time.” 

“I’ve got time,” Jihoon mumbles. “Not like I have anyone to report to now.”

Vernon glances at him but doesn’t comment on it. 

Jihoon keeps working while it encodes.

There’s still too much left.

The crew logs pull up next across the monitor, years of recordings stacked beside one another in neat chronological rows, and suddenly the pod feels suffocatingly small again.

He stares at the directory before pulling an old tablet from beneath the console storage to transfer the files. He can keep most of it, but he realises that there will still be a few recordings that he has to give up.

Jihoon’s fingers move faster after that, selecting and deselecting folders almost desperately while the transfer bar crawls across the screen in uneven increments. Crew video logs, audio journals, and messages from Earth. Small useless clips captured during transit because they were bored and lonely and millions of miles from home. 

“This one?” Vernon asks quietly, pointing towards a file. 

The preview frame shows four crew members floating upside down near the galley ceiling with a bright, sparkling light behind them. 

Jihoon instantly recognises it as the first time they’d seen the sun in space. 

Seokmin had spent the next few hours breaking into song—Here Comes The Sun by the Beatles—because nobody could get him to shut up once he got emotional. 

If he tries hard enough, Jihoon can almost hear his clear voice singing along to the track.

Vernon notices the way his expression changes and lowers his hand from the screen without opening the file.

“Keep it?” he asks quietly.

Jihoon swallows once before nodding. Yes.

[The screen is black, but there’s laughter. 

The camera swings too fast at first, catching streaks of amber light and dark wooden walls before somebody nearly drops it onto a sticky table littered with empty glasses.

"Careful!" someone yells immediately from across the booth. "If you break that before launch day I’m actually leaving you on Earth. It was expensive."

Rain lashes softly against the windows behind them, turning the city outside into smudged streaks of colour beneath signs and passing headlights. The pub itself glows warm underneath hanging gold lights strung lazily across the ceiling, the air thick with music and overlapping conversations while terrible karaoke echoes from somewhere deeper inside the building.

The camera swings sideways again.

Jihoon’s sitting crushed between two other crew members in the booth, one arm shoved awkwardly over Seokmin’s shoulder, who laughs hard enough to spill beer onto the table.

“Man, stop it!” he complains immediately.]

Vernon gets the projector to work after spending nearly twenty minutes swearing at file formats older than anybody there besides Jihoon. The projector itself sits disassembled beside the television now with half its wiring exposed, humming loudly every few seconds like it resents being alive.

The holograph flickers softly across the apartment walls, warm gold light spilling through the dim room in a way that almost feels unnatural against the cold blue neon usually leaking through the windows. 

Hoshi and Minghao have taken over most of the sofa while Aki sits cross-legged against one of the armrests with her chin propped in her palm, and Vernon remains crouched beside the projector in case it stops working again. Wonwoo leans against the kitchen doorway further back, arms folded loosely across his chest.

Jihoon ends up on the cold floor, shoulder to shoulder with you. 

He sits with one knee pulled close to his chest, eyes fixed on the video, unsure if this is to sate him or the curiosity of the others.

[A woman behind the camera laughs quietly while panning across a massive room packed with monitors and screens, a huge screen at the front of it displaying multiple tabs of telemetry, mapping and images. 

Rows and rows of people move between terminals carrying coffee cups and stacks of paper while conversations overlap into indistinct noise.

“Say bye to the mission control room!” She murmurs. “We’ll see you soon.”]

“You had these many people working on your mission?” Vernon asks.

Jihoon barely looks away from the holograph. “More than this.”

Aki squints. “For how many people?”

“Four.” He purses his lips. “The one holding the camera is Aera. She was our Chief Systems Architect and a senior mission specialist. The men sitting beside me in the first video are Seokmin, who was our astrobiologist and physician, and Jeonghan, who was our Life-Support Systems engineer.”

The others only nod in response, and the room falls into an awkward silence.

You watch as Jihoon laughs on screen, eyes scrunched as he throws his head back in response to something Jeonghan does as they float around somewhere. It looks strange, but he looks… happy.

You break it first. “And what did you do?”

He glances at you once before his eyes flick down to the floor. 

“I was the Mission Commander,” he mumbles. “And the astrodynamicist.”

Jihoon doesn’t have to elaborate because the implication arrives on its own. 

The holograph flickers softly across the apartment walls again.

[The camera jolts violently before stabilising upside down.

Jihoon groans somewhere behind the lens.

The aircraft cabin is chaotic.

Bodies drift weightlessly through the air while loose straps and packets float toward the ceiling in slow motion. Aera crashes directly into Jeonghan hard enough that both of them spin sideways out of frame immediately afterward.

Seokmin desperately grabs one of the overhead handles while laughing so hard he can barely breathe.

“I hate this,” Jihoon says, although the look on his face suggests otherwise.]

The recordings continue unfolding one after another across the apartment while the room grows steadily quieter around them.

Mission briefings, rain against apartment windows, someone filming city traffic through a taxi windshield late at night, the crew eating takeout containers on the floor surrounded by stacks of paperwork, and Earth still ordinary enough.

At some point Hoshi gets up for water and leaves with Wonwoo. 

Then Aki disappears toward the bedrooms after nearly falling asleep against Minghao’s shoulder halfway through a recording. Vernon lingers the longest besides you, crouched near the projector absentmindedly, but eventually even he drifts away too after muttering something about checking the sapphire decryption machine.

The living room quietens once the doors close.

Jihoon doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he doesn’t seem to have the energy left to acknowledge it anymore.

You don’t really know what you’re supposed to do with him anymore. 

In the four days you’ve known him, every expression you’ve seen on his face has belonged to somebody overwhelmed, disoriented or grieving in ways too large to process all at once. He looks confused, guarded and exhausted all the time.

But the man sitting beside you now couldn’t be more different from the man on screen.

You wonder if calling him a ghost has really seemed to make him one, because the man on the screen is alive and the one beside you looks far from it.

Jihoon looks as pale as the day you found him, the dark circles beneath his eyes fixed in place. You can’t remember the last time you actually saw him sleep properly instead of just passing out from exhaustion somewhere for a few hours at a time.

He barely eats either.

Not your food. Not anything from here.

Every meal has come from those vacuum-sealed ration packets he dragged back from the crash site, dry preserved food he consumes more out of necessity than appetite while insisting his body still needs time to adapt to whatever people eat now.

You’re not even sure if that’s true or if he simply can’t stomach the thought of letting go of one more familiar thing yet.

And somehow, despite knowing him for less than a week, despite the fact that he technically fell out of the sky and brought enough problems with him to destroy all of your lives if Lazarus finds out, you still catch yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye wondering what the hell’s going through his head.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall back to the videos.

[Darkness fills the screen at first.

Then slowly, Earth turns into view beyond thick observation glass.

Deep blue oceans, white clouds stretching endlessly across the curve of the planet.

The only sound comes from the low mechanical hum of the ship itself somewhere behind the recording.

Then, very quietly, a voice full of awe:

“Oh.”]

It takes Jihoon a second to register that it’s also coming from beside him. 

He smiles a little despite himself. 

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp out. “Is it still like this?”

“I—” he glances at you. “I’m not sure. Maybe not.”

It’s not meant to come out so bleakly, but he doesn’t have the heart to correct himself.

For a second Jihoon can almost trick himself into believing he’s there again.

Not here beneath layers of rusted infrastructure and failing power grids and neon signs that never properly turn off, but there instead, suspended somewhere above Earth with sunlight bleeding across the observation glass while Seokmin argues with somebody in the background and Aera keeps filming things nobody else thinks are important enough to preserve.

The thought hurts too quickly to hold onto for long. He drags one hand slowly across his face before leaning back against the couch.

Footsteps cut through the silence, fast enough for the two of you to glance up immediately, just as Minghao reappears around the corner. He looks more awake than he did when he left.

“There was a woman on your mission!” he exclaims before either of you can speak. 

Jihoon’s brows pull together. “Huh?”

Minghao looks toward you instead of answering immediately, like he’s only now realising he probably should’ve led into this differently.

You straighten, glancing at Jihoon with slight concern. “Maybe this can wait until tomorrow—”

“The woman I was talking about before.” Minghao ignores you, gesturing vaguely toward the holograph still glowing across the room. “The one Lazarus wanted alive.” 

You try again anyway. “Minghao.”

“What?” he groans. “You don’t think he deserves to know?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Aera? What about her?” Jihoon asks, holding up a palm to interrupt you guys.

Minghao steps into the room fully, hands slipping into his pockets. You throw a warning glance which he ignores again. 

This can’t possibly be the best information to give Jihoon. Not right now, at least. But the usually perceptive Minghao doesn’t seem to understand that today.

“When we were younger,” he starts, “people in the lower sectors used to talk about some woman Lazarus had been hunting for a long time. Nobody knew where she came from exactly, but there were stories about her showing up outside the city talking about missions and stations and things nobody understood properly. Like you.”

Jihoon straightens.

You suppress a sigh immediately.

“At first everybody thought she was insane,” Minghao continues, “but Lazarus apparently wanted her brought in alive, which made people start taking the stories seriously. There were bounty notices for a while.”

“Notices?”

“I don’t remember.” Minghao shakes his head. “I was a kid. I just remember hearing that Lazarus was paying absurd amounts for information on her.”

You finally cut in before this spirals any further. “Hao, we don’t even know if it’s the same person.”

“I know that,” he replies immediately. “I’m just saying—”

“Do you—” Jihoon interrupts, glancing around once he realises how loud his voice has become. “Do you know if there are any of them left? The notices. Could you find them?”

Minghao hesitates.

“I don’t know,” he admits eventually. “Lazarus wipes things constantly.” 

He leans one shoulder against the doorway, frowning the more he thinks through it. “But if there were physical posters or old bounty boards instead of just digital notices, there’s a chance something survived somewhere underneath everything else. Old markets still have abandoned walls nobody’s touched in years.”

Jihoon nods immediately, like even the possibility is enough for his brain to latch onto before logic can interfere.

“I’ll try,” Minghao says more firmly this time. “I’m not promising anything though.”

The projector crackles softly behind all of you while another recording shifts uselessly across the walls unnoticed now.

Minghao studies Jihoon for another second before speaking again, quieter now.

“I still don’t really understand why Lazarus would care so much,” he mumbles. “If that woman really was from your crew… what would they even want from her?”

Jihoon thinks for a few seconds, eyes scrunching shut. 

“I don’t know. From what you’ve told me, I don’t see what they’d get from our mission.”

“What was it, anyway?” You ask.

“In layman’s terms, we went to the edge of the solar system, right where the sun’s magnetic shield ends and deep space begins,” Jihoon explains. “The goal was to see how that boundary protects us from cosmic radiation, and to sample frozen comets out in the Kuiper Belt to see if the chemical ingredients for life existed before Earth did.” 

“We did a lot of things,” he concludes. “It would be hard for me to tell you everything, but I don’t see how Lazarus would make use of any of the data we compiled.”

“So your mission was basically scientific research.”

“Purely.”

“And none of it had anything to do with…” Minghao gestures vaguely toward the city outside. “Whatever this is.”

Jihoon lets out a tired breath through his nose. “No. Hermes was backed internationally. We weren’t military.”

Minghao lingers in the doorway another few seconds before finally pushing himself upright again with a tired sigh.

“I’ll see if I can find anything tomorrow,” he says.

Jihoon nods immediately. “Thank you.”

Minghao only waves him off before disappearing back down the hallway for real this time, leaving the apartment quiet again.

Jihoon stares ahead for a long moment without moving, elbows resting loosely against his knees while the light continues moving faintly across his face in soft colours. 

Possibility, or rather hope, is a cruel thing. He knows. 

But the thought of someone familiar is exciting. It’s comforting. 

So against all logic, he lets himself feel it. 

Time passes strangely after that. 

Nobody says it out loud, but everyone seems to collectively decide to give Jihoon space after the conversation about his crew, as though they instinctively understand that there are some things a person has to survive privately first before other people can start pulling at them again.

So for the most part, they leave him alone.

Jihoon spends most of his time beside Vernon after that, buried deep inside the workshop corner of the apartment while they work through optical storage designs together surrounded by wires, dismantled parts and sheets of calculations scattered across every available surface. Vernon seems fascinated enough that he asks questions almost half the time, content to absorb whatever Jihoon mutters absently while focused on the sapphire disc.

The rest of the time, Jihoon drifts through the space, only half-present.

He sits on the edge of the sofa, staring into the screen of his phone that he’s somehow managed to charge up. You catch him staring at photographs for long stretches when he thinks nobody’s paying attention. Sometimes the old recordings flicker silently across the walls late into the night after everybody else has gone to sleep, filling the apartment with low voices and warm colours while Jihoon sits on the floor beneath them unmoving for hours. 

He barely sleeps too. 

The hammock near the window sways at almost every hour of the night now whenever you wake up, and sometimes you’ll find him standing silently beside the blinds at dawn watching the city outside with the same unsettled expression he’s had since arriving here.

The food becomes a problem too.

At first you try not to push him about it because you understand, at least logically, why he reacts badly to most of what’s here. Modern food barely resembles what it used to anymore unless you’re rich enough to afford organic produce from upper-sector cultivators, and Jihoon already looks overwhelmed every time Hoshi cooks something synthetic enough to smell faintly off-putting under the spices.

Still, you’ve peeked at his rations and they won’t last for long.

It gets to a point where even Hoshi notices, talking to you one night with the closest thing to concern you’ve heard from him.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters after Jihoon disappears back toward the workshop carrying another unopened ration packet. “At this point he’s basically haunting the place.”

“Hoshi,” you warn tiredly from the couch.

“No, seriously.” He gestures toward the hallway. “The guy barely talks, barely sleeps, barely eats anything from here and every time somebody mentions taking him outside he looks like we asked him to amputate a limb.”

“That’s because the fake mods make him uncomfortable,” Aki points out quietly.

“Everything makes him uncomfortable.” Hoshi complains. “I’m sick of it.”

He isn’t difficult, but he seems determined to stay frozen exactly where he is. 

He shuts down actual modifications immediately anytime Vernon even jokes about them, and he’s wary enough around the fake external ones that nobody’s pushed him into the city properly yet. 

And annoyingly enough, you understand both sides. You’ve tried to be patient. You’ve forced yourself to remember the two-hundred-year gap every time he flinches at something. But patience is a luxury that runs out faster than clean water, and yours has worn down to a thread. 

Two nights later you find Jihoon awake again.

For a moment you stand outside your bedroom, watching him stare down at the city below, shoulders hunched beneath one of Vernon’s old hoodies. 

You don’t think he notices you at first.

Or maybe he does, and neither of you says anything because this has quietly become routine now.

“You know,” you mumble eventually as you head toward the kitchen, “normal people usually attempt sleeping before sunrise.”

Jihoon glances over from the hammock. “I did sleep.”

“For what, twenty minutes?”

“A whole hour, actually.”

You snort softly despite yourself while reaching for the kettle.

The apartment’s quieter tonight than usual. Vernon finally passed out in the workshop sometime earlier, and even Hoshi’s stopped grunting about the pain through his spine. 

Behind you, the hammock creaks again. 

You lean against the counter waiting for the water to heat, studying him more carefully now that he’s not looking at you directly.

Hoshi wasn’t wrong.

Jihoon’s gotten thinner. Not dramatically, but his cheeks have started hollowing out and his face looks sharper by the day. Even the clothes Aki had found for him initially are a little too big on him now.

“Did you eat anything other than the dried meat today?” you ask. 

“Some fruit earlier.”

“Anything other than the ration packs?”

You don’t get a reply.

The silence drags on just long enough for irritation to flare low in your chest again.

“You know that isn’t normal, right?” you ask, turning around fully now. “People can’t survive off protein strips and powdered fruit forever.”

Jihoon’s gaze stays fixed outside. “It’s food.”

“Sure, but they’re emergency supplies.”

“They were designed to sustain us for years.”

“Jihoon, stop it.” You grit out. 

That finally gets his attention. He looks over slowly from the hammock, exhaustion written so heavily across his face that you almost falter.

“I’m eating enough.”

“You’re visibly losing weight.”

“I said I’m fine.”

The response comes quicker this time, flatter too, and something about it immediately grates against nerves that have already been worn raw for days now.

“Okay, well, maybe stop acting like everything here is poison then.”

Jihoon’s brows pull together. “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.” You gesture vaguely toward him. “You barely touch anything anybody makes. You pick apart food like you expect it to kill you.”

For a second he just watches you quietly. 

“The stuff you guys bring in... I've seen the textures. It's all weird and synthetic. It’s far from actually being food. Not real.”

He has a point. You know it. You remember the days where you ate normally grown food too. But maybe it’s the four hours of sleep you’ve gotten, or the fact that you’ve spent your morning dodging Lazarus scanners to buy components for a machine that reads his stupid ancient glass, but you snap.

“The world moves on, Jihoon,” you say, pushing off the counter. "We eat what we can find, take what we can, and what won't ping a chipping team to our front door. Sorry our local cuisine isn't up to your international space mission standards, but this is what reality looks like now." 

"I didn't say—" 

"You don't get to sit here looking down your nose at this world just because it isn’t the one you came from,” you continue before he can interrupt properly, frustration finally spilling over after days of forcing it back down. “You think any of us like this? You think we enjoy eating synthetic garbage and hiding underground and pretending half our bodies belong to corporations?”

“And honestly, your crew is gone. Your mission is over. There is no recovery team coming down from the sky, Jihoon. We may have built a shit ton of tech, but a time machine isn’t one of them. You need to get used to this world, because you can’t go back.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you know you’ve gone too far, and the silence that follows is heavy and suffocating. 

You shouldn’t have said that about his crew. 

The sharpness drains out of you almost immediately, leaving behind nothing except the ugly claws of guilt creeping up your throat. He doesn’t rise to it and turns away from you, his face twisting into an unreadable expression.

“Jihoon,” you call out, softer now. 

No response.

You push a hand back through your hair roughly before exhaling hard through your nose.

“Listen, that came out wrong.”

“I’m not saying you should just magically stop caring,” you continue more carefully, “I just… You’ve been here almost two weeks and you barely sleep, barely eat, barely leave this apartment. At some point you have to actually let yourself exist here.”

You wait for him to answer. To say something equally mean to you maybe, because it would make you feel better. But Jihoon simply doesn’t. 

“...Sorry,” you mutter eventually. “That was rude.” 

Still nothing.

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you walk out of the kitchen to head back towards your room, the tiled floor cold beneath your feet.

You pause at the door, letting out a quiet sigh before looking back. “Try to sleep.” 

Jihoon thinks about what you said for longer than he'd like.

Not because he enjoys it, but because there isn't much else to do at four in the morning besides stare through the blinds and watch the city cycle into another day.

The apartment begins waking around him eventually.

The first sign is the bathroom door opening somewhere down the hall, followed by the familiar sound of running water. A little later, somebody drops something in the kitchen. Vernon emerges briefly from the workshop looking exhausted before disappearing again. By the time the advertisements outside begin dimming, enough people have moved through the apartment that pretending to sleep would feel ridiculous.

He waits.

The bathroom door opens and closes several more times before the apartment finally settles into the familiar noise of people making breakfast, hunting for missing tools and arguing over things that probably do not matter.

Only then does he swing off his hammock.

The mirror above the sink is small, scratched in one corner and slightly warped around the edges, but it still reflects enough.

He stares at himself for a while.

His hair is longer than he normally keeps it, hanging into his eyes and curling awkwardly around the back of his neck. Stubble shadows his jaw. 

For a moment he feels irrationally irritated by it.

You had a point, whether you knew it or not, and that irritates him too. There is nothing waiting is going to accomplish. There is no version of this where he sits long enough for everything to return to normal.

Jihoon exhales slowly and reaches for the razor. 

By the time he's finished, the sink is littered with dark hairs and his jaw feels strangely bare beneath his fingertips when he runs a hand across it.

The shower comes afterwards.

He stays under the water until the bathroom fills with steam and the noise of the apartment disappears completely behind it, letting it beat against the back of his neck while he tries not to think about anything at all.

When he finally steps out again, the mirror has fogged over. He wipes part of it clear with the side of his hand and pauses.

The difference isn't dramatic, but it is enough.

His dark circles haven't gone anywhere, and neither has the hollow feeling sitting beneath his ribs. But the face looking back at him is at least familiar now.

His hair, unfortunately, is another matter entirely and without the stubble distracting from it, it somehow looks even longer than before.

Jihoon stares at it for another few seconds before dragging a towel over his head and giving up.

Ten minutes later, after changing into clean clothes and making a half-hearted attempt to flatten it back into place, he finds Minghao sitting cross-legged on the floor near the couch sorting through documents.

"Do you know how to cut hair?"

Minghao glances up.

His eyes move over Jihoon once, taking in the damp hair, the freshly shaved jaw and—judging by the slight lift of his brows—the fact that Jihoon appears to have made a genuine effort to look like a functioning human for the first time since arriving.

"I do, actually."

"You do?"

"My sister used to make me do hers." Minghao shrugs. "Then Hoshi got impatient with barbers a few years ago and that turned into my problem too."

From somewhere in the kitchen comes an immediate protest. "I can hear you."

“So you won’t butcher it?”

“No promises,” Minghao shrugs.

“Hey.”

The grin that appears suggests he's enjoying this far more than necessary.

"I'm kidding. Let’s go."

Minghao drags a chair into the bathroom and sets it inside the bathtub, cringing at the lingering stuffiness from Jihoon’s shower. The floor of the bathtub is wet too, but Jihoon tries to ignore it as he steps over the ledge to sit down.

Minghao disappears for a moment before returning with a set of clippers, a pair of scissors and a towel that has clearly seen better days. 

Jihoon clears his throat before Minghao can touch his hair. “No offence to him, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cut my hair as short as Hoshi’s.”

"Don't worry," Minghao laughs. "Hoshi likes looking like he's about to fight someone. You don't have the face for that right now.”

He drapes the towel around his shoulders before combing a hand through Jihoon’s hair.

The first thing Jihoon notices is that he's actually paying attention. Minghao works slowly, separating sections of hair between his fingers before cutting them, occasionally stepping back to study the shape of it before continuing.

"Where'd you learn?"

"At home."

Minghao reaches for another section.

"My sister used to cut hers in the bathroom because it was cheaper than paying someone to do it. Then she got sick of cleaning up afterwards and decided I should learn instead."

Jihoon huffs quietly. "Convenient."

"For her, definitely."

Minghao works in silence after that, occasionally turning Jihoon's head with a hand against his jaw or nudging his shoulder when he needs a different angle. Dark strands continue falling onto the towel and collecting around the bottom of the bathtub.

Eventually he sets everything down and steps back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“There. You’re done.”

The towel comes off, making Jihoon cringe at the hair falling over his feet before he shakes it off and steps over the edge while Minghao starts gathering everything up behind him. 

The mirror is still faintly fogged around the edges so he wipes a clear patch into it and looks up.

The hair no longer hangs into his eyes. The sides sit neatly against his head while the top falls naturally forward, longer through the fringe and crown without looking overgrown. The back has been cut short enough that it doesn't curl against his neck anymore.

Jihoon reaches up automatically and pushes his hair back. “You—”

“Hmm?” Minghao glances towards him. 

Jihoon looks at him through the mirror. "You cut it the same way?"

He looks like he's been asked a slightly ridiculous question.

"Well, yeah,” Minghao sighs, sounding tired. “You watch those vlogs like a hundred times a day. I've seen you and your friends’ faces projected onto our living room wall enough times that I could probably draw it from memory.”

"At some point I stopped seeing you and started seeing Mission Commander Lee Jihoon from 2026," he continues in a deadpan voice.

For the first time since he’s woken from his two centuries of hypersleep, Jihoon laughs.

Outside the bathroom, the sole of your shoe squeaks against the tiles. You freeze immediately, mentally cursing the worn-out things on your feet. 

A second later, the door swings open.

Minghao steps out first with the towel bundled under one arm, stopping briefly when he notices you standing there before continuing past without much thought. 

You glance at Jihoon behind him, who has the remnants of a smile on his lips. Something shifts across his face when he notices you. Not quite embarrassment, and not quite surprise either. 

For a moment neither of you says anything. 

You break the silence. “It suits you.”

His brows furrow. “Huh?”

Awkwardly pointing at his head, you mutter, “The haircut.”

His gaze flicks briefly toward the mirror before returning to you. “Oh. Yeah, thanks.”

For a moment it looks like he might say something else.

Instead, he reaches up, runs a hand through his hair again and shakes his head lightly to himself. Then he walks past you.

The smell of shampoo follows him out into the hallway.

Maybe he’s finally made a normal morning for himself. Or at least as close to one as any of you get.

Jihoon sits on the edge of the couch while you lean over him trying to secure one of the fake mods behind his ear. 

The clasp refuses to cooperate. Every time you think you've managed to hook it properly into place, it slips loose again and forces you to start again. He doesn’t complain, however. Maybe because the outing’s for him. 

Across the room, the damaged glasses sit folded on the coffee table beside his notepad.

Vernon breaks a lot of things on the daily—cups, plates, doorknobs, and some of the things he tinkers with in his workshop. It isn’t surprising when you see the way he hoards his things in there, stacked high in piles that are navigable to only him. 

But it’s pretty inconvenient when he breaks the one thing he can’t repair. 

The man in question walks into the room, glances at the two of you and throws a guilty grimace towards Jihoon.

“You’re leaving soon, right?”

“Yes, Vern. As you can see.” You roll your eyes before turning back to Jihoon, biting your tongue in concentration.

“Jun closes early on Fridays.” 

You finally manage to secure the clasp. 

"I know."

"Just saying."

"You've mentioned it four times already.”

Jihoon’s head lifts from the notebook balanced on his knee. “Who’s that?”

“Ah,” Vernon exhales, “She’ll tell you. Sorry for that, dude. If you wanted me to fix your eyes, I probably could, but old-school glasses aren’t my thing.”

“My eyes are fine—” Jihoon starts, but the man waves him off before disappearing back into his corner, making him sigh. 

“You use them for reading, then?” you ask, brushing off your knees as you stand. 

He nods, his face disappearing beneath the wide hood of his jacket for a second. “Makes it much easier. Otherwise, my eyes start hurting.”

You tug your boots on beside the door while Jihoon studies the collection of jackets hanging from hooks nearby.

Then he reaches for the handle.

The movement catches him off guard more than he'd like.

He’s been here almost three weeks now, and he’s only been outside once—to the crash site, which barely counts. 

Most of Phoenix only exists as fragments in his mind. Things he’s managed to piece together from what he hears from Hoshi and Aki, and what half-finished explanations he gets from you and Wonwoo. 

Jihoon doesn’t know what he expects, but as he pushes the door open, he’s glad that he’s doing it on his terms.

The alley is quiet and empty apart from a few overflowing crates stacked against one wall and a maintenance drone sitting motionless in a charging dock near the far end. 

You fall into step beside him.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

The city is loud enough even from here. The distant hum of traffic bleeds between buildings while advertisements flash intermittently against the walls whenever something bright enough passes on the street beyond.

“So who are we going to?” Jihoon asks eventually. 

You step around a puddle, coming to a halt at the end of the alley where it meets the main road.

People crowd the walkways in both directions while transport vehicles glide overhead between buildings layered so densely together that he can't immediately tell where one ends and the next begins. Advertisements stretch several stories high across entire facades, shifting constantly between products, announcements and faces he doesn't recognise.

You catch his attention drifting almost immediately.

"Eyes forward."

His gaze snaps back to you.

“Wen Junhui. He’s good with lenses and stuff. Whatever you’re going to need, basically.” You tell him. “It’s a dying art, in his words. He’s stubborn and unwilling to let go of the family business, so you’re in luck. You’ll find exactly what you need.”

You start walking again before he can ask anything else, forcing him to follow. 

“See, Jihoon—the thing is, we’re not the only disconnected group in Phoenix.” 

People part around you as you move through the crowd, some carrying crates, others balancing bags slung over their shoulders. Nobody pays either of you much attention.

"There are disconnected people all over the city," you continue. "Some keep to themselves. Some don't. Jun's group over in Sector 13 is one of them that is in contact with us."

Jihoon frowns. "So, what, you just look out for each other?”

A laugh escapes you. "That’s a part of it."

The crowd thickens slightly as you merge fully onto the main walkway, forcing the two of you closer to the edge where the traffic barriers separate pedestrians from the streams of vehicles moving below.

"People trade information. Supplies. Safe places if somebody needs to disappear for a while." You shrug. "Depends on what's needed."

“And that’s what you do too?”

The question makes you glance at him. "What?"

"You and the others. What do you do when you go out?”

“It’s—” you start, throwing another look at him before the two of you get separated by a passerby. “It’s not that easy to explain.”

Jihoon cocks an eyebrow. “Can’t be as hard as mine, can it?”

You sigh, tugging on his arm to pull him closer before you lose him in the crowd. “You know just how important information can be, don’t you?”

When he nods, you continue, “Some of us didn’t disconnect simply because we wanted to disappear. Vernon and Sora—Jun’s person—spent years figuring out how to break the Link without alerting Lazarus. The solution they came up with was to ‘kill’ us.”

“What?”

“Here, I can show you,” you shrug. 

When you search your name on the interface you used on him, Jihoon doesn’t expect to see your face pop up with a bright red DECEASED banner stretching across the top of the screen. 

You shut it down as quickly as you’d brought it up. No one pays attention, but it’s best to stay safe. 

"If somebody's Link goes inactive unexpectedly, Lazarus notices. They investigate. People start asking questions. It’s easier to be dead." 

Jihoon nods again, but his brows knit together and his gaze drifts to the ground for a few seconds before he looks up at you with a slight frown.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with your job, though.”

You breathe in deeply, looking away as he almost bumps into you while trying to avoid a group of delivery bots. 

“People who officially don't exist can go places they're not supposed to. It makes it easy for us to dig around, Jihoon,” you admit. “There’s something wrong with Lazarus and their links, and every time we dig into it, we find something that doesn't make sense.”

“And what makes you think that?” Jihoon prods. “I mean, the entire concept of the link is a bit too dystopian for me, but couldn’t it simply be what it promises to be?”

“You forget that the link can override—” you pause, exhaling with slight exasperation. “This is not a conversation we should be having outside. I’ll tell you more when we go back home. We’re almost at Jun’s shop anyway.”

Jun’s shop is wedged between a repair kiosk and a noodle stall, the entrance so narrow that Jihoon would’ve missed it if it weren’t for you pointing out the sign above the door. The E in ‘Wen Optics’ flickers intermittently, and the LED glow is so dull that it looks out of place. 

You push the door open, and the small tinkle of the bell overhead takes Jihoon by surprise.

A voice calls out your name. “Is that you? Gimme a minute.”

The shop is deeper than it looked from outside.

From the street, it had seemed impossible that anything substantial could fit between two businesses crammed so tightly together, but the space stretches far beyond the narrow storefront. Shelves climb all the way to the ceiling, packed with boxes, spare lenses and equipment that looks old enough that Jihoon can identify, or at least assume what some of them are.

A thud echoes from somewhere behind him. 

Jihoon glances toward the sound just as a figure emerges from behind one of the shelves, still focused on tightening something small between his fingers. 

“Hey,” he greets Jihoon before glancing at you. “He doesn’t look as old as I was told he was.”

“Haha.” You roll your eyes. “Do your thing, please.”

The visit ends up taking less time than Jihoon expects.

The shop itself is far more interesting than the examination. Jun spends most of it complaining about Vernon while sorting through drawers full of lenses and frames. The rest passes in a blur of measurements and scans.

By the time it's over, the broken lenses have been replaced and the frames straightened enough that they sit properly on his face again.

“There,” Jun says, stepping back. “Better.”

And it is better. 

Not that it matters much. The moment the two of you step back outside, you make him take them off again before anyone notices. 

They’ll have to wait till you get home.

The rain starts just as you and Jihoon turn onto the main street leading back to Sector 17. 

At first, neither of you pay much attention to it. A few drops strike the pavement, and the ones that fall on you are a reprieve from the humid weather of the last few days. 

The vendor nearest to you mutters under his breath and starts covering his stall. Somewhere overhead, water begins dripping from the tangled mess of pipes and cables crisscrossing between the buildings.

Then the sky opens.

"Shit.” You look up instinctively.

Within seconds the street descends into chaos. 

People rush for cover as the signs blur behind sheets of rain. Water splashes over the edges of overflowing drains and races down the road in shallow streams. Across the street, a food cart owner is already dragging down metal shutters while cursing at anyone who gets in his way. 

"Come on!”

Jihoon barely gets a chance to react before you're grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and steering him across the street.

The rain is already soaking through the shoulders of your clothes by the time you reach the entrance. Water drips from your hair as you shove open the door and step inside.

The difference is immediate. Once the door closes behind Jihoon, the rain is reduced to a distant drumbeat against the windows, buried beneath overlapping voices and the low hum of music coming from somewhere deeper in the pub. 

The air is warmer too, carrying the familiar mix of alcohol, fried food and too many people packed into too small a space. Around you, half of Sector 17 seems to have had the exact same idea. Every table is occupied. Damp jackets hang over chair backs. Puddles gather beneath muddy boots near the entrance while a server weaves expertly between customers carrying a tray loaded with drinks.

You pause just inside the doorway and glance back through the window.

The rain only seems to be getting worse.

"Looks like we're staying awhile."

Jihoon follows your gaze before looking back towards the room. His eyes move slowly across the crowd, taking in the mismatched furniture. The walls are panelled with dark wood that he hasn’t seen here before, and the lighting hangs low and amber above crowded tables. Even the smell is familiar. Something fermented and slightly sour underneath the smoke. 

Jihyo spots you before you've even fully made it through the crowd. She's already pulling a glass down from the rack above the bar, mouth curving slightly as you slide into one of the stools, Jihoon following close behind you.

"Didn't think I'd see you twice in one week."

"What can I say? I seem to miss you,” you joke, throwing a grin at her.

She rolls her eyes as she sets the glass down and leans her forearms on the counter, gaze moving to Jihoon with curiosity. She's seen enough of your crew cycle through here over the years that she's stopped asking, but this is a new face.

"He’s—" you start. A friend? Or one of your crew? 

You glance at Jihoon, who raises an eyebrow, waiting. “—with me.”

"Okay," Jihyo nods and turns to pull your usual.

She slides the glass over to you before attending to somebody else at the opposite end of the counter. You wrap a hand around it before pushing it toward Jihoon first. 

"Try it before you decide what you want."

He looks at the glass. "I didn't say I wanted anything."

“You sure?” you ask, eyeing him. “Oh, you don’t drink?”

Jihoon clears his throat. “I mean, I do. But rarely.”

"So try it," you say, nudging the glass closer. "Then decide." 

He hesitates for another second before he picks it up and sips. It tastes familiar. He sets it back down and slides it toward you.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay yes, or okay you’ll have something else?"

"Okay yes." He nods toward Jihyo without looking up. "I'll have this."

You motion to her to slide another one over for you. Jihoon takes another sip and turns slightly on his stool to look at the room. Every time the door opens someone comes in looking like they've walked through a wall of water.

"Do you come here a lot?" he asks.

"Friday nights mostly. Sometimes midweek if Hoshi's being unbearable." You lean an elbow on the bar. "It's close enough to walk and far enough from the apartment that it feels like leaving."

"And the others come too?"

"Sometimes. Mostly it’s just me, or Wonwoo tags along, but he’s no fun. He'll sit here for two hours, nurse one drink and not talk to anyone.”

Jihoon sets his elbow on the bar and rests his chin briefly on his hand, looking out at the room. A group near the back has gotten louder in the last few minutes, something escalating into laughter.

"How did you all end up together?" he asks. "Your group."

“Hoshi and Wonwoo grew up in the same sector as me. We went to school together,” you hum, picking at the edge of a splinter on the counter. 

"And the others?"

"Vernon and Aki knew each other already and Minghao came with them." You drink. "The three of them showed up basically as a package. Vernon was a coworker of mine, so I knew I could trust him."

Jihoon nods. "And now you're just—"

"Yeah," you say.

He takes that as the whole answer, which it is.

"What about yours?" you ask. "Your crew." 

You expect him to lock up, ignore it maybe or just redirect the conversation. But Jihoon smiles softly, glancing down at his glass.

“We didn’t choose each other,” he scoffs lightheartedly, glancing up at you once he realises that you might not know how it works. 

"We were all selected separately," Jihoon explains. "You don't just pick your crew for something like that. There's a whole process—evaluations, compatibility assessments, months of it." He turns the glass on the counter. "By the time we actually met each other we'd already been told we were going to spend years together in a metal box millions of miles from home."

"So you had no say in it."

"None at all." He says it without any bitterness. "Aera and I got along immediately. Seokmin took about two weeks before he stopped being weirdly formal about everything." He pauses. "Jeonghan was never formal about anything, which was its own problem at first."

“But it worked out in the end. You also don’t really have a choice when the alternative is making it difficult for yourself for however many years.”

You nod slowly. 

Jihoon watches you for a second before turning back to the bar.

"Do any of you have family here?" he asks. "In Phoenix."

It comes out of nowhere but not really, you think. He's been here over three weeks and nobody's mentioned parents or siblings or anyone outside the six of them. You'd probably wonder too. 

“We do,” you sigh. “All of us. But it’s safer for them to just believe that we’re dead too.” 

Jihoon pauses, sipping from his glass before he sets it down. He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Well, that’s bleak.”

"Little bit, but we’re used to it.”

After that the conversation stops being about anything in particular, which is how you know it's going well. You ask how someone ends up studying astrodynamics and he gives you an answer that's more interesting than you expected. Then somehow you're talking about the bar snacks Jihyo sets down between you without being asked and how the concept of it has survived two centuries. Jihoon says some things are just too good to disappear, which you think might be the most optimistic thing he's said since arriving.

At some point you notice the door has been propped open and the air coming through is cool and dry.

You glance at the windows. The rain has stopped.

He looks toward the door too, then finishes the last of his drink and sets the glass down. You leave enough on the counter and pull your jacket on and he follows you out.

The streets are quieter than usual. Water sits in puddles at the low points of the road and drips steadily from the cables strung between buildings overhead. Jihoon walks beside you with his hands in his pockets.  The building comes into view at the far end of the street. Vernon's window is lit up, which means he's still awake, which means he'll have something to say about how long you’ve been gone.

Jihoon glances at it before his attention drifts back to you.

"Did you grow up around here?" he asks casually. 

"No." You step around a puddle. "I moved here a few years ago. Upper sectors before that."

He glances at you. "Upper sectors?"

"Five, mostly." Five. Jihoon runs the number against what you told him earlier in the pub—the lower the number, the higher up you are, the better the air and the infrastructure and everything else. Five is well off. Not the top, but well off enough. He looks at you for a second, at the worn jacket and the boots that have clearly done some miles and the easy way you navigate these streets, and thinks that you don't particularly look like you grew up anywhere else. 

But then again, what would he know? "What did you do?" Jihoon questions. "For work, I mean. To afford to live there." You're at the door now. The keypad glows faintly beside it. His question catches you off-guard enough to momentarily forget what you were about to do. But you press the code in and push the door open before glancing at him. “I worked for Lazarus.”

The file sits buried in the queue that none of the higher-ups bother scrolling through, tagged under Atmospheric Anomalies and marked as auto-cleared. It would’ve stayed there indefinitely if the sweep hadn’t landed on it by pure chance this week.

Audits happen twice a year at Lazarus Tech. A random batch is pulled from Security’s cleared files, checked against the raw data to make sure nothing slipped through that shouldn’t have. Most of the time, nothing has. The system doesn’t miss much. 

This time however, an issue is found seven files in.

Atmospheric Anomalies aren’t supposed to go further than the ten desks occupied by the Aerial Security department. That’s why it makes the room go quiet the second the door opens without a knock first. 

The Director doesn’t sit in on audits. She doesn’t explain why she’s here today either, not with the way she crosses the floor and drops a single printout in front of the analyst who signed off on it three weeks back.

“Talk me through this one.”

The analyst clears his throat, glancing at the two other people seated near him like it might help, but neither of them look up from their screens. Nobody wants to be involved in this more than they already are. 

“It’s a bloom,” he says. “Thermal signatures that are very common with re-entries. We get these constantly, ma’am—from the Wastelands. There’s junk falling out of orbit every other week, and it matched the previously recorded debris catalogues, so it got cleared automatically.”

“And you are sure that it matched the records?” she questions, raising an eyebrow. 

The analyst shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “It was within variance, ma’am.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, and instead pulls up the raw footage on his monitor, turning it so the rest of the desk can see it too, and scrolls through the shots of the descent slowly enough that the silence in the room starts to feel like its own kind of pressure. 

Debris doesn’t behave like this. Everyone in Aerial Security knows what a decaying fragment looks like, the way it tumbles and sheds speed unevenly, nothing about it deliberate. 

The footage cuts off before it lands, but it’s obvious enough. 

“That is not orbital debris,” she points out, her voice as cold as the sweat beading down the analyst’s neck. “There were corrections in speed and angles as it came down. None of you thought this was worth flagging?”

“The system cleared it,” the analyst tries again, weaker this time. “It's not really built for us to be double-checking every single—” 

“It's not built for you to be careless either.” Her voice doesn't rise, but it doesn't need to. “You had a signature that didn’t match the pattern it was compared against, and instead of escalating it, you let the automatic clearance stand because it was convenient.” 

She straightens up and looks around the room properly for the first time, at the rest of the desks that have gone quiet, at the people who’ve stopped pretending to work and are just watching now. 

“I want every flagged entry from the last six months pulled and reviewed. Not run through the system again. I want actual eyes on it this time.” 

Someone near the back starts to say that footage from before would’ve cleared the last audit cycle, then thinks better of it.  “Six months,” she repeats, like she’s already annoyed at having to say it twice. “I want to know if this is the only one we missed.”

She turns back to the analyst last. “You’re done here.” He looks up properly for the first time since she walked in. “Ma’am—” She’s already pulling her wrist up, tapping through something on her own display without waiting for a response. “Clear out your desk. Someone will walk you out.” 

She’s almost at the door when she stops. “Oh, and—” she doesn’t turn all the way around, just enough that her voice carries back across the room. “I want that object identified. Whatever it was, I want to know what it is, where it came from, and where it landed exactly.”

Nobody answers right away. “Send a team to the Scraplands,” she adds. “I don’t care what it takes to get there. Find it.”

📂 Case File: anamnesis by @woncheolisms

🔦Administrators: Choi Seungcheol x reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: VOID by @hannieoftheyear

🔦Administrators: Yoon Jeonghan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Everything humanity has ever wanted is now at reach with the touch of a button, yet, the world is as empty as ever. Most prefer to live their lives in the digital reality, where you can be cities away in the blink of an eye and where the sun shines uninterrupted. The only ones left are those who first developed the idea, stuck in an abandoned world and cursed to watch as their families deteriorate inside machines. When a malfunction opens up the possibility to break the system, they seize the opportunity to make those who used a falling city as the stepping stone for their empire pay once and for all.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: systematic error by @straylightdream

🔦Administrators: Joshua Hong x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it’s not unusual for artificially intelligent robots to blend in seamlessly to society. many years ago you found a android and upgraded his programming. As time passed you often forget he’s not a human, unfortunately he can’t escape the feelings and tainted thoughts that he’s just an android. after falling in love, you’ve become companions as you navigate the dark neon city together, and attempt to take down the biggest corporation.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PRIME by @joshujin

🔦Administrators: Wen Junhui x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Six years ago, you unknowingly changed the course of Arcadian Prime forever. Five years ago, you erased your own existence and went into hiding. And approximately half an hour ago, the very first image of you, the city-state's most wanted fugitive, went online. Now… now, you run.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Ground by @mylovesstuffs

🔦Administrators: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: on the ground, the poor starve. in the sky, the rich live like gods. six months of playing the clumsy, star struck girl from the slums boils down to a single night in a luxury penthouse. to avenge and save her father from their misery, she has to trap the elite’s most untouchable corporate heir, hoshi, in a game of her own making— and then betray him.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Shadow District by @thestraybunny

🔦Administrators: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Skyfall Industries is taking over the city, where the rich will benefit while the poor will suffer. With body modifications, sex, drugs, and alcohol there to help numb people from reality of it all. Your world is small, and is just getting smaller. So, when Skyfall Inds is finally at your door and threatening your home, you and Wonwoo will have a choice to make.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PROJECT: KILL SWITCH by @callisrecords

🔦Administrators: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: On a trip to the Wastelands, you don't expect to find much that's intact. Definitely not an escape pod or a man still inside it. Lee Jihoon seems to be unregistered, unchipped and jarringly not from this century. In a city held together by a network no one can escape, he is the only thing it cannot read, cannot follow, and cannot override. As details about a mission that predates everything you’ve ever known begin to surface, you realise Jihoon’s existence is more than just an anomaly. Somewhere within the structure of the megacorp that controls the city lies a failsafe: a kill switch tied to an authority long believed dead. Except maybe it isn’t.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: through the haze by @aeristudios

🔦Administrators: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: You're the star of Neo City Nights, the hottest nightclub in the city. Your voice brings in people from all over, including the handsome stranger Seokmin who you can't stay away from. Too bad you don't remember him from your past life, before the accident that happened, which changed your life forever.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: butterfly by @sailorsoons

🔦Administrators: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In a city where technology makes it possible to shed your body as easily as changing clothes, Mingyu has built his reputation hunting criminals who disappear behind new faces. So when you become the prime suspect in a brutal string of serial murders, he should have no trouble closing the case. Except... the more he investigates you, the less he's convinced you're guilty.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: REMNANT by @wheeboo

🔦Administrators: Xu Minghao x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In the year 2197, Xu Minghao works as a government shadow operative, hired to hunt down political dissidents. After surviving a catastrophic accident that should have ended his life, his body had been rewired to become nothing more than a living weapon solely engineered for one purpose: obedience. You live a different kind of double life. By day, a reclusive digital artist curating an elite art gallery; by night, a ghost hacker where you siphon secrets from the city’s corrupt core. But when your latest hack uncovers an unsettling truth, a target is painted on your back—and Minghao is assigned to terminate you.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: synapse//ZERO by @cheollollipop

🔦Administrators: Boo Seungkwan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when Synapse//ZERO launches, thousands of players eagerly enter the world's first fully immersive neural VR game. hours later, they're trapped. with her younger brother and best friend seungkwan among them, YN enters the game's sprawling cyberpunk metropolis, determined to bring them home. but in a world where the system adapts, remembers, and watches, escaping may not be enough. inspired by sword art online!

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: kingslayer by @100vern

🔦Administrators: Chwe Hansol x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it's been years since you worked for the ministry of welfare. since you were partnered with hansol as a rookie inspector in the criminal investigation unit. since the two of you were assigned to a case so devastating it cost hansol his freedom and sent you into hiding. it's been years, but there's no time limit on vengeance—and there's nothing you wouldn't do to protect hansol.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: got you (in my sights) by @minisugakoobies

🔦Administrators: Lee Chan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when a job goes bad, elite assassin lee chan ends up the victim of a botched memory wipe. lost on the streets of new seoul and in need of help, he turns to the only person he can remember - just a face, a name, and a feeling. you have no idea why a rival assassin is begging on your doorstep, but agree to help him, thinking it will be an opportunity to steal his clients. but when the client who ordered the memory hit learns he hasn't been wiped, they target you both. can you trust chan enough to work together to save yourselves? or will you lose more than your memories?

The Malware 🚫 The Code

🌃 author's note!

she's hereeeeee! I am so excited to be apart of this collab. thank you @studiosvt for allowing me to join this amazing community. here's to my first boo pic! -happy reading!(:

The countdown had been everywhere all week.

Not subtle either. Not something you could ignore.

It crawled across the sides of buildings in blinding neon, numbers dripping down glass like the city itself was keeping time. Drones hovered overhead, projecting the same message in looping gold light, their voices echoing between streets like a chorus that wouldn't shut up.

SYNAPSE//ZERO — LAUNCHING FRIDAY.

Even the robots had started showing up. They stood in public plazas and outside transit stations, polished chrome bodies moving just a little too smoothly as they demoed the system for crowds. People gathered around them like it was a concert, laughing, recording, reaching out to touch something that didn't quite feel human. I stood there with my arms crossed, watching.

"You're staring again." I didn't have to turn to know who was talking.

"I'm not staring," I muttered. "I'm observing. There's a difference."

"Yeah?" he nudged my shoulder. "And what have you observed this time?"

I finally looked at him. "That everyone's losing their minds over a glorified brain chip made by a trust fund baby who's never been told no in his life." Seungkwan laughed, bright and easy, like this was just another one of my usual spirals.

"He's not a trust fund baby," he said. "He's literally the son of the biggest neural tech company in the country."

"That's... exactly what I just said."

"That's not the same thing."

"It's the same thing."

He shook his head, still smiling. "You just don't like him."

"I don't trust him," I corrected. That took a little of the amusement out of his face.

"You don't trust anything," he said, softer now. "Not new tech, not corporations, not people who get excited about stuff."

"I trust you," I said without thinking.

The words hung between us for half a second too long.

He blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh, shaking it off. "Well, lucky me. Then you should trust me when I say this game is going to be insane." I glanced back up at the skyline, the countdown flickering against glass and steel.

"Insane doesn't always mean good."

By Friday, the city didn't feel like itself anymore. Every screen, phones, billboards and storefronts synced to the same ticking clock. News channels looped previews. Influencers streamed their setups. People lined up outside stores hours before launch like they were waiting for something holy. My parents were part of that crowd.

"Surprise!" The word hit me before anything else.

I barely made it through the door before my mom was holding up a sleek black box like it was something sacred. My dad stood behind her, smiling in that proud, slightly awkward way he always did when he thought he'd nailed it.

"We got them this morning," she said. "One for you and one for your brother." My stomach dropped.

"Mom..."

"Isn't it amazing?" she cut in. "Everyone's been talking about it all week. We thought you'd be excited."

I stared at the box. At the clean design. The subtle gold logo etched into the surface like it wasn't dangerous. Like it wasn't powerful.

"It's like you guys don't listen to me at all. I told you I didn't want this," I said, quieter now. Her smile faltered. "What? Why not?"

"Because it's not just a game," I said, the words coming faster now. "It's a neural interface. It connects directly to your brain. Do you even know what that means?"

My dad frowned. "It means it's advanced. That's the point."

"It means it can go wrong," I snapped.

Silence.

Then my brother's door flew open. "Wait, are those here?"

He appeared like he'd been summoned, eyes lighting up the second he saw the box.

"No way," he breathed. "You actually got it?"

My mom laughed, relief slipping back into her voice. "Of course we did." I watched her hand it to him. Watched the way his hands shook just a little as he took it, already halfway gone before the conversation could catch up to him.

"Thank you!" he called, disappearing back into his room. The door shut.

I exhaled slowly. "This is a bad idea," I said. No one answered.

I ended up at Seungkwan's house. Of course I did. His room was exactly what I expected. Clothes half folded, posters lining the walls, and right in the center, the setup.

Seungkwan was kneeling on the floor, carefully unpacking everything like it might break if he moved too fast. "You're late," he said without looking up.

"You're obsessed."

He grinned, glancing at me. "You love it."

"I tolerate it."

"That's basically the same thing."

"It's really not." He laughed, shaking his head as he started connecting wires. The system flickered to life, soft light bleeding across his room. I watched him for a second. The way he moved. The way he talked, even when I didn't answer. Rambling about features, mechanics, rumors he'd read online. He looked happy and I hated that a part of me didn't want to ruin that.

My phone buzzed. I frowned, pulling it out.

Mom.

"Hold on," I muttered, stepping into the hallway. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Her voice was sharp.

"Seungkwan's. Why?"

"Get home. Now." Something in her tone made my stomach twist.

"I'll be there," I said quickly, already turning back.

I leaned against the doorframe, "I have to go."

Seungkwan looked up, confused. "Already?"

"My mom. Something's wrong."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Text me on your way back." I nodded, already moving.

"Don't start without me," I added.

He smirked. "No promises."

The second I walked through my front door, I knew. Something was wrong. The air felt tight. My parents were waiting in the living room and they weren't smiling.

"Do you want to explain," my dad said, voice low, "why we got a call from your school today?" My chest tightened and I dropped my bag. "It wasn't a big deal".

"You disrupted a school assembly," my mom cut in. "You were shouting. Causing a scene. About the game?"

"It's not just a game," I snapped. "I was trying to-"

"To what?" my dad shot back. "Embarrass yourself? Embarrass us?"

"I was trying to get people to think!" I said. "Nobody's asking questions, nobody's looking into who's actually behind this-"

"You need to stop," my mom said, her voice shaking. "This obsession you have-"

"It's not an obsession!"

"It is when it starts affecting your future." My jaw tightened.

"My future?" I repeated. "You mean the one where I sit back and pretend everything's fine while some corporation wires itself into people's brains?"

"That's enough." The room went still. Behind them, the TV flickered. A sharp tone cut through the air.

BREAKING NEWS.

All three of us turned. The screen shifted and the countdown was gone. Replaced by a figure who was calm. Centered. And then everything changed. When he smiled it doesn't reach his eyes. It's the first thing I notice. Everything else about him is... perfect. Too perfect. Symmetrical in a way that doesn't feel human. Like he was designed to be trusted and then stripped of whatever actually makes a person real.

"Good evening," he says.

His voice is calm. It cuts clean through the static like it belongs there more than anything else. Every channel is the same. Every screen. Every device.

"By now, many of you have successfully logged into SYNAPSE//ZERO."

"More advertisement? Really?"

"We're not done with this conversation, YN." my mother says and I roll my eyes. 

"Congratulations," he continues, almost pleasantly. "You are among the first to experience the next stage of human integration."

My mom lets out a nervous laugh beside me. "The marketing for this is intense." No one answers her. On the screen, the man tilts his head slightly, like he can hear her. Like he can hear all of us.

"There is, however," he says, "a small update to our system parameters." My fingers curl into my palms.

"You will find that the log out function has been removed." The room goes silent.

"As of this moment," he continues, "all players currently engaged with SYNAPSE//ZERO are unable to disconnect."

My dad scoffs. "That's not possible." The man smiles again.

"If anyone on the outside attempts to forcibly remove the headset," he says, voice still gentle, "the neural link will trigger a cascade failure." My heart stutters.

"A more familiar term might be... death." My mom gasps. I don't. I can't. Because suddenly I understand. The protests. The silence from the company. The way no one answered questions.

"You're lying," my dad says, louder now. "This is a joke-"

"I assure you," the man says, cutting through him effortlessly, "this is the most honest moment you will experience." My breath comes out shallow. On the screen, his expression softens, almost sympathetic.

"As for those of you inside the system..." The display shifts.

A sweeping view of the city inside the game. Massive, glowing, alive. Players scattered across streets and rooftops, frozen, looking up at the same sky.

"If your avatar is destroyed," he says, "your physical body will cease to function." My mom grabs my arm. Hard.

"No, no, this... this can't be real-" My brain is already moving ahead. Too fast. Too loud.

Min-seo.

Before I can say it, my parents are already running. Down the hall. His door.

"Wait!" I move before I can think.

They're already inside.

My brother is on his bed, the headset covering his eyes, the faint glow pulsing against his skin. Completely still.

"Take it off," my mom says, voice shaking. "Take it off right now!" She reaches for it.

I grab her wrist. "Don't." The word comes out sharper than I expect.

She freezes. "What?" she whispers.

"Don't touch it," I say, my voice dropping, steadier now even though my heart feels like it's trying to claw its way out of my chest. "If you take it off, it'll kill him."

My dad stares at me. "You don't know that."

"I do," I snap. "Did you not just hear him?"

"He's bluffing."

"He's not." The room feels too small. The glow from the headset flickers.

My brother doesn't move, doesn't react. Doesn't even look like he's breathing.

"Turn the TV on," I say. My dad hesitates.

"Now."

He does.

The broadcast fills the room again. The man is still there, still smiling.

"As you can see," he says, "your loved ones are safe... so long as they remain connected." My mom breaks.

A quiet, shattered sound that barely makes it out of her throat before she sinks down beside the bed. I can't look at her. I can't look at any of them. Because something else is rising in my chest now. Something worse than fear. A name. It hits me all at once. Like something slamming into me at full speed.

Seungkwan.

My hand slips from my mom's wrist.

"No," I breathe.

My dad looks at me. "What?"

I'm already backing out of the room.

"No... No, he...he has it. He was setting it up."

"Who?" my mom asks, voice breaking. I'm already moving.

"Seungkwan!"

The name tears out of me as I turn, running. Down the hall and out the front door. I don't remember grabbing my shoes. Don't remember the street. Everything blurs into motion and noise and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding too loud in my ears. He said he wouldn't start without me.

No. He said, "No promises."

"Shit," I choke, pushing faster.

The city feels wrong now. Screens everywhere, all showing the same broadcast. People spilling out into the streets, shouting, crying, trying to call people who won't pick up. Drones still hover overhead. Still projecting like nothing has changed. Like everything hasn't just ended. By the time I reach his house, my lungs are burning. The front door is unlocked. I don't knock.

"Seungkwan?" No answer. I take the stairs two at a time and see his door is half open with the light is on. And for a second, just a second, I think maybe I made it. Maybe he waited.

Maybe he...

I push the door open and everything inside me drops.

He's there. Sitting exactly where I left him with the headset covering his eyes. The system fully connected, soft light pulsing against his skin. Still.

"Seungkwan," I whisper. No response.

I take a step forward. Then another. My hands shake as I reach out, stopping just short of touching him. Because I know. I know what happens if I do.

"You said..." My voice cracks. "You said you wouldn't start without me." Silence.

The room hums softly. Alive in a way he isn't. My chest tightens, then breaks. I sink to my knees in front of him, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp, uneven gasp.

"Idiot," I choke, my vision blurring. "You're such an idiot!"

But the words don't land. They don't go anywhere. They just... fall. Because he's gone. Not dead. Not yet. But gone somewhere I can't reach. And for the first time all week, I don't feel angry. I feel helpless. The screen in the corner flickers. A voice echoes faintly through the room.

"Welcome," he says, "to SYNAPSE//ZERO."

And I realize that this isn't the beginning of something, but the point of no return. It takes exactly one week for the world to rot. Not collapse. Not explode. Just... rot.

The broadcasts stop after the first day. The Game Master says everything he needs to say, then disappears like a god that doesn't need to prove anything twice. The company releases a statement that doesn't say anything at all. Authorities promise investigations that never seem to start.

Hospitals fill with bodies that aren't dead. Families sit beside them like they're waiting for something that isn't coming. And the city?

The city keeps moving. The drones are still there. The ads are still running. The robots still stand in their plazas, polished and perfect, like nothing has changed. Like thousands of people didn't just vanish into something no one can touch. It makes me feel sick. So I stop watching.

Instead, I go looking. That's how I find them. Or maybe they find me.

The underground isn't marked. No signs. No names. Just a door tucked between a closed electronics shop and a half-dead convenience store, its neon sign flickering like it's trying to give up. I almost walk past it, until someone grabs my wrist.

"You've been staring at that door for five minutes," a voice says. I turn, ready to snap, but the girl in front of me doesn't look like she's joking. She looks tired. Sharp eyes. Messy hair. A jacket lined with wires that aren't just for show.

"You gonna walk in," she asks, "or keep pretending you don't want to?"

I pull my arm back. "What is this place?" She studies me for a second too long. Then she smirks.

"Answers," she says. "Or at least people desperate enough to try." That's all it takes to follow her inside. The first thing I notice is the noise. Not loud or chaotic.

Keyboards. Screens. Voices layered over each other in low, urgent tones. The room is bigger than it should be, packed with makeshift stations and cables running across the floor like veins. Monitors line the walls, all tuned to fragments of the same thing.

SYNAPSE//ZERO.

Live feeds. Data streams. Code I don't understand. And in the middle of it all... People. Some pacing. Some arguing. Some staring at screens like if they look long enough, something will break open.

"They're all players?" I ask quietly.

"Some," the girl says. "Most aren't." I glance at her. "Then why are they here?"

Her expression shifts.

"Same reason you are." I don't answer. Because she's right. She leads me deeper into the room, past clusters of people hunched over glowing displays, until we reach a section that feels different. There are chairs lined up against the wall. Occupied. Each one has a headset, has a body. Still, breathing but gone. My chest tightens.

"They volunteered," she says, like she's reading my mind. "First day. Thought they could map the system, find a backdoor, pull people out."

I swallow. "Did it work?" She doesn't answer. She doesn't need to. I look closer. The people in the chairs don't look like my brother. Don't look like Seungkwan. They look worse. Their expressions are wrong. Like something inside them shifted and never settled back.

"What happened to them?" I ask.

"We don't know," she says. "They're alive. Brain activity is there. But they're not responding to anything. Not voice, not touch, not pain." My stomach twists.

"They went in," I say slowly. "And didn't come back out."

"Yeah," she says. "Best case scenario, they're stuck deeper than everyone else." Best case. I tear my eyes away.

"Who's in charge here?" I ask. She laughs, short and dry. "No one. That's kind of the problem." Figures.

Days blur together after that. I stop going home, stop checking the news, stop pretending there's anything left for me out there. Instead, I stay here, watching. Learning. Trying to understand something that doesn't want to be understood. They show me what they've found.

The system isn't just locked. It's sealed. Every attempt to breach it gets shut down before it even gets close. Firewalls layered on top of firewalls, code that rewrites itself faster than anyone can track.

"It's not just defensive," someone mutters one night, eyes bloodshot as lines of code scroll past his screen. "It's adaptive. It learns." Of course it does. It was built to.

"We tried sending signals through the network," another says. "Messages. Pings. Anything."

"And?"

"Nothing comes back." Nothing in. Nothing out. I sit with that.

With the weight of it pressing down on my chest until it feels hard to breathe. Because somewhere inside that system, Seungkwan is alive. My brother is alive and I can't reach them. Not from the outside. The realization doesn't hit all at once. It creeps in.

Until one night, I'm standing in front of the row of headsets again, staring at the empty ones they haven't touched since the first attempts.

"They're not empty," the girl I've come to know as Sana, says behind me.

I glance back. "What?" She nods toward them. "We haven't used those since the failures. No one's willing to risk it again." I look back at them, at the cables, the polished black surface. The same design sitting in my house.

"They failed because they went in blind," I say.

She goes still, "What?"

"They didn't know what they were dealing with," I continue, my voice steadier than I feel. "They treated it like a system problem. Something to hack. Something to break."

"That's because it is," she says.

"No," I shake my head. "It's not just that." I think about the city inside the broadcast. The players. The way the Game Master spoke.

"It's a world," I say quietly. "One that's being controlled. Manipulated. Watched." Her eyes narrow. "And?"

"And you don't break something like that from the outside," I say. "You don't even understand it from the outside." The words settle between us.

"You're not seriously-"

"I am." My heart is pounding now. Not from fear, but from certainty.

"If I want to find them," I say, "if I want to bring them back..." I step closer to the headset. The surface reflects back at me. Distorted.

"I have to go in." Behind me, someone swears under their breath.

"That's a death sentence," the girl says.

"Staying out here is worse." She doesn't argue with that. No one does. Because we all know it's true. I reach out, my fingers hover just above the headset. I think about turning back. About staying here.

Then I think about Seungkwan. About the way he smiled. The way he said no promises. And my brother, alone in a world he never should have been trapped in. My hand steadies.

"I'm going to bring them back," I say. No one believes me. I can feel it. But they don't stop me either. Because hope, even a reckless kind, is still hope. I pick up the headset and exhale.  No one tries to stop me. That's the part that sticks with me the most.

Not the warnings. Not the looks. Not the way the room goes quiet like I've just said something irreversible. It's the fact that no one reaches out, no one grabs my arm, no one says don't.

Because they've all already thought about it. They've all stood where I'm standing now, staring at something that could kill them, wondering if it's worth it. They just didn't take the step.

Sana watches me from across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. "If you go in, you don't come back out unless you clear it. You understand that, right?" I nod.

"I'm not going in to win," I say. "I'm going in to find them."

"That's not how this works."

"Then I'll figure out how it does." She exhales slowly, like she wants to argue, like she knows it won't matter. "At least let us prep you," she says. "You go in blind, you'll last five minutes." That's fair. So I stay. Not long. Just enough.

They walk me through everything they've managed to scrape together from fragments and failed attempts. The world layout. The way players spawn. The rumors about safe zones that aren't actually safe. The way pain works. The way death works. No respawn. No second chances.

"Most players started in the lower sectors," someone explains, pulling up a flickering map of the city inside the game. "Crowded areas. High conflict. It's chaos down there."

"Mid level zones are more structured," another adds. "Contracts. Corporations. If you survive long enough to get there, things... stabilize."

"And the top?" I ask. They hesitate.

"No one's confirmed getting there," the first one says. "But if there's an end condition... it's probably up there." Of course it is. Nothing about this is subtle.

"Find them first," the girl says, stepping closer. "Don't go chasing some exit you don't understand. People who try that..." She trails off. Don't come back. I nod anyway. Because she's right. This isn't about winning. This is about Seungkwan. This is about my brother. Everything else can wait. They hand me a small device before I sit down.

"Internal comm marker," someone explains. "If the system allows it, it'll sync to your neural feed. Might let us track you. Might not. We don't know."

"Might not" seems to be a theme here. I take it anyway. The chair feels colder than I expect. Or maybe that's just me. The headset sits in my lap, heavier now than it did before. Not physically. Something else. Like it knows what it is. Like it's waiting for me.

I stare at it for a long moment. Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have touched this. Two weeks ago, I was yelling at people for wanting it. Now it's the only thing that can get me to them. "Hey," Sana says. I look up.

"For what it's worth," she adds, her voice quieter now, "you don't seem like the type to go down easy." I almost laugh.

"Good," I say. "Because I don't plan to." I lift the headset.

The room fades just a little around the edges, like everything is already starting to pull away from me. I think about my parents. About the look on my mom's face. About my brother, lying still in that bed. Then Seungkwan. The way he smiled. The way he didn't listen.

"Idiot," I murmur under my breath. My grip tightens. Then I pull the headset down and everything goes dark. Not black. Dark. There's a difference.

It feels like falling without moving. Like my body is still sitting in the chair but everything else is being pulled somewhere deeper, somewhere sharper. For a second, there's nothing. No sound. No feeling. Just a blank stretch of space that feels too wide to exist. Then, a pulse. It hits behind my eyes, sharp and electric. Light fractures through the darkness in thin, glowing lines, spreading outward like cracks in glass.

A voice follows. Not from around me, but from inside. "Initializing neural link." My breath catches, but I can't tell if I'm actually breathing.

"User profile detected." The light sharpens, forming shapes now. A horizon. Buildings. Something massive taking form piece by piece like it's being constructed in real time.

"Cognitive sync in progress." There's a pressure in my head. Not pain. Just weight. Like something is pressing against my thoughts, mapping them, learning them.

I grit my teeth, "No," I whisper, though I don't know if I'm saying it out loud. "You don't get to do that." The pressure spikes. For a second, it feels like the system pushes back. Then it eases. Like it's adjusting.

"Sync rate stabilized."

The world slams into place and I gasp. Air rushes into my lungs, real and sharp and burning. I drop forward, catching myself on rough pavement as sensation crashes over me all at once.

Sound. Distant voices. Movement. The low hum of something mechanical overhead. Light. Neon, harsh and flickering, bleeding across dark surfaces. Feeling. Cold ground beneath my hands. The weight of my body. The steady, undeniable rhythm of my heartbeat.

I'm here.

I push myself up slowly, breath uneven as I take in my surroundings. The city stretches out in front of me, massive and layered, neon lights bleeding across buildings that climb too high into a sky that doesn't exist. But it's not realistic. Not fully.

Everything is stylized. Edges too clean. Colors too saturated. Shadows too sharp, like they've been drawn instead of cast. The world looks like someone took reality and filtered it through something softer. Smoother. Like something meant to make you forget what it actually is.

People move past me, and it's the same thing. They look like themselves, but not exactly. Features slightly exaggerated. Movements a little too fluid. Expressions just a fraction too defined, like they're being rendered in real time rather than lived.

Cartoonized. That's the word.

"Welcome to SYNAPSE//ZERO."

The crowd shifts, panic rippling outward.

I don't move because now I'm inside the system and somewhere in this city, Seungkwan is here. My brother is here. I inhale slowly, steadying myself as the noise builds around me then I step forward.

The first thing I learn is that panic gets you killed. The second thing I learn is that this place rewards people who adapt faster than they think. The third? No one here is who they were a week ago.

I keep my head down. The lower sector is exactly what they described and worse. Neon bleeding into puddles that don't look like water. Buildings stacked so tight they feel like they're leaning in to listen. Voices everywhere. Deals, threats, laughter that doesn't sound right.

And players. You can tell who they are immediately.

Some are still disoriented, moving too slow, eyes wide like they're waiting to wake up. Others have already adjusted. Too well. Their movements are sharp, efficient. Their eyes track everything. Hunters.

I move before anyone can decide what I am. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to run, but I don't. Running makes you a target. I match the pace of the crowd instead, blending in, forcing my breathing to slow. Think.

Seungkwan wouldn't stay still. He'd talk. He'd gather people. He'd find the safest place he could and turn it into something better. My brother? He'd follow whoever looked like they knew what they were doing. So I start there.

Crowds. Movement. Places where people gather. It doesn't take long to find the first problem. A group blocks the street ahead, tension snapping through the air like a wire pulled too tight. Someone shoves someone else. Voices rise. A weapon flashes in neon light. I stop. Not because I want to. Because I have to.

A girl is on the ground, scrambling back, hands shaking. The guy standing over her doesn't hesitate. His arm lifts. I move before I think. My hand catches his wrist. The contact sends a sharp jolt through my arm. Not pain. Not exactly. Just enough to remind me this is real. He turns, eyes narrowing. "You got a death wish?"

"Maybe," I shoot back, tightening my grip. "But you're not getting one today." He laughs. Not amused. Annoyed.

"Then you picked the wrong place to play hero." He jerks his arm, trying to break free. I don't let him. I don't know how I know what to do next. I just do it. My weight shifts. My other hand comes up. I twist.

There's a sharp crack of movement, his balance snapping out from under him as he hits the ground hard. The system reacts instantly. A flicker at the edge of my vision. A notification.

ACTION REGISTERED.

I ignore it. The girl scrambles away without looking back. Smart. The guy groans, already trying to get up. I don't stay. Instead, I disappear into the crowd before anyone else can decide to get involved. My heart is racing now. Not from fear. From something else.

The system felt that, recognized it and logged it. "Great," I mutter under my breath. "Now I'm on your radar." A voice cuts in beside me.

"Yeah. You are." I freeze and everything in me goes still. Because I know that voice. Even here. I know it.

Seungkwan leans against the wall like he's been there the entire time, arms crossed, watching me with an expression that's halfway between disbelief and something I don't want to name.

For a second, I can't move.

"You always did have a thing for jumping into fights that aren't yours," he says. My chest tightens.

"You always did have a thing for not listening," I shoot back, my voice sharper than I expect. There's a beat. Then he laughs and it sounds like him. Too much like him.

"You came in," he says, pushing off the wall. "I was hoping you would." That hits harder than anything else.

"You knew I would," I say. He shrugs, like it was inevitable. "Yeah. I did." I take a step closer. Because something feels off. Not wrong. Just different. He looks and moves the same, but there's something in his eyes.

"You've been here two weeks," I say.

"Long enough."

"And?"

"And I'm still alive," he says lightly. "Which is more than I can say for a lot of people." I swallow.

"My brother," I say. "Have you seen him?" His expression shifts. Not much. Just enough.

"Yeah," he says. Everything in me locks onto that one word.

"Where?" Seungkwan hesitates, just for a second. Then he looks at me.

"You're not going to like the answer." My stomach drops.

"Try me." He exhales slowly, glancing up at the drones drifting overhead before looking back at me.

"He's not in the lower sectors anymore," he says. That should be a good thing but, it doesn't feel like one.

"He got moved," Seungkwan continues. "Not by players." The world narrows. "What does that mean."

His voice drops, "It means the system noticed him." A cold weight settles in my chest, "Noticed how."

Seungkwan's jaw tightens, "Same way it just noticed you."

The notification flickers in my memory. ACTION REGISTERED.

My hands curl into fists, "where is he," I ask, quieter now. Seungkwan doesn't answer right away. Because he already knows what I'm going to do. Because he already knows I'm not walking away from this.

Finally, he says, "The mid level sectors." The part of the city no one reaches by accident. The part of the city that's cleaner and more controlled. I nod once. Decision made. "Then that's where we're going."

Seungkwan watches me for a long moment. Then, slowly, a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he says.

"Figured you'd say that." We don't make it five blocks before the city decides to test me.

Seungkwan moves like he knows the rhythm of this place. Not rushing, not hesitating. Just, slipping through it. I follow, trying to match him, trying not to look like I just dropped into a world that's already learned how to kill people like me.

"You keep looking up," he mutters.

"I'm watching the drones."

"They're watching you back."

"Good," I say. "Let them." He glances at me like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't get the chance. The alley ahead glitches. Not visually. Existentially. One second it's empty. The next, something is there.

Three figures step out like they were always part of the space, pulled from the edges of the system itself. Their bodies flicker with fragmented light, outlines unstable, like the code holding them together is still loading.

Not players.

"Enforcers," Seungkwan says under his breath. One of them tilts its head. Then they move. Fast.

I barely have time to react before the first one is on me, its arm snapping forward with a precision that doesn't feel human. I twist, the strike grazing my shoulder, but even that is enough.

Pain detonates. Not dull. Not distant. Sharp and immediate. I gasp, stumbling back as heat floods through my arm, nerves screaming like they've been lit on fire.

"Move!" Seungkwan snaps. I don't freeze. I can't afford to.

The second Enforcer comes from the side, sweeping low. I jump, barely clearing it, landing hard and off balance. The ground cracks under the impact, the system registering every ounce of force. Too real.

Everything is too real.

"Focus," I mutter to myself. "Think." My breathing steadies as the world narrows. The first Enforcer lunges again. This time, I'm ready.

I sidestep, grab its arm, and twist. The motion feels natural, like my body already knows what to do before I fully process it. Something flickers at the edge of my vision again.

TRAIT RESPONSE: DEFLECTION INSTINCT ACTIVATED.

The words flash and vanish. I don't have time to question it. I drive my elbow into the Enforcer's center mass. There's resistance. Then a crack of light, its form glitching violently before snapping back together.

"Not enough," Seungkwan calls.

"I noticed!" The third one closes in. Seungkwan moves then. And for a second, I forget how to breathe. Because he's fast. Every movement clean, deliberate, like he's already mapped out ten steps ahead. He ducks under a strike, pivots, and drives his hand forward. Light blooms at his fingertips. Sound fractures.

The Enforcer staggers back, its form distorting, pixels breaking apart before snapping back into place.

TRAIT RESPONSE: VOCAL IMPACT AMPLIFICATION.

Of course. Of course it would be something like that. "You've got to be kidding me," I breathe.

"Less talking," he shoots back. "More not dying." Right.

The first Enforcer recovers. I see it happen in real time. The angle of its next strike shifts, compensating for my earlier movement.

"Great," I mutter. "It learns. Love that." It comes at me again. This time, I don't dodge. I step in.

My hand snaps up, catching its wrist mid-strike. Pain flares again, sharper this time, shooting up my arm, but I don't let go. I plant my foot, twist my body, and use its momentum against it.

The world slows for half a second. Not literally, but enough. I feel it. That same pressure from earlier. That push against my thoughts. Then, I move faster. I slam it into the wall.

The impact sends a ripple through its form, light fracturing across its surface like shattered glass. I follow through, driving my knee up, then my fist down. This time, it breaks.

It collapses into fragments of light that scatter across the ground before dissolving completely. I stagger back, breathing hard.

The other two Enforcers hesitate, just for a second. Seungkwan takes advantage of it instantly.

"Now!" I don't question it. We move together. Not perfectly or practiced. But enough. He disrupts. I strike. Light cracks and then, silence. The alley stills.

The remaining fragments of the Enforcers dissolve into nothing, like they were never there to begin with. For a moment, neither of us moves. Then the pain hits me properly. I suck in a sharp breath, clutching my shoulder as the sensation spikes, radiating down my arm in jagged waves.

"Okay," I hiss. "That hurts more than I thought it would."

Seungkwan steps closer, already reaching into the inside of his jacket.

"Yeah," he says. "It does that." He pulls something out. It doesn't look like anything I recognize. It's not a syringe. Not a vial. It's... alive.

A thin shard of gold material, glowing faintly from within, like liquid light trapped in glass. The surface shifts as I look at it, colors bleeding into each other in slow, unnatural patterns.

"What is that," I ask, wary.

"Something you need," he says simply. He presses it into my hand. The second it makes contact with my skin, it reacts. The light intensifies. Then it melts. Absorbing. It seeps into my palm like it's being pulled under my skin, spreading up my arm in a cool, electric wave that chases the pain away as quickly as it came. I freeze.

The burning in my shoulder fades. The tension in my muscles unwinds. Even my breathing steadies. "What the hell," I whisper. Seungkwan watches me carefully.

"It's called a Pulse Fragment," he says. "Rare drop. Not supposed to exist this early in the system." I flex my fingers slowly. No pain. Nothing.

"How did you get it."

He hesitates. That same hesitation from before. Then he shrugs, "Let's just say I've been busy." I narrow my eyes at him.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the one you're getting right now." I don't like that.

I don't like that at all. Because nothing about this system gives something for free and if he has access to things he's not supposed to have, that means the system is paying attention to him. Just like it is to me.

A flicker of movement above us pulls my gaze upward. A drone. Seungkwan follows my line of sight. His expression hardens, just slightly.

"Yeah," he mutters. "We're definitely on its radar now." I close my hand slowly, the last traces of that strange, otherworldly warmth fading beneath my skin.

"Good," I say. My voice is steady now. "Let it watch." Because if the system is watching Then it's going to see exactly what I do next. I turn, already moving toward the main street. I don't know how long I've been in here. There's no sun. Just endless rain.  No real sky.

Just layers of neon and artificial light that never dim, never shift enough to mark time passing. My body doesn't get tired the way it should. Hunger doesn't hit the way it used to. Even breathing feels optional.

Time doesn't move here, it loops. And somewhere along the way, I stop trying to track it. All I know is that I'm not the same as when I first logged in. Not even close.

"Again." Seungkwan's voice cuts through the noise of the lower sector, sharp and familiar. I don't argue.

The guy in front of me lunges. I move before he finishes the thought. Step. Pivot. Counter. My blade flashes through the air, catching the edge of his strike and redirecting it cleanly. The impact sends a ripple up my arm, but I absorb it now instead of flinching. My follow up lands before he can recover. He hits the ground.

System flicker. Gone. I exhale slowly, lowering the weapon in my hand. It still feels strange sometimes. Not the weight. The fit.  Like it was always meant to be there.

"Better," Seungkwan says, stepping closer. "You're overcommitting less."

"You say that like I wasn't getting the job done before."

"You were getting hit before." Fair. I glance down at my arm out of habit. A translucent bar hovers just above my wrist, faint but visible if I focus.

HP: 82%

It used to terrify me. Seeing my life reduced to a number.

Now? It's just information.

"You said stats shift based on behavior," I say, rolling my shoulder. "So what does that make me."

Seungkwan smirks slightly. "Right now? High adaptability. Fast response. You lean defensive until you don't."

"Until I don't?"

"Until you decide you're done reacting," he says. "Then you go all in." That sounds about right. Another flicker pulls at the edge of my vision.

TRAIT DEVELOPMENT: RESPONSE TIME INCREASED.

"Okay," I say, stepping back, "You keep talking about traits, behavior, all of that. How do I actually see it?"

Seungkwan tilts his head, like he's surprised I waited this long to ask. "You haven't opened your menu?"

"My what." He huffs out a quiet laugh. "Right. Of course you didn't."

I cross my arms. "Don't start."

"I'm not," he says, holding his hands up slightly. "Just focus. Think about it. The system responds to intent. Same way your weapon does."

I frown, "That's vague."

"Welcome to SYNAPSE//ZERO," he says dryly. "Now try."

I exhale slowly. Focus. For a second, nothing happens. Then, a pulse. Soft. The same kind of sensation from when I first entered, but lighter this time.  Something flickers in front of me. Then expands. A translucent interface unfolds into existence, hovering just inches from my face.

Gold. Not bright or warm. That same muted, liquid gold Seungkwan used earlier, the thing that melted into my skin and erased the pain like it was never there. It moves the same way too.

My stomach tightens.

"Yeah," Seungkwan says quietly. "That's the one." I don't respond. Because I'm staring. At me.

USER PROFILE

A silhouette forms in the center of the interface. My outline. Not exact. Not detailed. Just enough. Information bleeds into place around it, lines of data sliding into position like they've always been there, just waiting for me to look.

HP: 82%

SYNC RATE: 17%

STATUS: STABLE

Below that something new.

PRIMARY TRAITS • Adaptability • Defensive Response • Pattern Disruption

My eyes narrow. "Pattern disruption?"

Seungkwan leans in slightly. "That's new." I glance at him. "New how."

"You didn't have that when you got here," he says. "The system builds traits based on how you act. You're already forcing it to adjust." That doesn't feel comforting. I look back at the interface. More sections unfold as I focus.

COMBAT AFFINITY • Close Range Engagement: High • Reaction Speed: Increasing • Precision: Moderate

"Moderate?" I mutter.

Seungkwan snorts. "You rush. A lot."

"Shut up." A faint shift ripples through the gold interface, like it heard that. I don't like that. Not at all.

"What about weaknesses," I ask.

"Scroll."

"I'm not touching that."

"You don't have to. Just think it."

I hesitate. Then do it. The interface responds instantly, sliding downward without me lifting a finger.

SYSTEM OBSERVATIONS • High risk engagement tendency • Emotional trigger response: Elevated • Resistance to system influence: Active

That last one makes me pause.

"Resistance," I repeat.

Seungkwan's expression shifts slightly. "Yeah," he says. "That one's rare." I glance at him. "You have it?" He doesn't answer right away.

Then, "No." I look back at the interface, the gold surface shifting slowly, almost patiently. Like it's waiting for me to keep going.

"SYNC rate," I say. "What does that actually mean?"

Seungkwan exhales. "It's how connected you are to the system," he says. "Higher sync means better performance. Faster reactions. Stronger abilities."

"And the downside."

He meets my eyes, "You start losing the line." A beat, "Between what's you," he continues, "and what the system wants you to be." The gold interface flickers slightly. Almost like it agrees. I stare at my sync rate again.

17%

Low. For now.

"Can you lower it," I ask.

"No," he says. "Only slow it." That's worse. I close the interface. It doesn't disappear right away. It folds. Collapses inward, dissolving into that same liquid gold before vanishing completely. The air feels heavier without it.

Like something just stepped out of the room. I flex my fingers. "That thing..." I start. "It's the same as what you used earlier."

"The Pulse Fragment," he says.

"Yeah. That."

He nods slowly. "Same source."

"Which is?"

Seungkwan looks past me for a second, then back at me.

"The core," he says.

My stomach drops. "You're telling me the stuff that heals us?"

"Comes from the same place that's trapping us," he finishes. Of course it does. Nothing in this place is separate. Everything feeds into everything else. I glance at where the interface disappeared. Then back at him.

"You've been here too long," I say quietly. Something flickers behind his eyes. Gone just as fast.

"Yeah," he says. "I have."

I don't even blink at it anymore. The system is always watching. The weapon in my hand hums faintly. It isn't metal. Not really. It's something else. A blade formed from compressed light and data, its edge shifting subtly depending on how I move, like it's learning me as much as I'm learning it. Seungkwan found it for me. Or took me to it.

I still don't know which one is more accurate. The memory hits in flashes. A vendor that didn't look like a vendor. A stall tucked between broken structures, barely visible unless you knew where to look. Weapons lined up that didn't feel like objects. They felt like choices.

"Don't pick based on what looks cool," Seungkwan had said, watching me carefully. "Pick based on what answers you back."

I thought he was being dramatic. Then I reached out. Most of them stayed still. Unresponsive, until this one. The second my hand got close, it reacted. Light bending toward me, like it recognized something. Like it had been waiting.

"Yeah," Seungkwan had murmured. "That tracks." Now, it moves with me. Not heavy. Not light. Just right. We keep moving. Fight after fight. Not all of them clean. Not all of them easy. Sometimes it's players. Desperate. Aggressive. Already too far gone to hesitate. Sometimes it's the system. Enforcers that adapt faster each time we cross paths, forcing me to think quicker, move sharper, hit harder. And sometimes it's both.

We don't stay in one place long. Can't. The longer you linger, the more the system notices. And it's definitely noticing now.

"You feel that?" I ask one time, stepping over the fading fragments of another fight. Seungkwan doesn't look at me.

"Yeah." It's subtle. A pressure. Like something just out of sight is leaning closer.

"Good," I say.

He glances at me then, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "You really don't scare easy, do you."

"I don't have time to." That shuts him up for a second. Then he exhales, running a hand through his hair.

"We're close."

I look up. The city shifts here. The chaos of the lower sector thins out, structures becoming taller, cleaner. The lights sharpen. The air feels different. This is as far as most players make it. The barrier between levels.

"You said there'd be a gate," I say.

"There is."

We round the corner and there it is. Not a door. Not a wall. A presence. A massive construct of shifting code and light, pulsing like a living thing. It stretches upward beyond sight, anchored into the city itself like it was grown there. And standing in front of it, something worse. The boss. It doesn't look like anything I expected. No armor. No oversized weapon. Just a figure. Humanoid. Its body flickers like the Enforcers, but more stable. More defined. Its face is wrong. Features slightly off, like they were almost rendered correctly but stopped just short. It tilts its head as we approach.

"You don't have to do this," Seungkwan says quietly.

I don't look at him.

"Yes," I say. "I do."

The figure moves.

"Mid level access requires clearance," it says, voice layered, overlapping itself like multiple signals trying to speak at once.

"Clearance denied." Figures. My grip tightens on the blade. "Then we'll take it," I mutter.

The fight starts before the words fully leave my mouth. It's different from anything before. Every movement matters. Every mistake costs. The boss doesn't rush. It reads. Adapts. Counters before I even finish my attack. I strike high. It blocks. I pivot low. It's already there.

Pain flashes as its counter connects, slamming into my side hard enough to send me skidding across the ground. My vision flickers.

HP: 61%

"Get up!" Seungkwan calls. I already am.

The blade hums in my hand, reacting to the surge of adrenaline flooding my system.

The system mirrors behavior. So break the pattern. I change my rhythm. Not faster, but unpredictable. I move wrong deliberately. Step out of sequence. Strike off beat. Let instinct override structure. The boss hesitates. Just for a fraction of a second. But it's enough. I close the distance. My blade cuts through its guard, light clashing against unstable code as I push through, ignoring the pain, ignoring the feedback screaming through my body.

Seungkwan moves with me. His voice cuts through the air, sharp, focused. The sound hits the boss like a shockwave, its form glitching violently. I don't waste it. I drive forward. All in. The blade reacts.

Light fractures outward as I strike, the impact tearing through the boss's core, destabilizing its form completely.

For a second, everything freezes. Then it breaks.

The figure collapses into a storm of fragmented code, scattering into the air before dissolving completely. Silence crashes down around us. My chest rises and falls hard, my grip loosening slightly as the adrenaline starts to fade. A chime echoes.

Clear.

The construct behind us shift open. A path forward. Mid level access granted. I look at it. Then at Seungkwan who is already watching me.

"You're adapting too fast," he says quietly.

I tilt my head slightly, "And we're still alive," I reply. That doesn't ease whatever's sitting behind his eyes. But he nods anyway. "Yeah," he says. "Let's keep it that way." I turn back to the open path. The city beyond it waits.

I step forward, not looking back. Because whatever this system is turning me into, I'm going to use it.  Until I break it first. The moment I cross into the mid level, I feel it.

The chaos of the lower sector doesn't follow us here. It gets cut off like noise behind a closed door. The streets open up, wider, cleaner. The neon doesn't flicker here, it hums steadily, deliberate. Buildings don't stack on top of each other like they're fighting for space. They rise.

I slow without meaning to. "Yeah," Seungkwan says quietly beside me. "Everyone does that the first time."

"It's worse," I mutter. He glances at me. "Cleaner usually doesn't get that reaction."

"That's because it's fake," I say. "Down there, at least it's honest about what it is."

Here? Everything is pretending. People walk past us, and it hits me immediately. They're different. More composed. No wide eyes. No hesitation. Movements are deliberate. Conversations are quieter. Deals happen in low voices, quick glances. No one lingers. No one panics. No one wastes energy.

"This is where the ones who survive go," Seungkwan says. "Or the ones the system decides are worth keeping around." That word again. Decides. My jaw tightens. Above us, the drones look different too. But I can feel them. The pressure in the back of my mind shifts, just slightly. Like something just tuned in closer. A flicker. My interface pulses open without me calling it.

SYSTEM NOTICE • Environmental Adjustment Detected • Threat Scaling Increased

I close it immediately.

"Yeah," Seungkwan says. "It does that here."

"Does what."

"Pays more attention." Of course it does. We move deeper.

The streets narrow again, but not like before. Not chaotic. Intentional. Corridors between towering structures, screens embedded into walls, flashing contracts, bounties, system generated tasks. Everything here has purpose. Even the silence.

"You said he got moved here," I say. "So where do we start."

Seungkwan doesn't answer right away. He's scanning. Like he's already mapping the place out in his head. "Mid level isn't random," he finally says. "People don't just wander into each other. The system routes you."

"Routes based on what."

"Behavior. Traits. Value."

"So if it moved him," I say slowly, "it put him somewhere specific."

"Yeah."

"And you don't know where."

"I have an idea." That's not reassuring.

We turn another corner, and that's when I see it. A structure that doesn't blend in. It doesn't belong to the streets or the players or anything that feels human. It's too clean. Too perfect.

Glass and gold, stretching upward, its surface reflecting the city in warped, distorted layers. Data streams flicker beneath the surface like something is moving inside it. My chest tightens.

"What is that."

Seungkwan's expression hardens, "that," he says, "is where the system keeps things it's interested in."

My pulse spikes.

"You think he's in there."

"I think," Seungkwan says carefully, "if your brother got flagged early..." He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to. The answer is already sitting in my chest like a weight I can't shake. A flicker of movement cuts across the street. I turn instinctively.

Players. But not like the ones below. Their gear is cleaner. More refined. Their presence heavier, like they've been here long enough to know exactly what they're doing. One of them glances at me then stops. That's all it takes and the air shifts. Recognition. Not of me but of what I am.

New.

"Don't react," Seungkwan mutters under his breath. Too late. One of them steps forward.

"New transfer?" he asks, voice smooth but edged. I don't answer.

His eyes flick over me, "Lower sector behavior," he continues. "But you made it through the gate." He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Interesting." Seungkwan shifts slightly beside me.

"Not worth your time," Seungkwan says evenly. "We're just passing through." The guy looks at him then.

"Oh," he says softly. "You're the one they've been watching." My stomach drops. Seungkwan doesn't react. Doesn't deny it. Which I think is worse.

The others spread out slightly. "System's been flagging anomalies all week," the guy continues, gaze sliding back to me. "Didn't expect one to walk in like this."

I step forward, "Move," I say. The guy laughs.

"You don't understand where you are yet," he says. "Down there, you survive by instinct. Up here?" His smile sharpens.

"You survive by knowing your place." My grip tightens on my weapon. The hum beneath my fingers shifts.

"Yeah," I say.

"I've never been good at that." The system pulses. The guy's expression flickers. "Then let's see how long that lasts." He moves.

Seungkwan grabs my wrist the second an opening cracks through their formation, pulling me sideways into a narrow corridor before the others can close in. I don't argue. I move with him, feet hitting pavement in quick, controlled steps as we cut through side streets and shadowed walkways. Voices echo behind us. Footsteps.

Then nothing.

We don't stop until the noise of the main street fades into something distant and dull. Only then does he let go. I lean back against the wall, chest rising and falling hard, adrenaline still buzzing under my skin. The mid level hums around us, quieter here, the lights dimmer, the space tighter. No one follows.

For a second, neither of us says anything. Then, "What the hell was that," I snap, pushing off the wall. "They knew you." Seungkwan runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "Yeah."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got right now."

I stare at him. Because something about this still isn't sitting right.

"They said you've been flagged," I say. "That the system's watching you." He doesn't deny it. A sharp laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

"Of course," I mutter, pacing a step away before turning back. "Of course you couldn't just stay under the radar. Of course you had to what make friends with the system?"

"That's not what this is," he says, more serious now.

"Then what is it?" He hesitates.

And that's what finally breaks something in me. "You said you wouldn't start without me," I snap. The words come out sharper than I expect.

His head lifts slightly. "I told you to wait," I continue, my voice tightening. "I told you. I told you not to log in without me and you still did it anyway—"

"I didn't think I was going to die," he cuts in.

The space between us goes still.

"I thought it was a game," he says, quieter now. "That's it. That's all it was supposed to be." The anger in my chest stutters.

"I didn't know," he continues, his voice steady but not defensive. "None of us did. I wasn't thinking about consequences. I wasn't thinking about being stuck. I was just-" He stops. Shakes his head slightly.

"Excited," he finishes. That lands harder than anything else. Because I can see it. I can see the version of him from that night. Sitting on the floor, grinning, talking about features and mechanics like it was the best thing that ever happened. Not knowing. Not understanding. Just... happy.

"I was at your house," I say quietly. "When it happened." His eyes flick back to mine. "They cut the broadcast in," I continue. "He showed up. Said no one could log out. Said if you died—"

My voice catches for a second. I push through it.

"My brother was already in," I say. "My parents tried to take the headset off. I had to stop them." Seungkwan goes still.

"I ran," I add. "I didn't even think. I just... ran to your house." A breath.

"I thought I'd make it in time." Silence settles between us.

"You didn't," he says softly.

"No," I whisper. I look away for a second, jaw tightening as the memory pushes forward whether I want it to or not.

"You were already gone," I say. "Just sitting there like..." I swallow. "Like you weren't even there anymore." Another pause.

"I was," he says.

I look back at him. "What."

"I was there," he repeats. "Just not where you could reach me."

That shouldn't make it better. It doesn't. But it does something. I exhale slowly, tension bleeding out of my shoulders just a little.

"You're still an idiot," I mutter. He huffs out a small laugh.

"Yeah," he says. "That tracks." For a second, it almost feels normal. Almost. Then the city hum creeps back in. Reminding us exactly where we are.

"What did they mean," I ask, shifting the conversation before it can settle too long. "Back there. Contracts. Bounties." Seungkwan's expression sharpens again, slipping back into something more focused.

"Mid-level runs on structure," he says. "Not chaos like below. Everything here is organized through the system." He gestures toward the main streets beyond the corridor.

"Contracts are system generated tasks," he continues. "Targets, retrievals, territory control. Complete them, you get resources. Gear. Fragments. Sometimes information."

"And bounties."

"Player-driven," he says. "Someone puts a price on you, the system makes it visible. Anyone can take the job." My stomach twists.

"So we're walking around with a target on our backs."

"Pretty much."

"Great." He almost smiles.

"Yeah. Welcome to mid level." I glance back toward the direction we came from. Toward the cleaner streets. The controlled movement. The players who didn't hesitate.

"They said no one's made it past this level," I say. "Why."

Seungkwan doesn't answer right away. He looks up at the towering structures.  "Because this is where the system stops testing survival," he says finally. A beat.

"And starts testing control."

That sits heavy.

"What does that mean."

"It means the lower sector is about chaos," he explains. "Reacting. Adapting. Staying alive long enough to matter."

"And here."

"Here," he says, "it decides what to do with you."

A chill runs down my spine.

"Routes you. Assigns value. Pushes you into roles."

"Like those guys."

"Exactly." I think about the way they moved. The way they looked at us. Not like threats. Like variables.

"And the people who try to move up," I say.

Seungkwan's jaw tightens. "They don't make it," he says. "Not because they're weak."

"Then why."

"Because the system doesn't let them stay unpredictable," he replies. "Up here, if you don't fit into something it understands..." His gaze shifts to me.

"To something it can control..." The implication settles in.

"They get removed," I finish. He doesn't correct me. A flicker pulls at the edge of my vision again. Gold. My sync rate hums quietly in the back of my mind. Seventeen percent. Climbing. I look at Seungkwan. Then past him. Toward the structure he pointed out earlier.

"That's where he is," I say. Not a question, but a statement.

Seungkwan exhales slowly. "Yeah."

I tighten my grip on my weapon, the light along its edge sharpening in response. "Then we don't waste time," I say.

He studies me for a second, then nods. "Yeah," he says.

"No more wasting time." We step back into the street.

We don't make it far before the system decides I'm a problem. It doesn't announce itself right away. A shift in the air. A subtle tension threading through the movement of the street. Conversations cut shorter. Eyes linger a second too long. Then, a gold pulse.

My interface forces itself open.

SYSTEM ALERT • BOUNTY ISSUED TARGET: USER YN STATUS: ACTIVE PRIORITY: HIGH

My stomach drops and for a second, I just stare at it. Then I laugh.

"You've got to be kidding me." Seungkwan turns immediately. "What." His expression shifts the second he sees my face.

"No," he says quietly. I nod once.

"Yeah." The interface flickers again.

REWARD SCALING: IN PROGRESS

That's when it hits. Not just that I'm being watched. The system doesn't want to study me anymore. It wants me gone. "Already?" I mutter. "I just got here."

Seungkwan's jaw tightens. "You broke pattern too fast."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

"Run."

We move at the same time. No hesitation. Because the second the bounty goes live, the city changes. People don't look curious anymore. They look interested. Hungry. Weapons shift. Postures sharpen. Mid level players don't rush like the lower sector. They calculate. And that's worse.

Way worse.

We cut through the first street, turning hard into a side corridor just as movement erupts behind us. Footsteps, fast and controlled, not panicked. They're not chasing blindly. They're tracking.

"They're already on us," I say, breath tight.

"They don't need to find you," Seungkwan replies. "The system's feeding them your position."

"Love that." We don't get far before the first attack hits. Not from behind.

From above.

A figure drops from a ledge, landing clean in front of us, weapon already drawn. Sleek. Compact. Nothing like the chaotic gear from below. He doesn't speak. Doesn't hesitate. He strikes. I barely bring my blade up in time. The impact sends a shock through my arms, stronger than anything before. My footing slips, my body forced back a step as the force transfers straight through me. He's stronger. Faster.

"Yeah," I grit out. "I hate this level."

Seungkwan moves in immediately, disrupting from the side, his voice cracking through the air like a weapon of its own. The attacker falters for half a second. Not enough, but enough for me to recover. I pivot, strike low, forcing distance. Another one drops in behind him. Then another.

Three.

Already.

"Seungkwan—"

"I see them."

We don't stand our ground. We break. Split second decision. We push through them instead of trying to take them all at once. It almost works. Almost. One of them catches my side mid turn. Pain explodes through my ribs, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs completely. I stumble, vision flickering as the world tilts.

HP: 49%

"Move!" Seungkwan snaps, grabbing my arm and pulling me forward before the follow up strike can land. I force my legs to move. Force my breathing to come back. Think later. Survive now. We run. He cuts through tight corridors, jumps over barriers, moves like he's already mapped escape routes in his head. But they're still there. Always behind us. Sometimes beside us.

Once

In front of us.

We slam to a stop as another group blocks the path ahead. Five this time with weapons drawn. Formation tight. "Not good," I breathe.

"Yeah," Seungkwan mutters. There's no space to run. No clean exit. So we fight. And it's ugly. Not clean like before.

They move like a unit. One distracts. One flanks. One goes for the kill and I barely keep up. My blade clashes again and again, each impact heavier than the last, my arms starting to shake under the strain. I adapt, adjust, break rhythm like before but they adapt back faster. This level isn't about instinct. It's about execution. A strike slips through. Pain detonates. My vision whites out for a split second as something slams into my shoulder, driving me down to one knee.

HP: 23%

Too low.

Way too low.

"Get up!" Seungkwan shouts, his voice cracking through the chaos as he forces space between us and them, but even he's slipping now. His movements aren't as sharp. Not as precise. He's getting hit too. We're both getting worn down. This is how it ends. Not dramatic.Not heroic. Just outmatched. One of them steps forward with his weapon raised. I try to move but my body doesn't respond fast enough. And in that moment, I realize something.

Something inside me snaps into place. My hand tightens on the blade and the system pulses. Hard.

TRAIT EVOLUTION: ADAPTIVE OVERRIDE ACTIVATED

My body shifts just enough, the strike missing by inches instead of landing. I drive upward, ignoring the pain screaming through my side, forcing everything I have into one clean, deliberate motion. The blade responds. Light fractures. The hit lands. Hard and the attacker drops. The others hesitate.

"Now!" Seungkwan calls.

We push through again and we run and don't stop. Not until the noise fades. We duck into a narrow passage, collapsing against opposite walls, breathing hard, both of us barely holding it together.

"Okay," I manage, voice shaking. "That was worse."

Seungkwan lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. "Yeah."

I slide down the wall slightly, pressing a hand to my side. Still hurts.

"Don't move," he says, already reaching for something. "No kidding." He pulls out another Pulse Fragment. This one glows brighter. "Where do you keep getting those," I mutter.

"Later." He presses it into my hand and it melts instantly. The sensation floods through me, stronger this time, chasing the pain back but not completely erasing it. Good. I need to feel it. I need to remember how close that was.

Footsteps echo nearby and we both freeze. The steps get closer. Then stop. A shadow shifts at the entrance of the passage.

"Damn," a voice mutters. "You two look like hell." I go still. Because I know that voice. "No way," I breathe. He steps into the light. Alive. Grinning like the world didn't just try to kill us.

"Miss me?"

"Sunny?" I stare at him. "You-"

"Thought I died?" he finishes, shrugging. "Fair. I kinda did." Seungkwan tenses slightly beside me, still wary.

"Relax," Sunny says, lifting his hands. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't be standing here talking."

"That's not comforting," I mutter. He snorts. "Yeah, well. Mid level hospitality sucks." Another distant echo of movement cuts through the air. Hunters.

Sunny's expression sharpens immediately.

"Come on," he says. "You can't stay here." I hesitate.

We follow him. We cut through back routes, hidden paths, elevators that don't show up unless you know where to look. The city shifts again as we climb. We stop.

A door slides open and for the first time since entering this place Everything feels quiet. Inside, the space is massive. Glass walls. Gold accents. Clean lines. Everything polished to a level that feels unreal compared to the streets below. A penthouse. In the middle of a death game.

I blink. "Are you serious right now." Sunny grins. "Welcome to mid level luxury," he says. "Figured you could use a break." I step inside slowly, my body still buzzing from the fight, my mind trying to catch up. Seungkwan follows, still watching everything like it might turn on us. The door seals behind us as I turn to Sunny.

"You better start talking," I say. Because the last time I checked, he didn't make it. And now? He's living in it like he never did.

The door seals with a soft click. It shouldn't feel as loud as it does. Not after everything outside. Not after the noise, the chaos, the constant pressure of being watched. But the silence in here? It's heavier. Controlled in a way that feels almost unnatural. I don't relax. I don't think Seungkwan does either. Sunny, on the other hand, looks completely at home. He tosses something onto the counter, stretches like he just walked in from a normal day, and glances back at us with a grin that doesn't quite match the world we're in.

"You two look like you went ten rounds with mid level," he says.

"Felt like it," I mutter, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Start talking."

He raises a brow. "Straight to it. No 'oh my god, you're alive, Sunny, I missed you so much'?"

"You weren't dead long enough for that," I shoot back.

He laughs under his breath, "fair."

Seungkwan shifts beside me, eyes still locked on him, sharp and calculating. "Okay," he cuts in. "Before we get into whatever this is... who are you." Sunny glances at him. Then at me. Then back at him.

"Oh," he says. "Right. You don't know me."

"No," Seungkwan says flatly. "I don't."

Then Sunny smirks. "Sunny," he says, tapping his chest lightly. "Old friend. Occasional bad influence."

"Definitely bad influence," I mutter.

Seungkwan's gaze flicks between us. "From where."

"The underground," I say. That gets his attention.

"You actually found one?" he asks, a hint of something almost impressed slipping into his voice. I shrug slightly. "Didn't exactly have anything else to do." He lets out a short laugh.

"Of course you did," he says. "Of course you joined an underground resistance a week into the apocalypse."

I roll my eyes. "I didn't join, I-"

"You stayed," he interrupts.

"That doesn't mean-"

"It absolutely means you joined."

Sunny snorts, leaning back against the counter. "I like him."

"Don't encourage him," I mutter. Seungkwan just shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it fades again. "Underground," he repeats. "So you were on the outside."

"Yeah," Sunny says, pushing off the counter. "For a bit."

Seungkwan straightens slightly. "For a bit?" His expression shifts. Subtle. But I catch it. "We were working on ways in," he says. "Mapping signals. Trying to break through the system. Same as everyone else."

"And?"

"And it obviously didn't work," he says simply. "Not from the outside."

"So you came in," Seungkwan say.

"Yeah."

"How?"

Sunny smirks again, but it's thinner this time. "Same way she did," he says. "Risky decision. Bad timing. Great results." I narrow my eyes. "You don't end up in a penthouse like this from a 'bad decision.'" That earns a real laugh.

"Okay," he says, holding his hands up slightly. "Fair point."

He gestures around the space. "This?" he continues. "This is what happens when you stop thinking like a player and start thinking like the system."

Seungkwan leans slightly forward. "Explain." Sunny nods.

"Mid level runs on contracts," he says. "You take jobs, you complete them, you get paid. Not just in credits. In access. In resources. In status."

I glance around the room again. Clean lines. Glass walls. Gold threading through everything like a signature. "And this is... status," I say.

"High enough," Sunny replies. "Not the top. But high enough that people think twice before kicking your door in."

Seungkwan crosses his arms. "So you've just been running contracts this whole time."

"Not just running them," Sunny says. "Winning them." That tracks.

"And intel?" I ask.

That's what I care about.

Sunny's expression sharpens again.

"Yeah," he says. "That too."

He moves over to one of the panels along the wall, tapping it lightly. The glass shifts, data bleeding across the surface in faint, moving patterns.

"This level isn't about survival," he says. "You already figured that out, right."

"Control," I say. He glances back at me, nodding once. "Exactly. The system assigns value based on how useful you are. Not just in combat. In how predictable you are." Seungkwan's jaw tightens slightly at that.

"So the people who climb," I say, "are the ones who play along."

"Or the ones who make the system think they are," Sunny corrects. That lands.

"And the ones who don't," Seungkwan adds quietly. Sunny doesn't hesitate. "They get flagged." My stomach twists.

"Like her," he says, nodding toward me. Right. That.

The bounty.

I push off the wall, stepping closer to the panel as the weight of it settles back in. "They put a high priority bounty on me within minutes," I say. "That can't be normal."

"No," Sunny agrees. "It's not."

"Then why."

He studies me for a second. "Because you're not behaving the way they expect," he says. "You broke pattern in the lower sector. Cleared the gate too fast. And now you're here, still not aligning."

"And that's enough for a death sentence?"

"In this system?" Sunny lets out a quiet breath. "Yeah." Silence stretches for a second. Then Seungkwan speaks. "So what's the move." Sunny leans back slightly, crossing his arms. "That depends," he says. "How much do you want to piss the system off."

I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "It already wants me dead," I say. "I think we're past that point."

"Fair."

He nods slowly.

"Then we stop reacting," he says. "And start choosing." Seungkwan's eyes narrow slightly. "Meaning."

"Meaning we don't run from the bounty," Sunny replies. "We use it." That gets my attention.

"How." Sunny's grin comes back. "Bounties pull attention," he says. "Players. Contracts. System tracking. Everything funnels toward one target."

He taps the glass panel lightly.

"You." I don't like where this is going. "Okay," I say slowly. "And."

"And if everything is focused on you," he continues, "then everything else gets overlooked." Understanding clicks.

"You want to use me as bait."

"Not just bait," Sunny corrects. "A distraction. A moving problem the system has to keep adjusting to." Seungkwan exhales slowly. "That's dangerous."

"No," Sunny says. "What you were doing out there? That was dangerous." He gestures toward the city beyond the glass.

"This?" he adds. "This is strategy." I stare at the panel.

"Fine," I say. Both of them look at me. "We use it," I continue. "We pull attention. We make noise." My grip tightens slightly at my side.

"And while the system's busy trying to kill me..." I glance at them both.

"We find my brother." Sunny's grin sharpens. Seungkwan doesn't smile, but he nods.

"Yeah," he says.

The plan hangs in the air, sharp and dangerous, but something else is clawing its way to the surface of my thoughts. Something that doesn't fit. I look at Sunny.

"You were supposed to be dead." Seungkwan's gaze shifts between us again, picking up on the change immediately. Sunny doesn't answer right away. Which tells me everything.

"You disappeared," I continue. "The underground, everyone thought you died in here."

Sunny exhales slowly, running a hand along the back of his neck. "Yeah," he says. "That was the story."

"That was the story?" I repeat. "Sunny, people saw your feed drop. Your vitals flatlined. You don't just walk back in from that." His expression tightens. "It wasn't real apparently," he says. The room stills.

"What do you mean it wasn't real." Sunny glances toward the glass panel, like he's checking something, then back at me.

"I'm going to assume the Game Master staged it," he says. "My 'death.' The feed cut, vitals dropped, whole dramatic shutdown."

My stomach twists. "Why."

"To prove a point," he says simply. "Control. Fear. Doesn't matter which one. Same result."

"That doesn't make sense," Seungkwan cuts in. "If players die, they die. That's the rule."

"That's what we were told. I died and respawned almost immediately," Sunny replies. Something cold starts creeping up my spine. A sharp pulse cuts through the air. Not from the room, but from me. The device. The one they gave me before I entered. It hasn't done anything since I got here. Until now.

Gold flickers at the edge of my vision. Then a voice. Distorted at first. Then clear. Panicked even.

“YN—can you hear me—?” My breath catches. “Sana?” Static crackles.

“Yes—yes, it’s me—oh my god—okay—okay listen, we don’t have a lot of time—” Her voice is rushed, uneven, like she’s talking faster than she can think.

“You’re live—we can see your feed—we found a way to piggyback off the neural marker. It’s unstable, but it’s working.” I glance at Sunny. His expression immediately sharpens.

“You can see us?” I ask.

“Not perfectly,” Sana says. “But enough.” She takes a shaky breath. “Listen to me. We were wrong.” The room goes quiet. A knot forms in my stomach.

“Wrong about what?”

“The deaths.” My pulse spikes. “What about them?” Static hisses through the connection.

“The players aren’t being killed by system failures.” Nobody speaks. Sana continues, “we pulled archived documentation from the company that manufactured the neural chips.” Sunny straightens immediately.

“The implants?”

“Yes.” Something about her tone makes my chest tighten.

“The chips were never designed to be dangerous.” I frown. “What does that mean?”

“Every neural implant has safety protocols,” Sana explains. “Emergency limiters. If neural activity exceeds safe thresholds, the system automatically disconnects.”

Seungkwan’s expression darkens. “So?”

“So SYNAPSE//ZERO disabled them.” The room falls silent.

Completely silent.

“No,” Seungkwan says.

“Yes.”

I feel cold all over.

“The game rewrote the limiter protocols before launch.”

My stomach drops.

“That’s impossible.”

“It should be.” Sana sounds angry now. Terrified. “But we found it in the code.” The gold interface flickers briefly across my vision. For the first time since entering the game, I don’t want to look at it.

“When a player’s HP reaches zero,” Sana continues, “the system sends a neural feedback pulse through the implant.”

“It travels directly through the chip.” The room feels smaller.

“What does it do?” I ask quietly.

“It destroys neural function.” The words hit like a punch to the chest.

“What?”

“The brain overloads.”

My breathing stops. “The implant forces a feedback surge through the user’s nervous system. It happens in less than a second.” Sunny has gone completely still.

“That’s not possible.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Sana snaps. “The safeguards were specifically designed to prevent something like this.” My hands curl into fists.

“The Game Master removed them.” No one says anything. Because there’s nothing to say. Everything I feared before launch. Every argument. Every protest. Every warning. I was right.

The neural chip wasn’t just connecting people to the game. The game was controlling the chip.

Sana’s voice grows quieter. “There’s more.”

“There always is,” I mutter.

“We think the same technology is being used on the surviving players.” My head snaps up. “What?”

“The sync rates.” The room stills. “The traits. The behavioral adaptation. The system influence.”

A chill crawls down my spine.

“No.”

“We can’t prove it yet,” Sana says quickly. “But the neural activity patterns don’t look normal. The longer someone stays connected, the more the implant changes.”

I think about my menu. My traits. The way the system responds to behavior. The way it learns. The way it rewards. The way it punishes. I suddenly hate all of it.

“The people becoming Enforcers…” Sana continues, then stops. Like she’s afraid to finish the thought. My stomach twists.

“Sana.” A long pause.

“We think they’re not being recruited.” The silence becomes unbearable.

“What do you mean?” Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “We think they’re being rewritten.” Nobody breathes.

Outside, the artificial city glows beneath the glass walls of Sunny’s penthouse. Inside, all I can hear is my own heartbeat.

Because somewhere in this system, my brother is still alive and I wonder if death is actually the worst thing that can happen to him.

The thought digs beneath my ribs and twists. “How long?” I ask. Static crackles through the connection. Sana doesn’t answer immediately.

“How long does it take?” I repeat.

“We don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I know,” she says, sharper now. “We only just found the pattern. The implant is constantly exchanging signals with the system, but the amount of influence changes from player to player.”

“Based on sync rate,” Seungkwan says quietly.

Sana pauses. “Yes.” My gaze shifts toward him. His expression is tight, eyes fixed on nothing as if he’s running through every moment he’s spent inside this place.

Every time the system rewarded him for becoming something more useful. “What happens when it gets too high?” I ask. Another pause.

“We don’t know that either.” Sunny lets out a bitter laugh.

“Great. Really useful information.”

“I’m working with stolen files and a signal that keeps trying to cut me off,” Sana snaps. “I’m telling you what we have.” The gold at the edge of my vision flickers. The connection distorts.

For half a second, Sana’s voice stretches into something mechanical. Then it returns.

“YN, listen to me. If your brother was taken by the system early, there’s a chance his sync rate is already higher than normal.” My stomach turns.

“How high?”

“I can’t see his profile from here.”

“Then tell me how to find it.” Silence.

“Sana.”

“You need to get close enough for your marker to detect him,” she says. “The device should recognize the neural signature from the outside. Family markers share enough biological data that it might be able to isolate his signal.”

“Might,” I repeat.

“It’s the best chance we have.”

I look toward Sunny’s glass panel. The map of Mid Level still glows across it, layered with contract routes, restricted zones and moving clusters of players. Somewhere among all that data is Min-seo.

“Where do we start?” I ask.

Sunny’s expression shifts. He turns toward the panel and drags two fingers across its surface. The city map expands, structures rising from it in translucent gold.

“There’s a processing center three districts east,” he says. “It handles flagged players, system transfers and role assignments.”

“Role assignments,” I repeat.

“Contracts. Corporations. Enforcement units.” His eyes flick briefly toward mine. “Anything the system decides a player is better suited for.” My jaw tightens.

“You think they took him there.”

“If he was moved out of the lower sector without clearing the gate, yes.” Seungkwan steps closer to the map, “that district is restricted.”

“Most useful places are,” Sunny says.

“And heavily monitored.”

Sunny glances at him, “you have a better idea?” Seungkwan doesn’t answer. Because he doesn’t. I stare at the structure Sunny highlighted. It rises in the center of the map, taller than everything around it. Glass and gold. The same building Seungkwan pointed out when we entered Mid Level.

“How far?” I ask.

“Normally?” Sunny says. “Twenty minutes.”

“And with the bounty?”

He gives me a flat look, “longer.” My interface responds before I can. A violent gold pulse tears across my vision.

SYSTEM ALERT BOUNTY STATUS: ACTIVE TARGET LOCATION: MASKED TRACKING RECALIBRATION IN PROGRESS REWARD TIER: ASCENDING

Sunny reads the notification over my shoulder and sighs.

“It hasn’t found you in here yet.”

“Yet,” Seungkwan repeats.

“The penthouse is shielded,” Sunny says. “Private properties above a certain status level get limited protection from tracking.”

“Limited?” I ask.

“It means the system can’t broadcast your exact location while you’re inside.”

“That sounds useful.”

“It is.”

A second notification forces itself open.

TRACKING RECALIBRATION: 74%

My stomach drops.

“For about another minute,” Sunny adds.

“Then we leave now.”

Seungkwan turns toward me.

“YN.”

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You were going to tell me to wait.”

“I was going to say you’re barely healed.”

“Close enough.”

“You were at twenty three percent less than an hour ago.”

“And now I’m not.”

“That doesn’t mean your body has recovered.”

“This isn’t my body.” The words leave my mouth before I think about them. The room goes still. Sana’s voice cuts softly through the silence.

“That’s what the system wants you to believe.”

I look down at my hands. They look real, feel real. Every injury hurts. But somewhere outside, my actual body is sitting in a chair while a chip translates all of this directly into my brain. There is no difference anymore. Not one that matters. I close my hand around the hilt of my blade.

“Then I’ll be careful.”

Seungkwan lets out a breath through his nose. “That sounded fake even to you.”

“It was worth trying.”

Sunny taps the panel and the map collapses into a thinner route. “We can avoid the contract districts,” he says. “Stay off the main streets and cut through the upper residential blocks.”

“You mean the places filled with players rich enough to have private tracking protection?” Seungkwan asks.

“Exactly.”

“They’re going to love us trespassing.”

“They’ll love the bounty reward more.”

“Fantastic.” Sunny ignores him and marks another location. A tall black structure appears several blocks away from the processing center. It doesn’t resemble the rest of Mid Level.

“What is that?” I ask.

“The Meridian.” The name means nothing to me. Judging by Seungkwan’s expression, it means something to him.

“No,” he says immediately.

Sunny looks over.

“What do you mean, no?”

“We’re not going there.”

“Again,” I cut in, “context would be lovely.”

Sunny gestures toward the building.

“The Meridian is neutral ground.”

“Neutral how?”

“No fighting. No active contracts. No bounty collection.”

I blink, “in this place?”

“In this place.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“It is,” Seungkwan says and Sunny rolls his eyes.

“It’s controlled by players, not the system.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“People need somewhere to negotiate,” Sunny explains. “Contracts get exchanged there. Alliances are formed. Information gets bought and sold.”

“And no one fights?”

“Not inside.”

“What happens if they do?”

Sunny’s grin is small and humorless.

“They don’t make that mistake twice.” I stare at the dark tower. It sits directly between us and the processing center.

“You said we aren’t going there,” I say, looking at Seungkwan.

“We shouldn’t.”

“But we need to.” He looks at me. I already know the answer. The bounty is still active. The system is recalibrating and the moment we leave this penthouse, every hunter in Mid Level is going to know exactly where I am. Sunny expands the route.

“We get to the Meridian, the bounty tracking pauses. We cross through the building, use the eastern service exit and reach the processing center before the system adjusts.”

“That sounds too easy,” I say.

“It isn’t.”

“There it is.”

“The Meridian doesn’t protect you until you cross the threshold,” he continues. “And once we leave, the bounty activates again.”

“So we have to reach it first.”

“Exactly.”

The tracking notification pulses. 89% Sana’s voice breaks through the static.

“YN, the signal is getting worse.”

“What?”

“The system knows I’m connected. It’s trying to trace the marker back to us.”

My grip tightens. “Can you stop it?”

“I can cut the connection.”

“No.”

“YN.”

“You said the marker can identify Min-seo.”

“If it survives.”

“Then keep it alive.”

Static surges. Something slams through the connection so hard that my vision glitches. For one fractured second, Sunny’s penthouse disappears. I see the underground instead. Sana standing beside a wall of monitors. People rushing behind her. Red warnings flooding every screen. Then the penthouse snaps back into place.

“Whatever happens,” Sana says quickly, “don’t let your sync rate reach fifty percent.”

My stomach drops.

“Why?”

Her answer distorts beneath another wave of static.

“I think that’s when the system starts gaining access to long-term memory.” Nobody moves.

“What does that mean?” Seungkwan asks.

“It means traits aren’t the only thing it can change.” The connection crackles violently.

“Sana?”

“You need to go.”

“Sana.”

“Find your brother,” she says. “Then get to the core.” The signal cuts. The gold disappears. Silence rushes in. I stare at the empty space where the connection had been. Then my interface opens one final time.

TRACKING RECALIBRATION: 97%

Sunny grabs a black jacket from the back of a chair and tosses it to me.

“Put that on.” I catch it.

“This is your plan?”

“It masks your gear profile.”

“My face is still my face.”

“Then try looking less memorable.” Seungkwan snorts and I glare at him.

“Not a word.”

Despite everything, the corner of his mouth lifts. It lasts less than a second. Then the lights in the penthouse flicker. Once. Twice. The gold lines threaded through the walls pulse brighter. Sunny’s expression drops.

“Time’s up.” A low sound rolls through the building. Not an alarm. A notification. Deep enough that I feel it beneath my feet.

TRACKING RECALIBRATION COMPLETE TARGET LOCATION ACQUIRED

Every panel in the penthouse turns gold. My face appears across the glass wall. Not a picture. A live feed. Me standing inside the room. Below it, the reward begins climbing.

PRIORITY BOUNTY TARGET: USER YN CAPTURE OR ELIMINATION AUTHORIZED

Sunny stares at the display. “They found a way through the shield.” The building shudders. Something strikes the entrance from outside. Seungkwan draws his weapon.

“How many exits?”

“Three.”

“Which one aren’t they watching?”

Sunny looks toward the ceiling as another impact shakes the room.

“Probably none.”

The glass wall changes. The city map disappears, replaced by moving red markers surrounding the building. Dozens. More appearing every second. Hunters crowding the lower floors. Contract teams filling the streets. Drones circling above. The system has turned Sunny’s penthouse into the center of the entire district. I slide the jacket over my shoulders and tighten my grip on my blade.

“Where’s the Meridian?”

Sunny points toward a narrow door hidden between two wall panels. “East.”

The entrance behind us bends inward. Gold fractures across its surface. Seungkwan steps beside me.

“You ready?”

“No.” He looks over. I meet his eyes.

“But Min-seo doesn’t have time for me to be.” The door tears open. The first hunter steps through. Sunny slams his hand against the hidden panel. The wall opens.

“Then move.” We run. Behind us, the penthouse erupts. The service corridor is narrow and dark, nothing like the polished space we just left. Exposed cables crawl along the walls. The floor vibrates beneath us as hunters spill into the penthouse behind.

“There!” someone shouts. A weapon strikes the wall beside my head. Light explodes across my vision. I duck and keep moving. No fighting. Not yet. We don’t have the health or the time and the Meridian is six blocks away.

Sunny hits another panel at the end of the corridor. Nothing happens. He hits it again.

“Sunny.”

“I know.” The footsteps behind us get louder. Seungkwan turns, raising one hand.

“Open it!”

“I’m trying!”

The first hunter rounds the corner. Seungkwan’s voice tears through the corridor. The impact throws the hunter backward, slamming him into everyone behind him. Bodies crash together. The passage fills with shouting. The door finally opens. Cold artificial rain hits my face. We step onto a narrow exterior platform hundreds of floors above the city. I stop. There is no bridge. No walkway. Nothing between us and the building across the gap. Sunny runs past me.

“You trust the system?”

“No!”

“Good.” He jumps. For one terrifying second, he drops. Then a translucent path forms beneath his feet, rendering one section at a time as he runs across empty air.

Seungkwan looks at me, "you first.”

“You’re joking.” The hunters recover behind us. A blade cuts through the doorway. Seungkwan blocks it.

“YN!”

I look across the gap. Sunny reaches the opposite building and turns.

“Move!” I run. My foot hits empty space. The path appears beneath it a fraction of a second later. My stomach drops anyway. I don’t look down. Each step forms only after I commit to it, the bridge building itself beneath me like the system is waiting to see whether I believe it will. Halfway across, my interface pulses.

SYNC RATE: 21%

The pathway flickers. “No.” The next section doesn’t render. I jump anyway. For one horrible second, there is nothing beneath me. Then someone grabs my wrist. Seungkwan. He catches me from behind, his other hand locked around the edge of the unstable path. Pain tears through my shoulder. Below us, Mid Level stretches forever.

“Don’t let go,” I breathe.

He looks down at me. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

The pathway begins dissolving beneath him. Sunny leans over the opposite ledge, reaching.

“Swing her!”

“What?”

“Swing her!” Seungkwan tightens his grip.

“This is going to hurt.”

“It already hurts!” He pulls once, hard, using the last section of pathway as leverage. My body swings forward. Sunny catches my other arm. Together, they drag me over the ledge as the bridge disappears completely. Seungkwan lands beside us a second later. For half a breath, we lie there in the rain. Then every screen on the building across from us lights up.

TARGET ROUTE UPDATED

A line of gold draws itself through the city. Straight toward the Meridian. Sunny stares at it.

“Well.”

“What?” I ask, pushing myself up.

“They know where we’re going.”

Players begin appearing on the rooftops around us.

One. Three. Ten.

Weapons forming in their hands. The black tower rises in the distance, silent and untouchable. Close enough to see. Far enough to kill us. Seungkwan stands, rain sliding down his face.

“So much for avoiding a fight.”

I raise my blade. The light along its edge sharpens.

“We don’t need to beat them.”

Sunny draws two compact weapons from beneath his jacket.

“No.”

I look toward the Meridian. Toward the only place in this city where the bounty can’t follow.

📂 Case File: anamnesis by @woncheolisms

🔦Administrators: Choi Seungcheol x reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: VOID by @hannieoftheyear

🔦Administrators: Yoon Jeonghan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Everything humanity has ever wanted is now at reach with the touch of a button, yet, the world is as empty as ever. Most prefer to live their lives in the digital reality, where you can be cities away in the blink of an eye and where the sun shines uninterrupted. The only ones left are those who first developed the idea, stuck in an abandoned world and cursed to watch as their families deteriorate inside machines. When a malfunction opens up the possibility to break the system, they seize the opportunity to make those who used a falling city as the stepping stone for their empire pay once and for all.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: systematic error by @straylightdream

🔦Administrators: Joshua Hong x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it’s not unusual for artificially intelligent robots to blend in seamlessly to society. many years ago you found a android and upgraded his programming. As time passed you often forget he’s not a human, unfortunately he can’t escape the feelings and tainted thoughts that he’s just an android. after falling in love, you’ve become companions as you navigate the dark neon city together, and attempt to take down the biggest corporation.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PRIME by @joshujin

🔦Administrators: Wen Junhui x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Six years ago, you unknowingly changed the course of Arcadian Prime forever. Five years ago, you erased your own existence and went into hiding. And approximately half an hour ago, the very first image of you, the city-state's most wanted fugitive, went online. Now… now, you run.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Ground by @mylovesstuffs

🔦Administrators: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: on the ground, the poor starve. in the sky, the rich live like gods. six months of playing the clumsy, star struck girl from the slums boils down to a single night in a luxury penthouse. to avenge and save her father from their misery, she has to trap the elite’s most untouchable corporate heir, hoshi, in a game of her own making— and then betray him.

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: The Shadow District by @thestraybunny

🔦Administrators: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: Skyfall Industries is taking over the city, where the rich will benefit while the poor will suffer. With body modifications, sex, drugs, and alcohol there to help numb people from reality of it all. Your world is small, and is just getting smaller. So, when Skyfall Inds is finally at your door and threatening your home, you and Wonwoo will have a choice to make.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: PROJECT: KILL SWITCH by @callisrecords

🔦Administrators: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: On a trip to the Wastelands, you don't expect to find much that's intact. Definitely not an escape pod or a man still inside it. Lee Jihoon seems to be unregistered, unchipped and jarringly not from this century. In a city held together by a network no one can escape, he is the only thing it cannot read, cannot follow, and cannot override. As details about a mission that predates everything you’ve ever known begin to surface, you realise Jihoon’s existence is more than just an anomaly. Somewhere within the structure of the megacorp that controls the city lies a failsafe: a kill switch tied to an authority long believed dead. Except maybe it isn’t.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: through the haze by @aeristudios

🔦Administrators: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: You're the star of Neo City Nights, the hottest nightclub in the city. Your voice brings in people from all over, including the handsome stranger Seokmin who you can't stay away from. Too bad you don't remember him from your past life, before the accident that happened, which changed your life forever.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: butterfly by @sailorsoons

🔦Administrators: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In a city where technology makes it possible to shed your body as easily as changing clothes, Mingyu has built his reputation hunting criminals who disappear behind new faces. So when you become the prime suspect in a brutal string of serial murders, he should have no trouble closing the case. Except... the more he investigates you, the less he's convinced you're guilty.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: REMNANT by @wheeboo

🔦Administrators: Xu Minghao x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: In the year 2197, Xu Minghao works as a government shadow operative, hired to hunt down political dissidents. After surviving a catastrophic accident that should have ended his life, his body had been rewired to become nothing more than a living weapon solely engineered for one purpose: obedience. You live a different kind of double life. By day, a reclusive digital artist curating an elite art gallery; by night, a ghost hacker where you siphon secrets from the city’s corrupt core. But when your latest hack uncovers an unsettling truth, a target is painted on your back—and Minghao is assigned to terminate you.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: synapse//ZERO by @cheollollipop

🔦Administrators: Boo Seungkwan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when Synapse//ZERO launches, thousands of players eagerly enter the world's first fully immersive neural VR game. hours later, they're trapped. with her younger brother and best friend seungkwan among them, YN enters the game's sprawling cyberpunk metropolis, determined to bring them home. but in a world where the system adapts, remembers, and watches, escaping may not be enough. inspired by sword art online!

🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: kingslayer by @100vern

🔦Administrators: Chwe Hansol x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: it's been years since you worked for the ministry of welfare. since you were partnered with hansol as a rookie inspector in the criminal investigation unit. since the two of you were assigned to a case so devastating it cost hansol his freedom and sent you into hiding. it's been years, but there's no time limit on vengeance—and there's nothing you wouldn't do to protect hansol.

The Malware 🚫 The Code

📂 Case File: got you (in my sights) by @minisugakoobies

🔦Administrators: Lee Chan x f!reader

⚡️The Ghostchase: when a job goes bad, elite assassin lee chan ends up the victim of a botched memory wipe. lost on the streets of new seoul and in need of help, he turns to the only person he can remember - just a face, a name, and a feeling. you have no idea why a rival assassin is begging on your doorstep, but agree to help him, thinking it will be an opportunity to steal his clients. but when the client who ordered the memory hit learns he hasn't been wiped, they target you both. can you trust chan enough to work together to save yourselves? or will you lose more than your memories?

The Malware 🚫 The Code

A knock on the door does nothing to break your concentration. Your fingers don’t so much as falter. Joshua pokes his head in through a crack in the doorframe, frowns when he sees you, and finally speaks up.

“Any chance you will be wrapping this up soon?”

You don’t look up, but you hum in acknowledgment. “Just a little bit more. I’m just finishing up on….”

Your voice trails off. You don’t attempt to finish the sentence. Joshua sighs.

“It’s Friday night.” He reminds you, gently, still lingering in the doorway. “How about you and I get some dinner? You can sleep in tomorrow.”

He knows his suggestions will fall on deaf ears, but he tries nonetheless. He is hyperaware of his boss at this point. There’s no convincing you to slow down, to take a breather. You won’t allow yourself to. Slowing down means letting your mind wander. And you haven’t let that happen in five years, lest you are reminded of what you have lost.

“It’s okay for you to head home, Josh.” You break him from his thoughts. “I promise, I’m almost done. Maybe an hour more.”

There’s no point in arguing. Joshua sighs and steps out again. He reminds himself to call you an hour later to make sure you have, in fact, left the office. His satchel is already packed, so he just pulls on his coat and steps out.

You know Joshua worries. He’s the only person on staff who can see your struggle. You pride yourself on being composed and shut off from the people around you. If you’re drowning, no one really sees it. Except Joshua, of course. He has been there since the very beginning, so he knows. The rest of the staff though, you did a complete turnover half a decade ago. They don’t know what actually went down or what you’ve been through.

True to your word, you’re wrapping up forty five minutes later. It’s well past midnight, and you know Joshua won’t take kindly to you still working when he inevitably calls in fifteen minutes. There have been occasions where he has dragged you out of the building himself, when he is particularly frustrated. He keeps speaking about ‘work-life balance’, reprimanding you for not having it. You always bite your tongue instead of telling him that you have no ‘life’ to go back to. The only person you ever loved is gone, so your work is all you have.

The drive back is inconsequential. The roads are empty by this point, despite the weekend. Your apartment building is silent and looming as always. You don’t really like your neighborhood, but you had moved here after everything happened for a fresh start, and at the time, you weren’t in any headspace to pick out a nice place. Joshua often complained about how drab and uninspiring your apartment is. You pay him no mind. He has always been all about flowers and rainbows. His desk at the office is so colorful it makes your eyes hurt sometimes.

You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you don’t have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You don’t want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You don’t even know why you’re still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.

You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. You’ve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the city’s skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from people’s windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.

You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think you’re imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.

The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. He’s gone.

You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. It’s too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.

It’s easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, you’re back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.

The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.

Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. You’re dizzy, you can’t see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. There’s a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. You’re already scrambling to run from the kitchen.

You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, you’re gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. You’ve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.

It also means that you are better prepared this time around.

You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.

Inside your drawer you find what you’re looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.

The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You don’t wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.

You can’t hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.

The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise he’s not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.

“911, what is your emergency?”

A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you don’t care about that, because your blood is running cold.

You would recognise that eye anywhere.

Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.

“Wait-”

But he’s gone. Out of your living room window, which you didn’t notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You can’t see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. It’s like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You can’t even register the pain anymore, can’t think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.

……………………………

“That’s impossible.”

“It was him.”

“And I’m telling you, that’s not possible.”

“I know what I saw, Josh.”

“Y/N, he’s dead. We had a funeral. We buried him.”

“Only parts.” But your voice cracks. You don’t like remembering that day. “We had an arm and a leg. Some teeth. And this man…. half of him was metal. He’s been modified.”

Joshua doesn’t reply, staring at the TV playing across the room on low volume. You follow his lead, gaze blank. You don’t really register much of anything since the pain in your face is too overwhelming to take in much else.

When you woke up this morning, you almost forgot what happened in your apartment mere hours ago. One look at the broken mess of your door, the twinge in your face that made your eyes water, and all the events came rushing back. The punch you took, running to your room, your door broken down, driving your attacker away.

Clear, brown, almond shaped eye. Just one eye, while the other half of the face was covered in what looked like a metal plate, and a mechanical, white circle where the other eye should have been.

“The Secretary of Defence has a bionic arm.” You add, absentmindedly.

“Just one arm.” Joshua counters. “Not half the entire body.”

“It wasn’t the entire body. I could make out the arm and leg. Some part of the face-”

“My point is,” Your friend cuts you off, “why would it be Seungcheol? And if by some miracle it was him, why would he attack you?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know. You’ve been mulling over the same questions for hours, long before you finally called Joshua to come over. You know bionic prostheses are very much an emerging field in biotech circles. Everyone is racing towards this kind of technology because of how much revenue there is in the medical applications. The other, more sinister angle is weaponry, and you know that a lot of your fellow developers and companies want to tap into that potential. There have been rumors for months, covert projects underway by both government and private agencies to develop this exact kind of thing.

Maybe what you saw last night was an application of that weapon.

It still doesn’t explain why he would attack you. Doesn’t explain why the person who would never so much as raise his voice at you could hurt you so severely that Joshua balked at the sight of your purple and blue face, nose swollen and bruised in ugly colors that told you that you would have to work from home for the foreseeable future.

The Seungcheol you knew had been so gentle. That’s how you met him, actually, so many years ago that you don’t even recognise that time.

He’d spilled coffee on you, as cliché as it sounds. Thankfully, it missed any part of your skin that was bare, but even through the cloth it burned a bit. He was so apologetic, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, messed up by the wind in a look that reminded you a little bit of a gentle dog. He had panicked, tried to wipe you down, but you were too distracted by this giant of a man who talked so softly, dabbed your sleeve with a grip on your wrist uncharacteristically gentle for such large hands. He wanted to pay for dry cleaning, and you agreed only if he would let you buy a coffee to replace the one he had spilled on you. Of course, he didn’t let you pay even after agreeing to it.

“I spilled it on you.” He argued. “What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for it?”

His lips, full and pink in a way that you immediately wondered about the feel of them, ticked up, and a little dimple dented his right cheek. You felt the squeeze of your heart, fluttering wildly in your chest, a feeling that was replicated every day after that, for Seungcheol never left your side since then. Until the day he died. Or did he?

Joshua is watching the screen more intently now, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yoon Tech is doing a demonstration at the New York Expo? I had no idea.”

You blink to focus on the screen. Sure enough, Yoon Tech’s CEO, Yoon Jeonghan, is speaking to the audience and cameras with that sly, charming smile on his face, talking about unveiling a project that can revolutionise the field of war weaponry and put their military supremely on top of their competition around the world. You know Yoon Tech is the military’s primary contractor, and their focus is weaponry. You know this because before Yoon Tech, your company was approached for a military contract, one that you turned down because your prime focus was not weapons. Joshua still thinks you should have said yes, but you don’t want to take the company in that direction. Besides, things get messy if you have the government as your big boss.

“You know Jeonghan doesn’t say anything about projects until the day he unveils them.” You mumble, only half focusing. “He’s secretive that way-”

“Wait, shut up.” Joshua sits up abruptly, scrambling for the remote to turn the volume up. Behind Jeonghan, several people are stepping onto the stage. He’s introducing them one by one as military veterans, and your eyes catch their forms immediately, breath stilling. Protheses, lots of them.

A man with a bionic arm, quite like the one the Secretary of Defence has. A woman with a below knee prosthetic leg. There’s more, attached limbs and shoulders, half a pelvic girdle, part of a jaw. Jeonghan is still talking, gesturing to the people now lining up behind him. The silver gleams, just like it gleamed on Seungcheol’s body last night. The only difference is the Yoon Tech and Military logos stamped on the ones on your screen. Jeonghan announces a demonstration, steps off the stage, and you watch, completely silent, as all of them demonstrate feats of extraordinary strength, aided by their metal attachments, some even showing installed weaponry between the plates of their limbs.