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Chapter Text

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PROLOGUE :: control 

TRACK Facility
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
03:06 AM

7 years ago

The long hallway was bathed in red.

Red—the intermittent flashing lights signaling an emergency, paired with the hollow but reverberating shriek of an alarm in a three-tone sound, only one second of relief between warnings. Red—the streaks of blood across the linoleum floors of a typically immaculate breezeway that filtered pedestrians to heavily guarded dormitories. Red—the color of anger, passion, rage. The color that blinded Park Jimin as he stood squinting with a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe of his small dorm.

One, two, three… he counted ten bodies in total strewn haphazardly across the floor of the hallway, some face down and some limbs overlapping. Each was wearing a fitted uniform and utility belt emblazoned with the same logo—TRACK. Training and Rehabilitation Association for Children with Kinesis. Jimin was one of those children, though he was flirting with his eighteenth birthday.

It was the noise that had woken Jimin from his deep sleep. Startled out of his slumber, Jimin had sat up in bed after hearing strangled choking noises first, and then the emergency alarm had sounded, which was a sound he typically only heard in drills. But drills did not occur at three in the morning. Once he had gotten his wits about him, Jimin had stumbled out of bed, wondering why his roommate hadn’t even stirred, wondering why he hadn’t yet heard the barking calls of other TRACK staff members ushering hundreds of vulnerable young people to safety.

But now he knew.

“Don’t touch them. They’re dead.”

[control] :: halsey

Jimin teetered and reached behind him to find the doorframe again, but he caught only air. He stood rooted to the spot, and then he stared through the haze of blinking red lights in the darkness to the other end of the hallway. In an instant, the flashing lights stopped, and the alarm ceased. Now the space was just illuminated red, contrasting with the inky night sky outside the bulletproof glass windows on either side of the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Jimin’s voice cracked when he spoke in the silence. “What… What have you done? What have you done?”

At the other end of the hall, Jeon Jeongguk was a dark shadow outlined in red, and when he stepped into the light, his eyes seemed to glow, but not with a spark of optimism. Maybe he was seeing red, too. He had to be in order to have done all of this. Jimin couldn’t properly assess the damage, but the word “dead” was an echo in his head now.

“Why leave them alive?” Jeongguk said, and Jimin stared. He was only sixteen, but Jeongguk had become something of a phantom to Jimin recently. Months, months of fighting, months of Jeongguk pulling away from his closest friend and confidant. Months of other trainees voicing their blatant fear of “him.” Months of the silent treatment, of Jimin wondering why his friend was in the same building but in the wind. Maybe the fears hadn’t been misplaced. Maybe they were right to have been scared.

“Why is no one else awake?” Jimin asked. “What did you do to them?”

“I told them not to worry.” Jeongguk’s voice sounded distant. “To stay in bed. Or stay away. But someone has to help me walk out of here.”

Jimin watched, frozen, as one of the bodies on the floor closest to Jeongguk’s feet suddenly slid across the linoleum, and then the body flipped over sloppily, limbs flopping. Jeongguk crouched down and nicked the keycard from the hip of the dead nightguard, and he clipped it to his belt loop clinically before rising to his feet again. As he did, Jimin heard a groan that sounded like an explosion in the confines of the quiet hallway. Jeongguk heard it, too, and Jimin squinted. One of the nightguards ( Kangdae, Jimin thought. I never liked him ) stirred, and Jimin saw his hand reaching for the radio on his hip.

Jeongguk saw it, too.

“Stop it. Stop it, don’t!” Jimin called out, but he was too weak. His hands were by his side, but with his right palm facing Kangdae, he did everything he could to keep the radio on the guard’s hip and within reach, used every mutated cell within his body to force that radio to remain on Kangdae’s utility belt, all of his effort until his hand was shaking. But it was futile. 

“Let go.”

“Jeongguk, don’t,” Jimin pleaded, gritting his teeth as he felt his power slipping. Jeongguk wasn’t moving; he was only staring at the radio all the same, and that was when Jimin broke. The radio flew up into the air and hit the window before falling to the floor with a clatter.

“I never liked him,” Jeongguk said in a light voice, and then his eyes flicked over to a female guard who was lying on the floor. Immediately, she roused and began to stand despite her visible injuries, and Jimin tried to rush forward to offer assistance, or to block Jeongguk from doing any further damage. He would have continued, but Jeongguk’s sharp voice stopped him.

“Take another step and you’ll be hurt. Don’t make me do it. I don’t want to.”

Jimin skidded to a halt, and then he lifted both hands to his head, checking in fear, his breathing erratic. He was still in total control. He had chosen to stop with his own free will. There was no message being broadcasted in his mind telling him what to do.

Jeongguk wasn’t in his head.

But he was in the heads of hundreds of others within the TRACK facility, and he was in the heads of both Kangdae and the female guard, Chohee. 

“Jeongguk, don’t. No. No, don’t, don’t, stop,” Jimin begged, stumbling sideways and catching himself against the wall near the window, keeping his eyes up to avoid seeing the body that was at his feet. But Jeongguk was relentless. His expression was stoic. It was his eyes that were doing all the work, even though Jimin had a sinking feeling that looking at what he was doing wasn’t necessary for Jeongguk at this point. He had far surpassed “dangerous.” Now, Chohee was staggering over to where Kangdae was lying, and she dropped to her knees and straddled Kangdae’s chest.

“Jeongguk, please. Please don’t.” Jimin attempted to plead again, but Jeongguk was much too preoccupied, too far gone, as made evident by the hollow vacancy in his eyes and the way that he lifted a hand and flicked it once. Then he stared Jimin down as Chohee, with both hands, began to strangle Kangdae with brute strength, leaning into it as Kangdae, helpless and under Jeongguk’s control, began to writhe against the cold, blood-stained floor. Jimin didn’t break Jeongguk’s eye contact. His heart was battering his ribcage, his eyes were burning, and he could hardly breathe, but he clenched his jaw and held Jeongguk’s gaze, refusing to look at the struggle that was occurring. 

“Do you know what he did to me?” Jeongguk asked when Kangdae was suddenly still. Jimin didn’t answer. “Did you know that she watched?” Chohee climbed off Kangdae and began to search her utility belt, and tears finally spilled from the brims of Jimin’s eyes. “Don’t beg. It only makes you sound weak.”

Jimin didn’t dare to speak. Chohee had her back turned to Jimin as she fumbled, but it wasn’t long before she arced gracefully and collapsed to the ground, and Jimin pursed his lips and closed his eyes, turning his head away. But the image of Chohee with scarlet blood dribbling from a self-inflicted wound to her carotid artery was seared into his memory with a glimmer of instant trauma. When Jimin opened his eyes, there was a brand new pool of blood seeping onto the floor, the red lighting reflecting on the surface.

“Come with me.”

Jimin’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the lifeless hall. Jeongguk just stood there in black pants and a black sweatshirt, hood up, stoic in the face of nearly a dozen murders he had just orchestrated, unflinching when confronted by streams of blood that seemed to cry out in agony if Jimin listened closely enough.

“I’m not going with you anywhere,” Jimin choked out.

“Right.” The little exhale Jeongguk let out through his nose hinted at laughter. “Because you’re going to pass the exam and leave this place and become Seoul’s shining beacon of hope. And now that I’ll be gone, you can do that. Isn’t that right? I won’t be your burden anymore.”

“You’re not a burden.”

“You can get out of here,” Jeongguk continued. “You can be free of all this. Learn how to use your kinesis the right way instead of being told to shut it off.”

“And what, live on the run without restrictions? Be an anomaly?”

“You’re too scared.” Jeongguk lifted his chin slightly, and Jimin finally began to take slow, steady steps in Jeongguk’s direction. “You play nice with me, but you don’t want to be an anomaly. Point made. So let me make mine—if you’re not with me, then you’re against me.”

“What, it’s really that black and white?” Jimin stopped walking, not ready to sidestep around a dead body quite yet.

“It’s always been that black and white. You’re just blind,” Jeongguk snapped, his tone quiet and icy. “Come with me.”

“No.” How was he still doing it? How was Jeongguk still maintaining such pristine and seamless control over the hundreds, literal hundreds, of people within the TRACK facility? Had the staff underestimated him that severely? Were they that ignorant to the raw and untapped power that Jeongguk had, power that he desperately tried to hide to no avail? Power that ended only in punishment?

“I’m leaving, then.”

Jeongguk turned his back to Jimin, but Jimin lifted both hands and pushed his own palms towards his shoulders. Immediately, the double doors of the hallway slammed shut, and Jeongguk stopped. He glanced over his shoulder at Jimin, and as he did, the door on the right opened on its own. Jimin lowered his hands. 

He was powerless against Jeongguk. Utterly powerless.

“One day.” Jeongguk spoke to the open doorway. “When they turn you into a hero with all their pomp and circumstance.” He slowly turned his head and stared at Jimin, nothing but an empty void in his eyes where there once was hope. His eyes flicked down to the bodies strewn up and down the hall before landing on Jimin again. “I hope you remember this.”

Jeongguk turned, and then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving the door open. Jimin didn’t dare to move and wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He waited, wondering why the facility was still silent as the grave (a makeshift grave was beneath his feet), wondering why the lockdown alarms and emergency lights were ineffective. But just as he began to walk towards the open door, the alarm began to shriek again. The lights flashed. Jimin staggered sideways, and then he heard absolute mayhem from all sides. Terrified, Jimin leapt over one body and skidded back into his dorm room, noticing that his roommate was stirring now in the dark.

From outside, a clap of thunder shook the walls. Lighting streaked across the sky and illuminated the room for just a moment. And as the rain began to fall and voices began to echo throughout the hallway, Jimin wondered if Jeongguk’s unfiltered fury had sparked a storm.

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Chapter Text

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PART I :: BAD DREAM

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
06:53 AM

present day

Jimin awoke abruptly, lying on his back, eyes shooting open. There was nothing sluggish about it. He woke as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all, and he stared at his ceiling, the haze of daylight seeping through the edges of the blinds as the distant sound of the early morning train rattled outside his apartment window. Jimin closed his eyes and pulled at the outside corners of his eyelids with his fingers, tugging as he licked his chapped lips.

The blinds were closed. Jimin dropped his arms with a thwump against his blankets, rolled his head just a little to the left, and watched as the chain spun and the blinds rose, letting in all the morning light available.

[bad dream] :: ruelle

Another repetitive dream. Was it a vision? Jimin was struggling to believe that these were just recurring dreams anymore, not when he seemed to be reliving the same moment with new, shiny filters over it each time. It happened at random, the nights he dreamed about Jeon Jeongguk—never predictable, always splintered memories. But none of the memories were warped to a point of concern. Sometimes, Jimin dreamed that the hallway was empty and that no one had died. Sometimes, he tried to run down the hallway but ended up moving in slow motion, never making it in time to save Jeongguk, to keep him from leaving.

Jimin usually woke at seven in the morning, and he was meant to be at work any time before nine o’clock. His work wasn’t typical, but Jimin himself wasn’t typical, either. As a human with a genetic mutation of telekinesis, he was classified differently. At birth, he had been identified and marked and documented by a team of doctors thanks to rapid genetic testing, and his parents had raised him as best as they could until he was five. Then he had been sent off to the TRACK facility in Naegok-dong, where he had attended school while also being trained to regulate and control his telekinesis.

“What?” Jimin murmured to himself as he swung his legs out of bed, picking up his phone as the dream faded from his mind. His phone had just vibrated, and the message was from a co-worker asking for coffee. With a roll of his eyes, Jimin got up and padded into the bathroom, yawning.

Jimin worked with the National Intelligence Service in the Department of Kinesis Regulation, and at age twenty-five, that was supposed to be impressive. But Jimin had been bred for success, in many ways, trained to be the perfect hero. Besides math and science and music, Jimin had spent his time at TRACK in intensive training sessions with qualified experts who taught him exactly how to control his power, and how to purposely restrict and limit himself enough to be integrated back into society. Jimin had been poised and ready to pass the exit examination early, around age twelve or so. But he had purposely failed it time and time again.

For Jeongguk.

Jeongguk had failed the exit examination every time it was offered, and as Jimin brushed his teeth with vigor, he thought back to all of those days before Jeongguk had started retreating into his own shell. Jimin had sat with him so many times, comforting him as he wallowed in confusion. I can’t control it. I don’t know what’s going on. They only want me to use telekinesis, but do I have that? I don’t know if I understand how to do that. Why can’t I pass? 

He had figured out why. And that had been the beginning of the end.

After showering, Jimin grabbed his breakfast and sat down at the kitchen table he had in his very nice apartment, courtesy of the Korean government. He ate his granola and yogurt and drank his smoothie while flicking through the news reports on his iPad, searching for anything out of the ordinary. As he ate with his right hand and used his right hand’s knuckles to scroll, he lifted his left hand and coaxed the blender into the kitchen sink right under the faucet. Focused on the screen, he flicked on the water from a distance and added a bit of soap, and then he guided the blender back to its stand and secured the lid. The blender then spun for its cleaning cycle.

“Mm,” Jimin hummed with a frown at one news story, but he flicked through it as the blender ceased. Jimin grabbed his smoothie with his left hand and glanced up, keeping his eyes on the blender as he dumped the soapy water into the sink and rinsed it out before tipping it upside down on the drying rack.

Multitasking was his strong suit.

Maybe Jimin could classify himself as a modern-day “superhero,” but to walk into the NIS, he had to dress the part, so he threw on a white button-up and a casual grey suit, and then he combed his dark red hair back with haste. After grabbing his black bag, he threw on a pair of sunglasses and hopped into his car, also courtesy of the government, and drove to Naegok-dong, home of the NIS.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
08:29 AM

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Jimin said to the valet when he pulled up to the garage after stopping for coffee. He handed over his keys, and then he grabbed his bag and headed towards the elevator with an agent escorting him.

“Phoenix has landed,” another said into an earpiece, and Jimin didn’t even flinch. Years ago, when he had started with the DKR, he had rolled his eyes and laughed at the alias he had been assigned (despite the fact that he had suggested it), the name that the general public used for him and how newspapers wrote about him whenever he “saved the day,” the way that the DKR and NIS addressed him. But not everyone with kinesis became an ally and earned an alias. Most disappeared back into normal society and never resurfaced again.

“How was your night?” Jimin asked the agent conversationally as the elevator soared up. The agent turned and bowed deeply to Jimin.

“Very nice, thank you. And yours?”

“Tossed and turned all night,” Jimin admitted, rummaging through his bag with both hands for his phone, which seemed to have vanished. The elevators had mirrors, so he didn’t miss the way that the agent eyed the floating coffee cups that Jimin was controlling with his mind. “Ah, here it is.” He emerged from his bag with his phone after pulling it from the depths. “Hope today isn’t an assignment day.”

“Director Nam did mention a briefing,” the agent said as the elevator doors opened, and Jimin sighed. “Department of Kinesis Regulation.”

“Thanks.” Jimin stepped out of the elevator and into the bustling DKR space, looking around. There was a very active bullpen in the center of the room filled with desks and workers busy on their computers, some on the phone, some conversing with their heads bent together. Offices for the higher-ups were around the perimeter of level eight, and Jimin had his own office space that he rarely used, since he was mostly on the go. But his picture was hanging on the opposite wall to the right of Director Nam’s portrait, though both of them were small in size compared to the director of the NIS himself. There was also an impressive portrait of Jo Chansung, director of TRACK. Chansung had been named director twenty years ago, and TRACK had only been established twenty-nine years ago. Jimin knew that Chansung’s first year as director had also been Jimin’s first year living and studying at the TRACK facility.

The DKR was a relatively new branch of the NIS; genetic mutations of kinesis had only been brought to public attention thirty years ago, and TRACK had made its hasty debut a year later. There was still no plausible explanation for what caused the mutation in newborn children, though the most common theory was that it was created in a lab and disguised as something like the common cold or a flu strain during flu season, and that women had gone on to bear children with the mutation.

Jimin didn’t want to think about being a makeshift science experiment.

Kinesis was relatively contained to certain pockets of the world—Seoul was running rampant with kinetic individuals. Tokyo had a training center as well as a Department of Kinesis Regulation. Most major cities kept it contained, but all hospitals had the genetic testing available. That was how Jimin had ended up at TRACK as a scared five-year-old crying for his mother.

“If you drop my coffee, I’ll cry.”

“Just take it before I dump it on your head.”

“You would never.” Jung Hoseok, known under his alias as Prism, wrapped his hand around the floating coffee, intercepting Jimin halfway to his office, and Jimin sipped his own coffee, surveying his coworker. 

Hoseok was just as small and mighty as Jimin was (though they both still packed some height), and he was capable of geokinesis. Hoseok could manipulate earth, and that meant dirt, soil, sand, minerals, and crystals. If asked, he could even manipulate molten materials like rock or metal. It made things interesting when Hoseok could fold origami out of paper using only his mind, since paper came from trees. But Hoseok could also cause an earthquake, even though the restrictions set by the DKR on him never allowed for such extremes.

“Agent said there’s a briefing today,” Jimin said as they slowly walked towards Hoseok’s office space.

“I quite literally just got here,” Hoseok replied. He was a year older than Jimin and easy on the eyes, in Jimin’s biased opinion. His hair had been a pale, sandy white blonde when Jimin had first met him years ago, and it still was, but now the tips of it were stained dark, almost black as the soil he manipulated—a direct result of kinesis.

“Did you read about the blackout at Gangnam-gu Maximum Security Prison?” Jimin asked.

“It was for five minutes, and it was only the circuit breaker,” Hoseok responded, and Jimin clicked his tongue and said nothing further. “You think that’s what the briefing is about? Are we going to have to go out there and investigate?”

“Since when do they send you to investigate things like that?” Jimin wearily asked, and Hoseok snickered, because Jimin had a point. Jimin was the poster child for the DKR, their go-to man, Seoul’s hero. He wasn’t bulletproof, nor was he immortal, but he was agile and intelligent and telekinetic, which was (surprisingly) not as common amongst the kinesis population. Telekinesis was the most notorious within pop culture and media, but most children who turned up at TRACK were born with pyrokinesis or hydrokinesis. Many had weaker mutations of kinesis that required minimal training, and those children were released quickly back to their families with suppressed abilities. Jimin’s abilities were not weak. His abilities were startlingly strong.

And he, too, felt that he suppressed most of it. As instructed by TRACK and reinforced by the DKR, Jimin had passed the exit examination and was only released into society when he demonstrated his ability to control and severely limit his telekinesis. Control over chaos. That was the mantra. Jimin could use it for mundane tasks like he had for his breakfast, but using his abilities to hurl parked cars at the enemy was only something he could do in extreme situations, and it was always a discussion afterwards.

Only three people knew that Jimin was an anomaly. Anomalies were typically marked as a danger to society, many of them rogue or incarcerated in specialized prisons designed to hold those with kinetic abilities. But Jimin had been instructed from an early age to abandon his pyrokinesis and focus only on telekinesis. To pretend that he had no capability to manipulate fire and that he wasn’t drawn to it constantly. The constant reminders to suppress it had worked, and Jimin’s malleable young mind had soaked it all in. Now he was an expert in his field, and his would-be pyrokinetic talents were a secret. Director Nam knew. Jo Chansung, director of TRACK, knew. 

Jeon Jeongguk knew.

“Yah, where’s my coffee?”

“You didn’t text me and ask for one,” Jimin said as he sat down in one of the chairs in Hoseok’s office space. Kim Seokjin, known under his alias as Flare, was sitting in Hoseok’s desk chair, and he was rolling a giant piece of black tourmaline between his hands, something Hoseok kept on his desk. 

Seokjin was a veteran to Jimin—ten years in the field (compared to Jimin’s seven), one of the first to be hired on as an asset with the DKR. Electrokinesis was his ability, manipulating and generating electric energy and electrical fields. Much like Jimin couldn’t throw cars as a weapon, Seokjin wasn’t permitted to create a lightning storm just for the hell of it, even though he was capable of doing so. He worked within the limitations set for him, but he was still spectacular at his job.

“I feel like you should just know at this point,” Seokjin replied as the black tourmaline flew out of his hands. He didn’t even blink. Hoseok caught it in one hand and ran his fingers gently over the surface, brow furrowed. “Relax, Mother Earth. I didn’t mess with it.”

“You’re pure electricity, you lunatic. Black tourmaline is supposed to protect me from you,” Hoseok half-joked, and Jimin snickered, still working his way through his coffee. “Do you know anything about a briefing?”

“What, the one at nine o’clock?” Seokjin’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. When he was truly fired up and in his element, flashes of electrical currents tended to flare (all puns intended) through his eyes like a traveling storm. His hair was dark brown, but he had some blatant white streaks through it, and not from age. He also had a scar around his wrist from an electrical burn that had, surprisingly, affected him. He was typically immune to such things, but the electrokinetic he fought once upon a time had done a number on him. Jimin still didn’t know the whole story.

“That would be the one.” Hoseok turned to Jimin. “Guess there really is a briefing.”

“We just recuperated from Friday,” Jimin said, recalling back to Friday night when, as a trio, they had headed out to a casino to interrupt a heist that was about to take place with three registered kinetic individuals using their abilities to make out with the cash. It happened often—trainees passed the TRACK exit examination and infiltrated back into society without a peep afterwards, but sometimes, the urge struck, and restrictions and laws were broken. Those were the easier cases. It was the anomalies that made things difficult.

“You had three men pinned to the wall with a slot machine each,” Seokjin said as Hoseok snorted with laughter. “If you don’t get an earful from Director Nam for that, I’ll be shocked.”

“It was either pin them to the wall nicely or let them run out into the streets,” Jimin complained. “I wasn’t about to let the fight move into open space.”

“I literally cut the electricity. They would’ve had to take the stairs,” Seokjin pointed out.

“Where there were windows, and they could have easily created a waterfall bridge to escape,” Hoseok added, shaking his head. “I would’ve stopped them, but I digress.”

“Have I ever told you that one of my favorite things in the world is when you fuck up a water bridge or path with something massive, like a boulder?” Jimin asked rhetorically, and Hoseok shot him a single finger gun with a click of his tongue and a wink. “The one with the tree was hilarious.”

“We don’t speak about the one with the tree,” Seokjin sighed, and Jimin swore he could see the flashbacks in Seokjin’s eyes as he suppressed his laughter. He was about to say more, but an agent appeared in the open door of Hoseok’s office.

“Director Nam would like to see you all for his nine o’clock briefing,” she said with a bow. Seokjin hoisted himself up from the chair as Hoseok tossed the black tourmaline towards his desk, letting it flutter softly back into place with a quiet thud. He left the office first, followed by Jimin, and Seokjin stepped into the hallway and glanced over his shoulder, turning the lights off without touching the lightswitch and letting Jimin pull the door shut with a wave of his hand behind his back.

“Director Nam.” Jimin approached the meeting room first with a bow, which Hoseok and Seokjin imitated. The man who turned away from the window was one of the most familiar faces in Jimin’s life. He was tall and slightly lanky but with broad shoulders and a narrow face, black hair kept short with a hint of grey peppered along the sides and black-framed glasses. He was old enough to be Jimin’s father, and even though he had his finger in many pies that Jimin had never heard of before, Nam Sanghun was typically transparent with his golden trio of heroes and offered countless assignments.

“Come in. Have a seat,” Director Nam offered, gesturing to the large conference room table with many chairs available. Jimin sat down at the head of the table with Hoseok on his right and Seokjin on Hoseok’s right, and Director Nam remained close to the window on Jimin’s left. There was a stack of files on the table, and Director Nam grabbed the first three, lips pursed.

“You’re aware that I usually—grab the door. Soundproofing,” Director Nam insisted. Jimin glanced at the door and watched it close, and he locked it for good measure as Seokjin looked up and flicked a few fingers at the device mounted to the ceiling that initiated a soundproof blanket around the conference room using the insulation within the walls.

“Seems serious,” Hoseok commented.

“One for each of you,” Director Nam said, handing out the files. “You’re aware that I usually begin by prefacing the situation and providing all the information up front.”

“I love your little presentations,” Seokjin said, and Jimin fought back a smile. But then he looked up at Director Nam and took in the facial expression of his boss, and the smile faded. Director Nam used one hand to beckon to the files, so simultaneously, the three opened the file given to them—typically a solid case file with a profile of their target or person of concern, some documents, some photographs, witness statements. But Jimin opened his file and just stared, befuddled immediately.

“Is this… supposed to be a… training exercise?” Seokjin asked, glancing up.

“Or a joke?” Hoseok chimed in, equally bewildered.

“Name—blank. Age—blank. Blood type—blank. Yeah, this is enough to get a really good profile on the guy. Girl. What exactly are we…?” Seokjin trailed off, swirling his hand around with raised eyebrows as Director Nam bridged his fingertips on the table, surveying his prized trio.

“Years active—five,” Jimin read, sensing Director Nam’s hesitation. “That the DKR knows about. But how do you know about it if you know nothing about this person? Male, female, or non-binary?”

“Male,” Director Nam quietly said. “We’re estimating five years. And that’s only because we’ve been going back through our cold cases and files to find similar… scenarios.”

“Please share with the class,” Hoseok requested, his fingers twitching a little as he stared at the paper that he was playing with, absentmindedly watching it float in mid-air above the file.

Director Nam turned, grabbed three more case files, and dropped one in front of each of them. Jimin flipped his file open, relieved to see a flood of information, photographs, reports, the works.

“Choi Kyunghyun.” Director Nam slipped his hands into his pockets. “Age fifty-one. Last night, he was brought to City of Seoul General Hospital by a good Samaritan who found him stumbling around the streets like a madman. Doctors determined that he had been in close contact with a kinetic individual based on his condition. Mr. Choi… told the doctors that the others were dead.”

“Others,” Seokjin stated, and then he lifted a page and let out a little breath of understanding. Jimin was already staring at the graphic photos. One man was beaten in the head to a nearly unrecognizable point. Another was lying on his back, eyes open, face pale with a knife through his abdomen, blood soaking his shirt.

“Mr. Choi said that the two deceased individuals died from self-inflicted injuries,” Director Nam said. “That they were all forced into the same abandoned shop, taunted and tortured for information, and then… dealt with,” he finished, choosing his words carefully. “I use ‘taunted and tortured’ lightly, though. Those were Mr. Choi’s words. He said that he was forced to hold a knife to his own throat and watch while the others killed themselves. And that he had no power to lower the knife at any point and no power to look away.”

“So what, someone was using kinesis to manipulate his hands and eyes into staying there?” Hoseok held a fist up near his throat, mimicking Mr. Choi’s likely predicament.

“Are either of you able to do that?” Seokjin asked, wiggling a finger between Jimin and Hoseok.

“TRACK and DKR restrictions forbid us from using kinesis to manipulate free will,” Jimin stated as if reading from a textbook, one elbow on the table with his thumbnail scraping his bottom lip. “And it sounds like Mr. Choi’s free will was in question.”

“I’m guessing that the other two victims weren’t planning to commit suicide,” Hoseok said after nodding in agreement with Jimin.

“Not at all,” Director Nam said. “Based on what Mr. Choi said, anyway. These three men…” He gestured to the file. “They knew each other. And they all have something in common.”

“Former TRACK employees,” Jimin noted immediately, connecting the dots based on the available information. “They were targeted.”

“Precisely.”

“But why was Mr. Choi left alive?” Seokjin wondered, and Director Nam returned to pressing his hands to the table, blowing out a breath.

“He’s been moved to a DKR safehouse with medical care to monitor his recovery. The doctors are concerned about a psychotic break,” Director Nam replied. “A man who was in perfect health, physically and mentally, is now on the edge of psychosis. Telling the DKR that ‘he’s coming for me’ and that the safehouse will do him no good.”

“Who’s ‘he,’ exactly?” Jimin swapped the case file for the first one, flipping it back open and pressing his middle finger to it. “This guy?”

“I implore you all to read more of his file,” Director Nam said, so Jimin did. Listed under abilities: undetermined. Omnikinesis; mind control; mental hypnosis; mental manipulation. And under warning: anomaly; defector; level 3 risk; highly dangerous.

“If you don’t even know who this guy is, then how do you know his abilities? How do you know he’s a TRACK defector?” Hoseok asked. Jimin read the information again and again, and the chilled feeling of simultaneous dread and déja vù crept into his stomach. Mind control. Mental hypnosis. Mental manipulation. Such things were unheard of; there were no documented cases of such abilities even existing, let alone being used with restrictions. 

Jimin only knew one person in the world who could do such terrible things.

“He’s targeting former TRACK employees,” Seokjin pointed out. “That alone tells you everything you need to know.”

“But we have no idea when he was registered with TRACK, if he was registered with TRACK when he was five-years-old,” Hoseok argued, glancing at Director Nam. “How can the DKR have absolutely no information about this guy? Every single human being born with a genetic mutation of kinesis is registered at birth. It’s like a damn birth certificate at this point. There’s no way that one kid slipped past TRACK like that.”

“Omnikinesis. Do you know what omnikinesis is?” Jimin asked, staring at one spot on the table. Sensing the silence, he continued. “It means that you can mentally control anything. Everything that exists, no matter what. Organic or not. Down to molecules,” Jimin emphasized. “If this guy is omnikinetic, then classifying him as a level three risk isn’t enough. That’s… That’s child’s play.”

“He could do anything he wants,” Seokjin murmured. “Anything. Rules don’t apply.”

“How do you even fight someone like that?” Hoseok wondered.

“You don’t.” Jimin sniffed and straightened up, blinking to get the mental images of sixteen-year-old Jeon Jeongguk out of his head, the last time he had seen Jeongguk alive in that red hallway. He looked at Hoseok. “You wanted to know why the guy isn’t registered with TRACK. What if he was? What if he spent time at the TRACK facility and trained there, but no one remembers? Who’s to say that he didn’t just—” Jimin swept his hands across— “send out a mass broadcast message to everyone’s minds to wipe out any memory of him?”

“You think that’s possible?” Director Nam questioned, brow furrowed.

“Mental manipulation. Mental hypnosis,” Jimin reiterated. “Look at this report.” He went back to the case file from Mr. Choi’s ordeal. “Mr. Choi reported experiencing hallucinations of his wife and daughter being murdered. He was cognitively aware that holding the knife to his throat meant that he could die at any given moment, but he had no power to lower his hand. No control over his own body.”

Why leave them alive?

“Okay.” Seokjin rubbed both of his palms on the surface of the table. “So then why are you telling us all of this?” he asked Director Nam. “What’s the point? We can’t fight someone with omnikinesis. If this guy is hellbent on finding everyone involved with TRACK and murdering them, then we have no choice but to sit by and let him do it. Is that what you’re saying?”

“He must have some kind of weakness,” Director Nam said, but the lack of strength in his voice made Hoseok snicker.

“So you want to send us on a suicide mission,” he said. “Because that’s what this would be.”

“If any of the three of us ever showed up for a confrontation, you’d have to come collect our bodies,” Seokjin replied. “Not that I’m against dying for a cause or anything, because—well, I mean, why the hell else would we have this job? But this wouldn’t be dying for a cause. Do we even have a mission? A goal?”

“He needs more information.” Jimin stared Director Nam down. “Isn’t that right? You can’t go into it blind. If this man is as dangerous as you say he is based on one case alone, then we need more information. You’re just bringing us up to speed. Is that it?”

“That’s… yes. Unfortunately,” Director Nam added with a frown. “We’re going to have to wait for him to strike again, which is an awful thing to say. But we’ll need to warn all TRACK employees, past and present.”

“And say what?” Hoseok raised one eyebrow, and then he lifted his hand and made a phone out of his fingers. “Hey there, former TRACK employee. There’s an anomaly on the loose, level three risk, highly dangerous, and he’s hunting down anyone who’s associated, past or present, with TRACK. Oh, and, uh, he’s omnikinetic. So there’s nowhere you can actually hide and nothing you can do. Good luck!” 

“So do you warn them and create mass hysteria, or do you say nothing at all and wait for them to realize that they’re being targeted?” Jimin asked. “And how do you know that warning them won’t make this man angrier? I can’t say he seems like the kind of guy to back down once he’s been called out. And the second we get involved, we’re all at risk for being under mind control.”

“Does he have a name?” Hoseok asked, one elbow on the table as he addressed Director Nam. “Has the DKR assigned him an alias?”

Director Nam nodded grimly. “Phantom.”

“And is he working alone?” Jimin asked, and Director Nam finally perked up.

“We have some information about that,” he said. “We don’t believe he’s working alone, which is why I feel like you may not be at risk of being immediately killed in a confrontation. It seems that he may play nice with others with kinesis. We believe he’s working with two other defectors, but these are men we have on our radar. Seokjin-ssi, if you would.”

Director Nam grabbed a little remote and sat down in a chair closest to the front, and Seokjin, elbow on the table, lifted his hand and flicked it once, the lights going out. Then he directed his hand to the projector, and it whirred to life and connected directly with the laptop that was nearby. Seokjin sat back, and Director Nam took over, using the remote. Jimin leaned back in his chair and stared at the screen, at the picture of a handsome but dangerous-looking man.

“Min Yoongi. Assigned alias—Flicker. Age twenty-seven. TRACK defector. Advanced pyrokinesis. He’s been on and off of our radar for about nine years now,” Director Nam said. Min Yoongi’s mugshot was enough to cause concern amongst the general public, but Jimin was unfazed. With his strangely silver-blue icy hair and dark eyes and a long vertical scar over his right eye, as well as visible burn marks and scars on his neck and right shoulder, he was frightening in appearance to the unsuspecting.

“I remember him,” Hoseok said quietly. “He can generate fire. He doesn’t just manipulate heat and fire that already exists. He had… I remember. He had these—” Hoseok held up both hands— “scars on his palms. From creating fire.”

“That’s what happens when someone with kinesis goes without restrictions,” Director Nam warned, and Jimin pursed his lips. “Out of a possible three, this man is a level two risk. He’s considered dangerous. But he’s more reckless than dangerous at this point. He, quite literally, enjoys playing with fire. Prior charges include numerous counts of arson, four known second-degree murder charges, and evading both capture and conviction.”

“And you think he’s working with Phantom?” Jimin quietly asked.

“Strange things have happened coincidentally,” Director Nam replied. “Dead men and women, a remaining survivor or two crying about being marked for death and on the verge of a mental breakdown, and a fire. It’s all too convenient for our liking.”

The next slide appeared. This man was different. Not petite and the human form of a blaze, but larger, fit, almost… normal. Also handsome. His hair was the color of sea water, his eyes a story in and of themselves, and there was blue bleeding into his irises.

“Kim Namjoon. Assigned alias—Maelstrom,” Director Nam introduced. “Age twenty-six. He’s been on our radar for about eight years, give or take. TRACK defector. Advanced hydrokinesis, and this man… In my opinion, he should be a level three risk, but he’s sitting at a level two risk because it’s been awhile since we’ve heard from him.”

“I remember this guy from years ago,” Seokjin chimed in, and he glanced at Jimin. “Right before you came to us. This guy uses human manipulation based on body composition. Illegally.”

“The body’s made up of seventy percent water,” Jimin murmured.

“If you so much as sweat, he’ll use it against you,” Director Nam added. “This is the man who emptied half of the Han River and turned it into a deadly flash flood that he unleashed on an NIS government factory just north of here, closer to Dogok-dong. The death toll was high.”

“He put it back.”

“That he did,” Director Nam said with a humorless chuckle when Seokjin spoke up. “You remember that, I presume.”

Seokjin snickered. “Of course I do. Some sick and twisted environmentalist he is.”

“So these are the two men,” Jimin said, staring at Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s photos side-by-side now. “Polar opposites. Fire and water. And you think they’re working with Phantom.”

“There’s a chance,” Director Nam stated carefully, and Jimin could sense his hesitation, watching him turn the remote over in his hands. Jimin glanced at Seokjin and Hoseok individually, and they both nodded, so Jimin lifted his hand until the remote soared into his outstretched palm.

“If I click ‘next,’ what am I going to see?” he asked, ever intuitive, thumb hovering over the button. Director Nam pitched forward, but Jimin held tightly to the remote. “Is there more? Is there something else in this little presentation that you’re not showing us?”

Director Nam pursed his lips and breathed through his nose, eyes closed for just a moment. “Once again, Jimin-ssi, your intelligence is the loudest thing in the room.” He sounded mildly fond, though exasperated. “I hesitate to show you more. It’s guesswork at this point. But there’s one more man you should be briefed on related to this situation. And I say that because he’s been in contact previously with both Flicker and Maelstrom.”

“Not him.”

Director Nam said nothing when Seokjin spoke in a whisper. Perhaps Jimin had been active with the DKR for seven years, but he hadn’t been part of this golden trio for that long. He had worked his way up to becoming the hero he was today, so he was missing about four years of information. But the fear in Seokjin’s eyes was palpable, something that Jimin rarely saw, and it was a red flag. Nevertheless, Jimin handed the remote back to Director Nam, who clicked the button on the remote. A mugshot appeared on the screen.

“Oh,” Jimin whispered, because he recognized this man. If the other two were handsome, this man was chiseled by the gods, but somewhere along the way, a demon had swept in to take him. Wild black hair long enough to tie at the nape of his neck. Half-lidded eyes that could crackle with electricity if given the chance. Veins that ran dark along his neck when provoked.

“Kim Taehyung.” Director Nam let the name hang in the air for a moment. “Assigned alias—Shock. Age twenty-five. He defected from TRACK at age sixteen. And that was when he crossed paths with Seokjin.”

“I was brand new,” Seokjin recalled, voice faint. “I was sent out to take care of a simple lightning storm in the middle of Yongsan-gu that made no sense. And when I got there…” He hesitated, closing his eyes for just a moment. “It was a police station that had been struck. I walked inside and it—I mean, it just… burning flesh. That’s what it smelled like. Charred bodies. Half the officers in there had been electrocuted to death. Water on the floor. Exposed wires. The entire building was a death trap. The only reason I could walk in there was because I could absorb the electricity without being killed by it.”

“A sixteen-year-old did that?” Hoseok asked in disbelief, and Jimin bit his tongue. He wasn’t about to let slip that he, too, had witnessed a sixteen-year-old unleashing hell on a group of adults with supposed authority who had severely wronged him.

“He came out of an office,” Seokjin quietly continued with a vague gesture. “Scrawny kid with a literal whip of electricity.” He held up both hands. “Between his hands. And there was this one officer who tried to sit up and shoot him. And he—I tried to stop him. I tried to take it from him, the whip that he had created. Tried to do something. But he was… he was way too powerful. He took me out.” Seokjin held up his wrist, the one with the scar. “Cracked that whip and wrapped it right around that officer’s throat and killed him. Walked right up to me. Said that I would always lose. And then he left.”

“I dealt with him after that,” Hoseok chimed in. “I don’t think you’ve had to fight him yet, Jimin. I fought him twice. Ended up in the hospital both times.”

“He’s a level three risk,” Director Nam declared. “But not in the same way as Phantom. He’s highly dangerous because he’s angry. Multiple first-degree murder charges, countless second-degree murder charges, illegal use of electric shock torture. He’s currently incarcerated in solitary confinement at Gangnam-gu Maximum Security Prison in the kinesis block. He sees the sun for an hour a day.”

“So he’s been evaluated. Psychologically,” Jimin clarified, and Director Nam clicked his tongue.

“Mentally sound,” he declared, and Jimin raised his eyebrows. “ No psychopathy, no sociopathy, no narcissism. Just pure, raw, unfiltered rage. And surely some deep trauma that’s caused such a reaction, but TRACK hasn’t given us much about him. He’s still incarcerated, but he’s dangerous. He’s been known to join forces with the other two in the past, but it’s been three years since he’s been free.”

“I can imagine they all got along swimmingly,” Jimin said with resentment. “A madman with electrokinesis meets a pyromaniac and a guy who can create flash floods. And now you think they’re teaming up with a man who’s unstoppable. Does the DKR have an explanation for this? As to why you let it get this far?”

“Jimin,” Hoseok said in warning as Director Nam swelled slightly.

“This was not a result of the DKR’s negligence,” he said snappishly. “If we had an explanation, Jimin-ssi, one would be provided. Just know that these men are all defectors, and they’re a danger to society.”

“But what the hell made this guy —” Jimin gestured to Taehyung’s photo— “angry enough to do what he’s done? Why did he defect from TRACK at sixteen? And why did he turn into a mass murderer?”

“Many of them…” Director Nam settled, his moment of indignance fading. “Many of them feel that they’ve been wronged by TRACK. That they were mistreated. That they should be… allowed to do as they please. Kim Taehyung—Shock—he was one of those people. These are anomalies, keep in mind. TRACK sees them as dangerous and unstable, and for a good reason. These are people who believe that the system we have in place doesn’t work, despite evidence to the contrary.”

“And what does TRACK think about all of this?” Jimin asked. “Do they know about him? About Phantom?”

“They’ve been made aware,” Director Nam stated as he adjusted his positioning in his chair. “And I’m working directly with Director Jo to scour the records for an anomaly with this kind of…”

“Raw power,” Seokjin supplied. “This man could wipe out an entire population. But Jimin’s right. They may not have a record if this guy can override actual human memories and destroy physical and digital records.”

“If he’s omnikinetic, he can wipe an entire hard drive,” Hoseok pointed out, and Seokjin hummed in agreement, having done it several times himself. “We really might have nothing on Phantom.”

I have everything. I know who he is. I have years and years’ worth of memories. I know who Phantom is. I’d stake my life on it. Jimin listened to the pointless chatter about TRACK’s investigation, but all he could focus on was the single picture attached to the file, nothing but a blur in the dark of a masked man down the street. Very different from the teenage boy Jimin had once stood opposite of in the dormitory hallway of the TRACK facility seven years ago.

“We’ll need to wait for him to make a move.” Director Nam sounded tired, and Jimin couldn’t blame him. The sheer scope of this was likely unimaginable to him. Surely they were hardly scratching the surface, and everyone in the room knew it. This was the bare-minimum introduction to what was probably a very large iceberg.

“And what if that move is more murder and psychological torture?” Hoseok wondered aloud. Director Nam clenched his jaw and inhaled through his nose, and as he exhaled, Hoseok nodded. “Okay. Heaven help us. Alright. This won’t end well for anyone.”

“He’s on a mission,” Jimin murmured as he stared out the window, but the room was silent enough for the others to hear. With an elbow propped on the armrest, fingers near his lips, he added, “If he’s hunting down everyone ever involved in TRACK, then this is a crusade for him. It’s exactly as you said, Director Nam. This is a guy… who’s been wronged by the system.”

“In his opinion,” Director Nam corrected Jimin, but Jimin didn’t refute it. He didn’t have the energy. His mind was in overdrive now, because for seven years, he had willingly suppressed the memories or the mere thought of the government he worked for being tainted. That couldn’t be an option for him. He was already an outlier enough as it stood, being an individual with kinesis. 

In today’s society, it was conform or comply. Jimin’s choices had been to pass the exit examination and work for the betterment of society and use his abilities for good, or transfer to a facility for anyone over eighteen who needed more intensive training to control their abilities. Jimin had taken door number one. Door number one out of fear. Door number one because the other option hadn’t seemed feasible or sustainable.

“Do you know what’s more dangerous than a man with omnikinesis?” Jimin asked, tearing his eyes away from the window. “A man with nothing to lose. Trying to stop him or intervene will make this ugly. I’ve seen enough to know that much.”

“He’s right,” Hoseok agreed.

“So what’s our move?” Seokjin asked. “What’s the job?”

“I want a list,” Director Nam said firmly. “Of every TRACK employee past and present, every donor or sponsor, every politician who has ever endorsed TRACK. I want it on my desk by Friday. Employees.” He pointed at Seokjin. “Donors and sponsors.” He pointed at Hoseok. “Politicians.” He pointed to Jimin. “With these lists, the least we can do is a wellness check.”

“You don’t want to tell them,” Jimin said in disbelief. “You want to keep them in the dark and just let them get snatched up at random.”

“Blissful ignorance or mass hysteria?” Hoseok offered, holding out both hands like a scale to Jimin. “That’s what we’re looking at.”

“Get to work,” Director Nam commanded, rising to his feet. “Keep the files. And keep this discussion between us. This is classified and privileged information.”

“Yes, Director Nam,” Jimin said in chorus with Seokjin and Hoseok, all three of them bowing as Director Nam excited the conference room. Jimin straightened up, and Seokjin immediately lifted the soundproofing and wiped the projection screen clean of the images with a wave of his hand.

“You know how both of you can sense and predict when a natural disaster is coming?” Jimin said as he folded his arms and gazed out the window again onto the gardens down below. “An earthquake or lightning storm?”

“You want to know if it feels like that?” Hoseok let out a breathy laugh, slipping his hands into his pockets as he stared down at the open file on the table, dark tips of his hair caught in his eyelashes. “It doesn’t fucking feel good. That’s all I’ve got for you.”

“Why were you questioning him?” Seokjin asked Jimin, his tone curious and not accusatory. “About the DKR only knowing about Phantom now? About TRACK? You never do that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jimin turned and swept up his files. “It just feels different this time. That’s all. We’re talking about four dangerous men who all have murder on their rap sheet. Working together. On a crusade to, what, purge Seoul of anyone working with TRACK? People on crusades like that aren’t really in the mood for a conversation.”

“They don’t change their minds. That’s what you’re trying to say,” Hoseok offered. “They’ll see it through no matter the cost. Shit. What are we even doing?”

“Our jobs,” Seokjin said with reluctance. “And now I get to go make a list of former and current TRACK employees. Do you know how long that’s going to take? And do either of you know how to make a goddamn spreadsheet?”

“At least all your names are in a system somewhere,” Jimin said with a small laugh, heading for the door. “You think politicians will be easy? You know how many shady motherfuckers have thrown their money at TRACK?”

“Say ‘shady motherfuckers’ out loud near the bullpen,” Seokjin recommended as they exited the conference room, and Jimin only blinked as he kept walking. “Yah, you little shit!” And then Seokjin bent down and hastily collected the stack of paper from near the printer and copying machine that Jimin had sent flying directly into his path. He heard Seokjin asking Hoseok for some help, surely so he didn’t have to pick it all up by hand, but Jimin disappeared into his office.

Numbing himself with mindless research would have to be how he passed the time, and how he would keep himself from having to think another second about Jeon Jeongguk being a wanted man.

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
23:51 PM

The shower water was running lukewarm, which was not a typical occurrence for Jimin. He usually showered quickly in scalding hot water (the heat really did it for him) and jumped out to do something productive. Tonight, though, he was showering later than normal, and all he could think about was Jeongguk.

It had been months, years, since he had meditated on Jeongguk for this long with no real answers. He was suddenly remembering every word of dialogue from that night, all seared into his brain like a branding mark. And the only reason that he could remember it all, the only reason that he knew Jeongguk had spent a decade virtually locked up at the TRACK facility, was because Jeongguk had always refused to touch Jimin.

As kids, they had made a promise to each other in the back of a music classroom. Jimin wouldn’t tattle on Jeongguk for using mind control on their teacher. In turn, Jeongguk would never use his abilities on Jimin, no matter how tempted. It was a childish pact, a pinky promise pact, but Jeongguk had never broken it. Even that night, he had left only Jimin cognizant of the entire ordeal. To everyone else, though, he had made a clean getaway and had become, truly, a phantom in the night. 

Jimin wondered if anyone else had fleeting nightmares about him.

It was Friday, and Jimin had handed in his list of politicians once associated, or currently associated, with TRACK, and the DKR was now extending an ambiguous lifejacket to the fifty-seven men and women Jimin had identified. 

He can’t kill that many people. He can’t. There’s no way.

Seokjin’s list had been in the hundreds. Hoseok’s list had been close to one hundred. If Jeongguk had plans to kill all of the people on the master list that had been created, then Jimin didn’t want to witness it. The thought alone was terrifying; Jeongguk, if he was Phantom (Jimin was certain he was), had already killed upwards of a dozen people, but only Jimin knew about the first ten. How many more were there?

Jimin had never intentionally killed a single soul in his life. As a government-funded hero (the irony in that was rich), Jimin’s job was to capture or subdue, not kill. Three people had died as a result of his intervention and actions, but never by Jimin’s fault—one had committed suicide to avoid capture, and the other two had made rash decisions that had led to their deaths. Jimin had, however, put dozens upon dozens of criminals, kinetic or not, behind bars, and more than once, he had almost paid for it with his life.

Being a hero did not make Jimin immortal, and he had learned that quite quickly after ending up in the hospital after one of his first assignments with several broken ribs and a sprained ankle. Subsequently, he had trained harder, faster, longer, to a point where he felt immortal. In actuality, the physical fitness aspect of it and the extra training had just made him stronger and more agile, and he had learned how to fight—something they hadn’t taught at TRACK. Jimin now knew several different styles of fighting and could swing a punch at the best of them if need be.

But if he ever had to face someone with omnikinesis, especially someone who knew him well, Jimin feared he wouldn’t make it out alive.

“Shit,” Jimin cursed, towel still around him when he heard the alarm going off. The alarm by his bed was from the DKR, and it sounded when Jimin was being summoned for an emergency situation that required his attention. Hopping around to pull on some underwear, Jimin breathlessly bent and read the message flashing on the screen:

URGENT: ALARM, LOCKDOWN @ GANGNAM-GU MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON; KINESIS BLOCK; ALL AVAILABLE UNITS REPORT; PHOENIX, PRISM, FLARE REPORT.

“Shit,” Jimin cursed louder, and then he threw his towel onto the bathroom floor and dove into his closet, letting the towel hang itself up on the rack. When he was called urgently, Jimin wore a specific uniform, knowing that he was going into a fight. It was a fitted black kevlar jumpsuit with bulletproof padding in silver patches on the chest and back—all flame resistant and able to absorb small bouts of electrical currents. The material was also water resistant, which helped when Jimin faced an adversary with hydrokinesis. There were a few built-in pockets, and Jimin had a utility belt with a few choice weapons, including a gun, since he was trained and licensed to carry one. The boots he wore were comfortable and flexible and easy for climbing and running, but they protected his feet, and he always wore a black face mask.

After hastily shoving his earpiece into his right ear, Jimin did a quick comms check while he ran out of his apartment.

“Phoenix to Leo.” Jimin leapt down the stairs three at a time, hopping over a railing and landing with a small grunt before continuing to run.

“Copy. I’d haul ass if I were you.”

Jimin snickered as he finally reached the garage on the ground floor. Choi Jisu, more affectionately known as Lia, was electrokinetic, but she wasn’t nearly as powerful as Seokjin was. She was, however, a genius when it came to technology, and she worked with the DKR specifically on Jimin’s small team. She was his ears and sometimes his eyes out in the field whenever Jimin was on assignment, constantly using security cameras all across Seoul and hacking into whatever she could to give Jimin a leg up.

“What do you know?” Jimin asked as he swept his hand, the rolling door of the locked compartment at his building flying open. His motorcycle was parked there, ready and waiting for him to use.

“Shit’s weird,” Lia said, always honest. “The prison went into a sudden lockdown at twenty-three-forty-five. But authorities weren’t alerted via the emergency communication system until five minutes later. And if you know anything about this prison—”

“That’s unheard of.” Jimin shoved the black helmet onto his head, swung his leg over the bike, and kickstarted the engine.

“A lockdown always coincides with authorities being summoned at the same time,” Lia confirmed. “So that means that something isn’t right. I know that because I can’t get into the security camera system.”

“What?” Jimin was speaking louder now to compensate for driving and the wind whipping around him.

“Yeah, exactly. I’m being stonewalled. And this is the kinesis block of the prison. You’re going in blind, Phoenix. I have nothing for you. You might be walking into a trap, for all I know. If we lose communication, just get back in touch the moment you can.”

“Copy. ETA?”

“Six minutes, twenty seconds.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Aw-w-w. Don’t make me cut the traffic lights. Leo out.”

Law enforcement knew better than to stop Jimin when he was on his bike and traveling well over the speed limit or driving recklessly. It was only an eight-minute ride in total to the prison, so Jimin went double the speed limit, careening through throngs of cars and forcing one car out of his path when the driver wasn’t paying attention. All it took was a moment’s concentration for him to access the telekinetic part of his brain, something that the average human couldn’t comprehend. Sending signals from his brain to inanimate objects in his world was second nature to Jimin, and keeping said objects under his control while he focused on other tasks was child’s play to him now. Moving a stationary car at a red light took some strength, but Jimin had done it countless times, and now he didn’t even break a sweat.

He took a corner sharply, nearly parallel to the street as he did, engine revving as he gained speed, wind whipping around him still. Nearby, there was a rumble of thunder—there was no expectation of a storm tonight. Was the sudden change in weather conditions anything that Seokjin had initiated?

Jimin rounded the last corner, and the massive brick building came into view. It was unassuming, almost bizarrely similar to a school building at a glance, but Jimin had been inside Gangnam-gu Max before. It was nearly impenetrable, and the kinesis block was like something out of science fiction. Soundproof walls, cells lined with technology to dampen and weaken kinetic abilities, specialized handcuffs that sent signals through the body and into the brain to choke the prisoner’s kinetic abilities at the source. Whenever Jimin thought it was inhumane, he tried to remind himself that these people had broken the law.

Not that that was much comfort.

Gangnam-gu Maximum Security Prison
Suseo-dong, Gangnam-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
00:22 AM

“Open the gate,” Jimin requested, one foot on the ground as he stared at the gate that led to the back entrance of the prison, where prisoners were typically released back out into the world. 

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Lia repeated. “I’m telling you, something’s not right. I can’t get into anything.”

Jimin stared up at the building—darkness. The lights were all out, which was typical for nighttime, but to the left, he could see a few windows with red lights, a telltale sign of an initiated lockdown and alarm.

“Where are the police?” Jimin asked. “The station is close by. They should have beaten me here by a long shot. I have no back-up. Where are they?”

“They’re not there?” Lia sounded confused. “How the hell can they not be there? They were literally called out there to handle this. Why the hell—? Hold on. Let me look.”

“YAH! PHOENIX!”

Jimin ripped his helmet off and parked his motorcycle right where it was, since there was no one around. Seokjin and Hoseok pulled up at the same time, each riding a motorcycle given to them by the DKR. They both wore similar jumpsuits, except Hoseok’s was slate grey and Seokjin’s was dark blue and suited to better help him conduct electricity as needed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hoseok asked. “Were you waiting for us?”

“Do you see any police presence?” Jimin asked over his shoulder, approaching the gate and grabbing at the fencing as he glanced up. “Leo can’t hack the system. She’s being blocked. Someone’s fucking with her, which means you can’t break the lock, either.” Jimin looked at Seokjin, who glanced at the gate with a clenched jaw, but nothing happened. “Something’s not right. Get me up high enough. Let’s go.”

Hoseok crouched and bridged the fingertips of his left hand on the ground, and then he used his right hand in a forward and then upward pushing motion. The pavement began to crack under Jimin’s feet, so he stepped back and watched as the concrete bowed and bent under Hoseok’s control before the earth broke through, distorting the road. It was something Hoseok could easily fix (though the road would have to be repaved), and it was necessary. Jimin hoisted himself up onto the splintered concrete as it rose, hands planted into the lingering dirt, and then he waited until it began to slope enough for him to climb.

“How the hell are we supposed to get into the prison if Leo can’t hack the system remotely and I’m no use?” Seokjin asked, following Jimin up the misshapen makeshift hill that Hoseok had created in front of the gate. Jimin swung his arms, and then he leapt, grabbing the top of the fence and hanging. With another grunt, he hoisted himself up and swung his leg over, straddling it.

“I don’t think we’re going to have that problem.” He glanced at the door, and it swung open further as he did.

“Good. Promising,” Hoseok sarcastically said as Jimin pressed the balls of his feet into the fence and bowed his body at the waist to nearly fold in half, gripping the fencing as he climbed down halfway before dropping to the ground on the other side.

“This isn’t right.” Jimin held Hoseok and Seokjin at bay the moment they came to his side. They had been working as a team for years now, always looking out for one another, but there was an odd and unspoken rule that Jimin was the leader. He was the youngest, but he always ended up finding himself in charge. Perhaps it was because telekinesis was a stronger ability when compared to electrokinesis and geokinesis. Perhaps Jimin just had an aura about him. Whatever it was, Hoseok and Seokjin listened.

“Leo to Phoenix.” Lia’s voice crackled in Jimin’s ear again. “The police aren’t coming. They should be, but not a single fucking squad car has left the precinct. The call’s been made. They know the prison is in lockdown. But no one’s coming. The DKR has been alerted, but I wouldn’t depend on back-up. Something’s off.”

“Copy,” Jimin quietly said, and then he stared into the dark hallway of the prison where a white light was flashing sporadically to signal a lockdown emergency.

No one’s coming.

It was so familiar that it physically hurt Jimin’s head thinking about it. An emergency lockdown with no response. No help. The dark hallways, the red flashing lights. It had been days since the briefing about Phantom, and Jimin had tried to move on and forget despite creating a list of possible targets. He had attempted to filter out the idea from his head that Jeongguk was the villain in all of this. But now, facing the mountain of evidence, it was undeniable.

“Split up,” Jimin declared. “Prism, you take block A. Flare, go through block B. I’ll go to the kinesis block. Meet me there. I have a feeling your walkthroughs won’t take very long.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Seokjin said as he turned and walked backwards through the door. Jimin watched as a spark of electricity flew from a security camera in the corner to Seokjin’s hand, and electricity crackled between his fingers like spiderwebs. “We’re not playing hero this time. This shit’s dangerous. Get out if you can.”

“Remember how I said we’d be sent on a suicide mission?” Hoseok rhetorically said as Seokjin vanished down the hallway, turning right. Jimin leaned a little to the right as pebbles and dirt and small fragments of concrete and pavement whizzed past his ankles, swirling around Hoseok’s shins like a planetary ring. He often pulled earth from outside as a shield of sorts, using it as a distraction against an enemy if he had to make a quick getaway.

“Feels like that, doesn’t it?” Jimin replied wryly, and Hoseok let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head. 

“Watch your back,” he said, and then he went the opposite way Seokjin had. Jimin took an immediate left turn instead of walking down the other hallway, and he didn’t bother with a flashlight. Were he competent at all in pyrokinesis, he could have used fire to light his way. But that was both nearly impossible and illegal. Jimin hadn’t even thought about manipulating fire since age six, and now there were legal ramifications. So he was going to have to rely on the red lighting.

“You still there?” Jimin asked.

“Copy. Still here. Your signal is weak, though,” Lia said in his ear. “I honestly don't think I’ll have you much longer. This doesn’t feel good at all, Phoenix.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Jimin stopped walking and stared at the ground, where two prison guards were lying draped over one another, face-down. The alarm was still blaring in the distance in blocks A and B as he crouched down, and then he reached forward and pressed two fingers to the first man’s carotid pulse. When he felt nothing, he moved to the other man, and when he felt not a single pulse under his fingertips, he quietly stood up, noticing the guns lying only centimeters from both men’s hands, and the pools of blood on the ground.

They shot themselves.

Jimin walked with haste now, heart pounding as he remembered standing in a red hallway and watching one guard strangle another before slitting her own throat. It was eerily reminiscent to a point where Jimin worried he would be sick before he ever made it to the kinesis block.

He made it, though. Somehow, putting one foot in front of the other, Jimin stared at the heavy and armored door of the kinesis block as it swung open all the way, already unlocked. The hallway was lit red and white—white emergency lights that were far too dim, and red warning lights as if purposely adding an ominous air to the situation. Jimin had been in countless prisons before to quell riots, and the kinesis block was home to some of the most dangerous men and women in Seoul, many of whom Jimin had put away behind bars himself. But as he stepped into the hallway, he heard not a peep. No banging on prison cell doors. No screaming and taunting. No crying or wailing. Not a sound.

“Shit,” he hissed, rushing forward and crouching down by another guard. “Leo? Leo, do you copy?”

Radio silence. His earpiece was useless. He had lost Lia, just as she had predicted, which meant that he was alone now, Seokjin and Hoseok wandering the prison in the other wing. Jimin gently tapped on the guard’s shoulders and shook him, and then he leaned in and checked for a pulse, tried to feel breathing on his cheek. His heart leapt when he felt the faint thumping of a pulse and some light breathing on his cheek, because finally, there were survivors.

Jimin heard the sound of a single footstep behind him. But he wasn’t quick enough.

“Boo.”

[bloody city] :: sam tinnesz (title song)

Jimin grunted and rolled as a foot connected with his side, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He landed halfway on top of another unconscious guard, since they were strewn up and down the length of the hallway like a human maze. Coughing, he rolled onto his back and attempted to scramble upright, but the foot swung again right underneath his chin. Jimin bit his tongue accidentally as his head whipped up and back and he collapsed again, but he leapt up to his feet and took a step backwards, tasting blood in his mouth. With very little to manipulate in the environment around him, Jimin honed in on the two guards, taking their batons from their utility belts and hurling them at full force at his attacker’s head.

“Oh, come on. Play fair.”

After doubling over and wincing from two blows to the head, the man straightened up, and Jimin stared, the batons still hovering. Wild black hair, dark eyes narrowed from the smirk on his face, faded blue prison jumpsuit, specialized handcuffs locking his wrists in front of his body with a red flashing light to indicate that they were active.

“Don’t fight like a pussy,” Kim Taehyung said, and then he rolled his neck, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Although what I should be asking is why you haven’t beaten yourself to death for my entertainment. Oh well. Doesn’t matter.”

Jimin flicked his hand, and the baton hit Taehyung on the outside of his knee, momentarily crippling him. The other was meant for his head, but he lifted his hands, and the baton hit the handcuffs instead as he rolled. Jimin took multiple large steps forward into Taehyung’s space, swiping his hand so that the guns on each guard’s hip all flew into one of the prison cells, since the door was open. Jimin slammed the door of the cell shut as the sound echoed in the hallway, and then he pounced. He grabbed Taehyung’s hair first and threw him against the wall, but Taehyung lifted his knee when Jimin approached again.

“You really think you can knock me out when I’m the fucking reason you’re here in the first place?” he asked with a laugh, using his elbows as he attempted to block Jimin’s punches. He couldn't block the uppercut to his abdomen, though, and Taehyung staggered sideways, coughing and wheezing. Jimin was about to lunge again, but Taehyung rolled over one shoulder and disappeared into an open prison cell. Jimin stumbled and stopped. 

It’s a trap.

The rest of the prison cell doors were closed. None of the prisoners were making a ruckus. Only two prison cell doors had been opened, and the one Jimin had whisked the guns into had been empty—surely Taehyung’s. 

Taehyung was the target.

Breathing heavily, Jimin pressed a finger to the earpiece in his ear, but there was no feedback. He glanced over his shoulder towards the doorway, but it was empty, even though he had given his teammates a rendezvous point. And Taehyung had disappeared, and now it was far too quiet.

“Why are you even out of your cell?” Jimin called out, hoping to coax Taehyung back into the fight. “Did you orchestrate all of this? Is this your handiwork?”

“No. But this is.”

Jimin flew backwards and upwards, hitting the ceiling before dropping to the floor in a heap, his entire body tingling as pain shot through his limbs from the sheer force of the electrical charge that he had just been hit with square in the chest, blinding him momentarily. Hitting the ground from such a height wasn’t ideal, either, and Jimin was lucky that he knew how to fall. His suit protected him well enough, but it was suddenly a one-sided fight. 

With next to nothing to manipulate in a confined space, no matter how much training he had had over the years, it didn’t matter. His enemies were always afraid of him, but not this time. Taehyung bore down on him like a lightning storm, and the only saving grace was that Jimin’s suit could just barely conduct the massive amounts of electricity, therefore saving him from immediate death.

“What’s wrong? Can’t walk a straight line?” Taehyung taunted as he walked right up to Jimin, because his hands were free—the handcuffs were gone. He was at full strength, and without restrictions, Jimin was hardly a match. 

The electricity was still sizzling through his muscles, making it difficult to stand, but Jimin did, and he was just in time. He ducked to avoid a hook to the face, and he blocked the next hit with his forearm. Taehyung lunged and grabbed Jimin around the waist, but Jimin focused only on the jumpsuit that Taehyung was wearing, using enough of his power to peel Taehyung off him by letting the jumpsuit pull Taehyung back like an imaginary hand to the scruff of his neck.

“You fucking cheater,” Taehyung laughed, but Jimin spun over his shoulder and aimed a kick square at Taehyung’s chest, and it worked long enough for Jimin to leap forward and charge at Taehyung, lifting him off the ground with sheer force and knocking him to the ground. Taehyung’s hand splayed across Jimin’s chest, and Jimin let out a pained shout, writhing and kicking when he felt another shockwave rattle his entire system. The suit was doing its job, but it wouldn’t hold up. Not with the way that Taehyung was fighting.

“Fuck,” Taehyung cursed loudly while choking, grabbing and fighting when a belt wrapped around his neck and tightened, pulling him away. Jimin was still too weak to stand from the virtual defibrillation Taehyung had imposed on him that he hadn’t needed, but he had enough strength to take the belt from an unconscious guard’s waist and use it as a weapon. 

But then he felt a hand on his ankle, and Jimin attempted to twist and kick, but his muscles weren’t responding appropriately. Taehyung dragged him, one hand between the belt and his neck to keep Jimin from strangling him. Jimin gritted his teeth and attempted to hold the belt in place, begged his brain to back him up, but then a fist connected with his face, breaking his concentration. He heard the belt buckle as it clattered to the floor, and then Taehyung was on top of him.

“Not bad for the DKR’s fucking lapdog,” Taehyung taunted, straddling Jimin. “But now you’re just a pain in the ass. Thanks for playing.”

Jimin saw the electricity crackling between Taehyung’s fingers, saw the hot blue flashes in his dark eyes. This man was going to wrap his hands around Jimin’s neck and kill him with enough of a charge to power the entire city of Seoul. If Jimin’s body wasn’t charred to a crisp, it would be a miracle—

“Are you kidding me?” Taehyung suddenly called out to the ceiling, and Jimin gasped, blinking rapidly as he tried to think of what else he could use to fight back. But Taehyung was just hovering over Jimin, his hands folded at his chest in a polite fashion as if he was praying. He didn’t look happy about it, though. “Are you fucking kidding me? Let go of me. I have him right where I want him, and you’re not going to let me have this?”

Jimin lifted his head, and suddenly, the narrow hallway seemed suffocating. A man walked out of the open prison cell, head down, eyes lifted as he turned and stared at the fighting duo. He had a presence about him, tall and broad, wearing black fitted pants, a black leather jacket that zipped on the side, and black boots. His black hair was long, wavy, pulled back at the nape of his neck with half of it hanging in his eyes. His face was covered from the nose down with a black face mask, similar to Jimin, and he spoke to Taehyung.

“There’s another like you. Block B. I kept him there for you.”

“No, don’t. Don’t—” Jimin’s voice was cut off when Taehyung’s hand wrapped around his throat to silence him. Jimin choked, but then he calmed himself down enough to draw in a breath through his nose.

“You’re lucky,” Taehyung softly said, his smile wicked as he released his grip, clearly having been given control of his body back. Jimin’s fingers twitched, because he was finally gaining some of his muscle strength back. Any minute now, he would be able to fight back the right way, and he had several ideas. But Taehyung just climbed off him, so Jimin grunted and propped up on his elbows, begging his legs to regain strength so he could move. But as Taehyung walked, Jimin’s eyes settled on the man who had walked out of the prison cell. The man who raised his head and promptly siphoned half the air from Jimin’s lungs.

“I know you,” Jimin breathed, his nightmares happening now in real time. Jeon Jeongguk had grown, and he was no longer the teenage boy with rage and sorrow in his eyes. Now he was a ghost with a horrid and visible scar across his right cheek from his nose to near his earlobe, and the way he looked at Jimin bore no resemblance to the boy who had once made him an origami flower in art class and shyly presented it to him as a gift.

“Say my name out loud and watch what happens.”

“Stop it, stop it,” Jimin shouted hoarsely, panicking when the slew of guards suddenly roused, the door of the prison cell flying open, guns flying into outstretched hands. Each guard, dazed and wide-eyed, pressed the barrel of the loaded gun to their temple, unwavering. “I won’t say it, stop.”

“If you do…” Phantom— Jeongguk —tilted his head slightly to the side, and every single gun moved from each guard’s temple to the inside of their mouths. “I’ll have to kill them all. We can’t have witnesses. That’s why your little friends haven’t come to your rescue. I kept them away.”

“This is romantic, but can I go to Block B?” Taehyung asked, grabbing the doorframe with both hands and arching back as far as he could, gazing at Jeongguk hopefully.

“ Be nice.” Jeongguk didn’t even look at Taehyung. “And be quick. We don’t have all night.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Taehyung acquiesced with a dramatic bow, and then he sauntered off and took a left, disappearing to go find Seokjin in Block B. Jimin had no way to warn Seokjin, either. This was truly the suicide mission Hoseok had feared it would be.

“Let them go.” Jimin finally rose to his feet, albeit shakily, bracing himself on the door of a prison cell. He glanced inside; the prisoner was sleeping soundly on his cot, blissfully unaware of the chaos in the hallway. Surely Jeongguk’s doing.

“Sure thing.”

At least eight or nine guards collapsed to the floor again, guns clattering, and Jimin gasped out a sigh of relief.

“You said no witnesses.” Jimin swallowed heavily. “So why am I still here?”

“Because.”

Jimin flinched and looked down when a hand grabbed his ankle, and he rapidly kicked it off as the guard collapsed to the floor again. But another guard to the left grabbed for his other ankle, so Jimin leapt and was forced to move towards Jeongguk, unconscious but controlled bodies grabbing at him like something out of a horror movie.

“Stop, stop it, what the fuck is your problem?” he shouted, and immediately, the mayhem stopped. Panting, Jimin pressed his palm to the wall, only one prison cell door separating him from Jeongguk. It was as if Jeongguk knew Jimin wouldn’t have stepped forward on his own, and now Jimin was face-to-face with the man who haunted his dreams.

“Look at you.” Jeongguk, face mask still on, surveyed Jimin from head to toe. “Seoul’s shining hero. Phoenix, I hear they’re calling you. Do I have a cute nickname, too?”

“Phantom,” Jimin whispered, and Jeongguk hummed noncommittally.

“Mm. You put up a piss poor fight,” he stated, adding insult to injury as Jimin struggled to stay on his feet. “I thought they trained their dogs better at the DKR.”

“I had nothing to work with.”

“You had everything to work with,” Jeongguk sneered, and Jimin’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. “You just don’t know how to use it. Or maybe you do, but you’re on such a tight fucking leash that you just roll over and take it.”

“What’s your goal, here?” Jimin snapped, not daring to take another step. In no way did he want to provoke Jeongguk, because this was an active conversation, and he needed to get as much as possible out of it before Jeongguk disappeared like the phantom he was. But the insults were an immediate and deep cut. “You break a madman out of prison, and then what? You continue on your crusade?”

“Something like that. I do have a really nice list now,” Jeongguk said, the gleam in his eyes far more wicked than Jimin was used to seeing, and Jimin’s heart stirred in his stomach in sheer dread. “It’s amazing what you can siphon from a useless DKR agent’s brain once they’ve taken one look at that master list. Thanks for that. You worked hard. I had missed a few of those names in my own research.”

Jimin whipped his head to look around Jeongguk when he heard a strangled, pained shout that sounded like Seokjin. Panicking, he didn’t even think twice; he abandoned the conversation and lunged for the hallway, but the door of the kinesis block slammed shut and locked, and Jimin stumbled backwards. He stared at it, jaw clenched, begging it to open. But he could feel an opposing force working against him, the exact opposite command— close, close, close while he was saying open, open, open. Jimin stared until his muscles began to tremble, until his knees locked, until his head began to pound mercilessly like an instant headache.

“Stop,” he gasped, collapsing to his knees on the ground, panting, brow furrowed as the headache wrapped around his skull. In an instant, two strong hands grabbed underneath his arms to hoist him up, and then Jeongguk gripped Jimin by his jaw, holding him in place as Jimin let out a soft cry, struggling to breathe, his head tilted upward. He looked down at Jeongguk, who was staring at him with dark eyes, his other hand pressed to Jimin’s sternum to keep him from moving.

“When will you wake the fuck up?” he hissed. “And realize how weak you are? Are you ever going to accept that you’re an anomaly, or are you okay with living like this?”

“J-Jeongguk,” Jimin barely choked out in a whisper, not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear.

“You’re working for the wrong people,” Jeongguk hissed, giving Jimin a shake by his jaw as Jimin gritted his teeth again. “I’m going to burn TRACK to the ground and make sure everyone suffers for it. And if you continue to get in my way, I’ll kill you. This is your only warning.”

Jeongguk threw Jimin to the ground like he was trash, and Jimin landed hard on the torso of an unconscious guard. Cursing, he groaned and rose to his feet, and that was when he realized that his gun was missing from his utility belt.

“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, because Jeongguk had disappeared, and the door was open. Jimin broke into a disjointed run, pinballing off the walls of the dark hallway as he hurried to block B in desperation, wanting to find Seokjin alive. His mouth was dry, palms sweaty as he rounded the corner, and then he heard moaning and a low voice talking.

“Let’s go,” Jeongguk’s voice said, and Jimin turned and faced the entrance of block B. Not a single prisoner was stirring, even though there were dozens of them locked up. And there, in the corner by the guard’s desk, was Seokjin. He was alive, slumped in the corner with Taehyung crouching over him, nose bleeding, limbs limp as if he could hardly move. And if Seokjin, a ten-year veteran with a good grip on his electrokinesis, was surrendering unwillingly, then that meant that Taehyung was unmatched.

“It really wasn’t personal, though,” Taehyung said to Seokjin in a hushed voice, melodic, as if his taunts were a lullaby. “I was just an angry kid. Now I’m a pissed off adult. But see? I can control myself. And you’re too cute to kill.” He used his hand to pat Seokjin’s cheek twice roughly, and then he stood up and saw Jimin standing there. “Your pet is back,” he said to Jeongguk.

“We’re leaving.” Jeongguk grabbed Taehyung by the scruff of his neck, and Taehyung clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes despite the mischievous grin on his face. He paused. “I should probably let your other little friend go free.” He blinked, and then he shoved Taehyung forward. “Stay out of my way, Jimin. It won’t end well for you.”

“Later!” Taehyung hollered, holding up a peace sign in the air before he disappeared, and Jeongguk ducked his head and followed. The moment they vanished, Jimin sprinted for the opposite corner, legs still like jelly, and he dropped to his knees by Seokjin, who looked far worse up close.

“PHOENIX! FLARE! HEY, WHERE ARE YOU?” Hoseok’s panic-stricken voice called out, but Jimin was frantic.

“Come on. Come on, we have to get out of here. We have to go now. Before he lifts the control on all of the inmates. Come on, hyung,” Jimin begged, slipping into a more casual mindset in fear. Seokjin was woozy, face pale, but he nodded, his lip busted, dried blood on his upper lip from the nosebleed. Hoseok then skidded around the corner, and the moment he saw Jimin struggling to lift Seokjin to his feet, he intervened, lunging to support Seokjin.

“Hurry, hurry,” Hoseok said as they stumbled out of block B and into the main atrium. “Out the back exit where we came in. We have to get out of here.”

Jimin clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the pain shooting throughout his body from the force of Taehyung’s attack and the sudden crash of adrenaline he was experiencing. 

“He took my gun,” Jimin grunted as they rounded a corner. “Kim Taehyung. He took it off me.”

“He took mine, too,” Seokjin whispered. Weakened, Jimin stared at the back exit door, and it swung open so that they could make it out of the prison. The very moment they stepped over the threshold, Jimin suddenly heard all hell break loose behind him—screaming, laughter, a blaring alarm growing louder and louder. Whatever Jeongguk had done to break into the prison without a scratch on him had vanished into thin air.  Sirens wailed through the night sky, and Jimin collapsed just short of the gate as Hoseok lowered Seokjin to the ground.

“Fuck,” Hoseok whispered, crouching with his elbows on his knees, hands to his head. “It’s like he’s still in there. It was all I could think about.”

“Don’t move.”

“Right,” Hoseok said as Seokjin croaked out the singular phrase. “I-I-I knew that I was—I was supposed to—I should’ve gone to the kinesis block. But I couldn’t. I could see, I knew—I knew where I needed to go, but I didn’t… I didn’t want to go. I couldn’t move.”

“It was him,” Seokjin said hoarsely, his expression pained. “Phantom. I saw him leaving just then. He—He had the entire prison under control. The entire fucking prison. Everyone in the kinesis block.”

“What happened?” Jimin asked Seokjin. “Hyung, what happened to you? With—With him. With Kim Taehyung.”

“He just showed up,” Seokjin whispered. “He walked right into block B. Saw me. And that’s when—that’s when the mind control broke. I fought back. I almost had him. I really did. But he—he was doing things that I’ve never even seen before. He almost knocked me out, and he cornered me. I asked if he remembered me. He did. But then you showed up.”

The sirens were growing louder, moving closer. Jimin sniffed and struggled to sit down, watching as Hoseok used one hand to replace the misshapen ground he had lifted, the other hand pressed to the concrete so he could get a feel for the earth.

“Phantom,” Seokjin croaked. “He was here just to break Shock out of prison. That’s why he was here.”

“How much do you want to bet that the blackout the other night was a test run?” Hoseok said to Jimin as the crumbled concrete fell back into place, albeit destroyed. “Hey. Jimin-ah. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jimin whispered, a blatant lie. Hoseok looked like he wanted to say more, but then Jimin had some feedback in his ear.

“Leo to Phoenix. Can you hear me? Is this working again? Comms are back up. Are you there?” Lia asked frantically.

“I’m here,” Jimin said in a hoarse voice, relying on his telekinetic abilities to activate the earpiece so that he didn’t have to lift a finger. “I’m here, we’re okay. We’re alive.”

“Police are en route. ETA is two minutes. Hang tight. Paramedics are on the way, too,” Lia said. “And I’m pretty sure the DKR is sending in a team to subdue the kinesis block of the prison.”

“Send several paramedics,” Jimin said. “There are a lot of injured guards. A couple of them are dead.”

“Copy,” Lia said in a dejected tone, and Jimin heard her blowing out a sigh before she went silent. He looked up at Seokjin, who was still pale and staring off into the distance. He looked at Hoseok, who was curled in on himself, eyes flicking back and forth like he was searching for something. And then Jimin stared down at his own hands, his knuckles bloody and bruised, fingers twitching as his hands trembled. He gripped one in the other nervously, and then he looked up as flashing lights appeared in the prison driveway.

After a mission, the three of them usually regrouped and compared notes. They talked, laughed, handed over the people they caught to the police, sometimes went to get a drink afterwards. But tonight, as a throng of law enforcement officials swarmed the gate and paramedics rushed forward, Jimin only stared until his vision blurred. He couldn’t find the words. Hoseok was silent. Seokjin lifted a few weak fingers to unlock the gate.

They had to admit defeat. A rarity.

“Let’s go, this way. We’ll get you checked out first. This way, and then you can debrief. Right this way. Easy there.”

Jimin didn’t even spare Seokjin and Hoseok a parting glance. He let the police officer and paramedic help him to his feet, and then he climbed into the back of the ambulance, lightheaded with a migraine, still feeling Kim Taehyung’s hand around his throat, still haunted by the look in Jeongguk’s eyes.

City of Seoul General Hospital: Kinetic Abilities Unit
Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
06:53 AM

Jimin refused his breakfast.

Besides some severe bruising to his neck, he had a clean bill of health. All it had taken was a single hardened look at the doctor to hear that Seokjin had two broken ribs and a mild concussion. Hoseok was the healthiest of them all, but he had been evaluated for psychological trauma, coming up clean. He was just shaken.

“He’s on his way here.” Hoseok held up his phone when Jimin walked into Seokjin’s hospital room in his slippers. Seokjin was sitting up in bed, bruises still blooming on his handsome face. In times like this, Jimin always reminded himself that Seokjin was a human defibrillator, and that made the prospect of him getting injured in the field less terrifying.

“I don’t want to debrief,” Jimin mumbled, staring at Seokjin’s blankets as he sat down in the second chair. “I didn’t sleep last night. I’ve barely processed what happened.”

“You saw more than either one of us did,” Seokjin croaked. “Hoseok was stuck in block A the entire time. I was stuck in block B and only got some action when… yeah. For three minutes at most.”

“But I could hear you shouting,” Hoseok said to Jimin. “I have no idea what you said, but I knew you were doing something.”

“I was fighting him off,” Jimin murmured. “Shock. But he—Phantom got him out of those handcuffs. And he attacked me. Shocked me so badly that I couldn’t move. Almost killed me until Phantom stopped him.”

“Phantom stopped him?” Hoseok sounded concerned. “Why would he?”

Because I was his only real friend at TRACK. We got lucky. Most kids that go there don’t even know other kids exist. Look at you, Hoseok. You never knew Kim Namjoon, and he’s your age. I never knew Kim Taehyung, and he’s my age. But I knew Phantom. I knew Jeongguk.

“I don’t know,” Jimin lied.

“Did you talk to him?” Hoseok asked. “Phantom? Did you talk to him? Did he talk to you?”

“Yeah.” But Jimin didn’t say another word, because Director Nam appeared in the doorway, and he bowed.

“Good morning.” He closed the door, but not before Jimin saw two NIS agents situate themselves outside the room. Director Nam pulled up a chair, exhaling deeply. “Gangnam-gu Maximum Security Prison is under control. Not a single inmate has any memory of a lockdown or a prison break occurring, but they’re all painfully aware that one inmate is missing now.”

“How many guards are dead?” Hoseok asked, elbows on his knees, hands folded.

“Just two,” Director Nam said, and Jimin breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Both missing two bullets from their firearms. One bullet to the head each. One bullet on the floor each, no sign of impact.”

“Are you telling me that he can control bullets, too?” Seokjin asked, and the short laugh he let out caused him to grimace in pain.

“Omnikinesis,” Jimin said as a reminder, shaking his leg rapidly to keep from exploding, because he was dangerously close.

“Kim Taehyung, known as Shock, is now at large,” Director Nam said, stating the obvious. “Which only confirms my original theory that Phantom is, indeed, working with the men that I mentioned.”

“He plans to burn TRACK to the ground and make sure everyone suffers,” Jimin said, his voice detached. Before anyone could open their mouths, he added, “How do I know that, you ask? Because he told me. That’s how. That’s his plan. And if any of us get in his way, we’ll need a coffin and a funeral.”

“Now, Jimin-ssi, let’s not—”

“He had a list!” Jimin exclaimed, rising to his feet so quickly that the chair he was sitting in toppled over. “Our list. The list that we made of TRACK employees, sponsors and partners, politicians. He fucking has that list in his possession, and he got in from one agent who happened to see it!” Jimin walked around the foot of Seokjin’s bed to confront Director Nam. “So which incompetent agent did you give the opportunity to view a classfied list knowing full goddamn well that a man who can literally take information from your memory is out there?”

“Jimin,” Hoseok hissed. “Stop. Put it down.”

Jimin blinked rapidly, his breathing heavy, and that was when he realized that a glass vase full of water and flowers for Seokjin was hovering right over Director Nam’s head, and that in all his rage, he had inadvertently put himself in a position to cause bodily harm to someone else.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, letting the vase float gently back to the windowsill as Director Nam loosened his white-knuckled grip on the armrests of his chair. Jimin stumbled backwards and found his seat again, collapsing into it and closing his eyes for a moment.

“Now.” Director Nam cleared his throat. “Repeat that.”

“He has… our list,” Jimin slowly said, voice hushed. “Phantom. We just made it easier for him. Somehow, he figured out how to manipulate one of our agents’ minds and get what he needed. He could bring the entire government to its knees in a fucking day. And now he has Kim Taehyung. We just watched the two of them walk out of that prison. We could do nothing.”

“He was in our heads,” Seokjin said, waving his bandaged hand near his forehead. “The impulse to stay right where I was… I can’t even explain it. I completely forgot why I was there in the first place.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so useless in my life,” Hoseok added. “I didn’t even get a chance to fight. He had me standing in one place the entire time.”

“Jimin-ssi. How did you feel?” Director Nam asked, and Jimin pursed his lips, rubbing them together in thought. “When he had control of your mind?”

“Uh… the same way,” Jimin decided, lying once again. Because Jeongguk had been right there, right in his face for the first time in seven years, and he hadn’t touched Jimin’s mind even once. Jimin had been beaten and choked and thrown to the ground, but he had been in complete control of himself the entire time.

“Director Jo has been briefed,” Director Nam said, “on the situation at hand. And he would like to speak to the three of you when you’re all well again, given that TRACK appears to be the target.”

“I don’t understand,” Seokjin quietly said. “He’s omnikinetic. Why not just go straight to the top? Why not just kill Director Jo and call it a day?”

“He said he wants to make sure everyone suffers,” Jimin replied evenly. “Killing Director Jo doesn’t get rid of the poison, nor does it teach anyone a lesson. He’s drawing it out.”

“But what the hell is his reason?” Hoseok asked, throwing up one hand. “I mean, yeah. Okay. He’s an anomaly, and he probably scared the shit out of the staff at TRACK, but they can’t even remember him, if what you’re saying is true, Jimin. And he was probably treated differently than the other kids. But what’s his story? Is he a defector? Did he pass the exit exam? How old is he? We know nothing. He’s just killing off anyone involved in TRACK because he’s angry. Is that really a good enough reason?”

“He’s too smart for that.” Jimin narrowed his eyes in thought. “You’re right. There has to be more to it. That can’t be it. It can’t be that he just woke up one morning and said, ‘I think I’ll get my revenge on all these people.’ He has to be killing them for a reason.”

“But do we keep chasing after him?” Seokjin asked, looking at Director Nam. “Are we going to keep receiving urgent calls to go out into the field and face him again? Face his little team? Because I don’t think we’ll last very long, and there are other things going on in the city that need our attention.”

“You’ll need to speak with Director Jo,” Director Nam said with an air of finality. “Are any of you willing to answer an urgent call where Phantom may be involved?”

“Not now,” Seokjin answered immediately.

“Not yet,” Hoseok agreed.

“Yes.”

All eyes turned to Jimin.

“I’ll do it. I’ll go.” He glanced around. “He talked to me. You might call bullshit, but that’s more than what either of you two got.” He looked at Seokjin first, and then Hoseok. “So I’ll take my chances.”

When will you wake the fuck up?

“You’re putting your life on the line for a mission that you don’t even need to be involved in,” Hoseok argued.

“There’s no objective,” Seokjin added passionately, pleading. “Why would you agree that quickly to go back out and face him?”

And realize how weak you are?

“Because maybe I can get him to talk to me,” Jimin said, his voice quiet. 

“This is exactly why you’re the poster child of the DKR,” Hoseok said with a chuckle.

You’re working for the wrong people.

It had been seven years since Jimin had last seen Jeongguk, since their paths had completely diverged. Jimin had cruised on the high road, shaking hands with Jo Chansung, unveiling his photo hanging in the DKR office, visiting TRACK like a mentor for the young kids, careening through the streets of Seoul to prove to the world that a man with kinesis could do good in society and diminish crime rates. 

Jeongguk, though, had gone on the run, shaking hands with the renegades, hiding away for years before unveiling a master plan, visiting TRACK employees like a nightmare, careening through the streets of Seoul to prove to the world that a man with kinesis could bring society to its knees.

For all these years, Jimin had resigned himself to his fate without complaint. He had cheerfully just accepted everything at face value, happy with the status quo, uninterested in rattling the cage or taking a look behind the scenes. There was no need for that when his life was running smoothly. 

But now Jeongguk was back, the wrench had been thrown into the cogs, and Jimin was suddenly floundering, his perfect system malfunctioning. Now he had to ask questions that he didn’t want to ask. Now he had to think about being an anomaly, a thought he had been suppressing his entire life. Now he had to wonder why.

Jimin was good at playing by the rules. He was the DKR’s “good boy.” Taehyung calling him a lapdog and Jeongguk saying he had been trained like a dog were both insults, but they had wounded Jimin deeply, because somewhere beyond the rigidity of his training, it resonated with him. It rang true. And he wasn’t supposed to question his position or his superiors, because that upset that balance. It made Jimin appear more powerful than the average human, which was a red flag for the DKR.

And Jimin had to wonder why.

“I’ll face him again. Phantom. Because I have questions.” Jimin locked his gaze on Director Nam. “For everyone. And I plan on getting some answers.”

:: :: ::

Chapter Text

:: :: ::

PART II :: BONES

TRACK Facility: Telekinesis Wing
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
12:44 PM

7 years ago

Jimin rubbed his hands on his thighs, taking a deep breath. Class didn’t begin again until one o’clock, but he was camped in the courtyard of the telekinesis wing, waiting. He has to emerge from his room at some point. There were rules that kept trainees from skipping classes, but Jimin also knew that rules hardly applied to Jeongguk these days.

[bones] :: WENS

The door opened with a soft click, and Jimin glanced up and stared across the way from his perch on the bench. There was Jeongguk, black oversized sweatshirt on, hood pulled up and shadowing his face, head down as he turned to make sure the door was locked. When he pivoted, he caught Jimin’s eye, and Jimin was convinced that Jeongguk was going to just turn and walk away like he had been doing for days. In fact, he had been doing it for months. He was pulling away from Jimin with very little explanation, and Jimin wanted to blame it on teenage angst, but that hardly seemed accurate, given their circumstances.

Jeongguk shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pocket, and then he slowly shuffled across the small courtyard and sat down on the bench beside Jimin without a word. They sat in silence, and for a moment, Jimin remembered every single time Jeongguk had wiped the floor with him during their practical telekinesis training sessions. The way the world just seemed to bend to his will even when he was giggling. The way he could make the flames of a candle dance for Jimin’s own amusement, the way he could pour Jimin another glass of water out of thin air, the way Jimin had heard a knock on his dorm room door last year and opened it to find an uprooted flower floating in midair, the way Jeongguk had purposely triggered a virus on their teacher’s computer right before a big math exam, how he had laughed about it with such glee.

He didn’t laugh much anymore.

“You really don’t know when to give up, do you?” Jeongguk said, staring straight ahead.

“I barely see you anymore,” Jimin argued quietly. “You keep… disappearing. You don’t even play hoverball with us anymore.”

Hoverball was a made-up game specifically for the telekinesis trainees, and all it consisted of were four balls for each team, and the goal was to keep all four balls in the air while simultaneously grounding the other team’s four balls. Jeongguk was a champion at it, and he was always on Jimin’s team.

“I don’t really want to play hoverball,” Jeongguk said, voice hushed. “I just want to get out of here. You know that.”

“The next exit examination is four months away.”

“When has that ever been promising for me?”

“Jeongguk—”

“I’m only talking to you to tell you to stop,” Jeongguk interrupted, turning his head slightly towards Jimin but still not making eye contact. “Stop trying. You keep hanging around waiting to talk to me. I don’t want to talk. Not anymore. We’re way past that.”

“Okay, but why?” Jimin shifted on the bench to face Jeongguk, his knees bumping Jeongguk’s knee. “Why the sudden change? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Am I just not your friend anymore?”

Jeongguk finally turned his head and locked eyes with Jimin, and the left corner of his mouth twitched in a wry smile. “I wish I had your level of ignorance. Honestly. You know nothing. You’re the smartest one in any given room, and here you are, just their puppet.”

“Jeongguk, that’s—”

“If you knew a fraction of the shit that I knew, you’d be singing a very different tune,” Jeongguk said, his voice slightly strangled. “You have no idea what goes on. And that’s because you’re going to be their hero.” He tapered off to nothing more than a whisper. But he found some strength again. “I’m not really sure I ever deserved you as a friend. But maybe one day, you’ll wake up.”

“What are you even saying?” Jimin whispered.

“When you decide to be the anomaly you really are,” Jeongguk said carefully, “maybe we can… find a way. But we’re not on the same path anymore. I don’t think we ever were. I just wanted to think that we were. I’m sorry, Jimin hyung.”

“Sorry? What do you mean, you’re sorry?” Jimin stood up when Jeongguk did, his knees knocking together. All he had wanted was to see how Jeongguk was doing, check in with his best friend, express his worries and concerns. But now Jeongguk was speaking in code, his eyes plagued with distress and a strange emptiness that Jimin didn’t recognize.

“I just am. Don’t try this anymore. Talking to me like this. I won’t stop next time,” Jeongguk said. He hesitated, but then he quickly brushed two fingers underneath Jimin’s chin in an affectionate manner with a ghost of a smile before turning and walking away, his head down.

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
21:06 PM

present day

If I had known…

Jimin opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his living room. The TV was still on, but he wasn’t giving it a lick of attention. He had been in a trance for at least ten minutes now, combing through his mind and trying to remember those moments with Jeongguk at TRACK, moments that should have been red flags. 

TRACK was a very segregated facility. It was why Jimin, despite being the same age as Kim Taehyung, had never once heard of another sixteen-year-old kid defecting and going rogue. Taehyung had lived and trained specifically in the electrokinesis wing, never once crossing paths with Jimin. But Jeongguk had been lumped in with the telekinesis kids, and he had crossed paths with Jimin on his second day at the tender age of five, the chance encounter blossoming into a beautiful friendship. A friendship that had soured rapidly and unexpectedly, breaking Jimin’s heart.

Only a week or two after his last real conversation with Jeongguk, things had started to take a rapid turn. Classmates had started to avoid Jeongguk in the hallways, gossiping about how terrifying he was, about how he was “too” powerful, and why wasn’t TRACK doing anything about it? 

Jimin could still remember the horrific fights he had had with Jeongguk whenever he had gone in for a confrontation at two in the morning; Jeongguk had called Jimin terrible things—”fucking blind” and “a useless puppet” and “a waste of space.” All things said to intentionally wound Jimin, and Jimin had known it. Because he had gotten into physical fist fights with Jeongguk, but Jeongguk had never once used mind control or hypnosis or manipulation to stop Jimin from throwing another punch. Never.

But Jeongguk had also never cracked. He had never told Jimin why he was so angry, so filled with rage and resentment. Jimin knew now that Jeongguk had been subjected to forms of electric shock “therapy,” which was horrifying to him, but surely the staff had attempted it in hopes of “fixing” Jeongguk. But then what the hell had there been to fix?

That had been Jimin’s question years ago. Now he understood. Being omnikinetic meant that Jeongguk was, arguably, the most powerful human being alive. And being the only known case of omnikinesis to ever exist made Jeongguk even more untouchable. Omnikinesis was formidable, but paired with mind control, Jeongguk was an organic nightmare. Mind control had always been nothing more than a myth until now. 

Now, Jeongguk was the cold feeling of dread and existentialism, the fear of no free will, the horror of exploitable human weakness. Jeongguk could bring the world to its knees, but all he seemed to want to do was destroy TRACK, all while still refusing to touch Jimin’s mind.

“Fuck, not now,” Jimin muttered, leaping off the couch when he heard the alarm going off in his bedroom. He jogged in and read the message flashing across the screen:

URGENT: APARTMENT BUILDING FIRE; DONGJAK-DAERO 27MA-GIL, SADANG-DONG; POSSIBLE SUSPECT PYROKINETIC; PHOENIX REPORT

Jimin’s heart nearly flew out of his mouth in fear as he rushed to get dressed. “Suspect pyrokinetic.” What if it was Min Yoongi? What if this was just a distraction? Or was Jimin overthinking things? And why was he the only one being asked to report? Was Director Nam taking Seokjin’s and Hoseok’s requests seriously? It had been a week since the prison break, and there had not been a peep from Jeongguk and company.

“Phoenix to Leo.” Jimin fiddled with his earpiece as he grabbed his face mask, fully dressed with adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Copy. The fire department is already on their way,” Lia said immediately. “From what I can see right now, the fire is contained to just one section, and the building is still structurally sound, which is a miracle, given its age. But you might need to intervene.”

“Anyone trapped?” Jimin asked, jogging down the stairs. 

“No reports of anyone trapped yet,” Lia replied. “Hang tight. I’ll send you directions.”

Jimin grabbed his motorcycle from the garage, and when he shoved his helmet onto his head, directions flashed on the inside of the visor with distance and an arrow pointing, much like the windshield navigation display in Jimin’s car. ETA: 7 minutes. Distance: 8.6km. 

“Why am I the only one reporting?” Jimin asked as he sped out of the garage and into the night.

“No idea. Maybe it wasn’t serious enough to get the whole team involved,” Lia suggested. “The fire doesn’t look bad. Once the fire department gets there, things will settle. But if you can get there first and keep the building from collapsing, then that’s all we can ask for.”

“Copy. I’m five minutes out.”

Jimin weaved through traffic, hearing a few cars honking their horns at him in what he hoped was support, but was realistically probably a few cranky older men peeved at the young man on the motorcycle breaking the rules of the road. The arrow pointed him in the right direction, but even on the approach, Jimin could see smoke against the inky night sky, and he could hear sirens in the distance.

Sadang-dong, Dongjak-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
22:28 PM

“HURRY! HURRY, AWAY FROM THE BUILDING!”

“WHERE’S MY SON?”

“STAY TOGETHER!”

The fire alarm was blaring in both the apartment building above and the large convenience store on the ground floor. Jimin parked his motorcycle, yanked off his helmet, and ran over to assess the property immediately. He could see flashing red lights in the distance, but he had to get a better look at the apartment building itself.

“My ceiling caved in!” one frantic woman cried out, trying to grab at Jimin as a man, presumably her partner, pulled her to safety. If the ceilings were caving, that meant that the building couldn’t withstand the heat, and now the fire was sending black smoke billowing into the sky. 

“Give me something,” Jimin demanded. “Because I’m about to go in there.”

“The building was erected thirty-nine years ago, and it hasn’t been inspected for structural soundness in three years,” Lia replied, and Jimin could hear her typing on her computer, searching for information. “It missed those inspections and received a notice, but nothing’s been done.”

“Fuck it. I’m going inside. I need to figure out where the fire originated,” Jimin declared. “Especially if it was set by a pyrokinetic.”

“Find the origin and tell me,” Lia demanded. Jimin then ran past several residents escaping the blaze and entered the stairwell. There was smoke everywhere, creating a haze, but the first floor was untouched. Jimin took the stairs and ran to the second floor, where the halls were abandoned and the smoke was thicker. Squinting, he made his way to the third and top floor, and that was when he started to feel the heat and the smoke became thicker. 

“Third floor,” Jimin said, finger in his ear as he concentrated on the high volume of smoke, trying to separate it from the other functioning parts of his brain. Smoke was hit or miss, and it was a challenge and not something that many telekinetics could work with, but Jimin had developed a knack for working with things that weren't exactly tangible, such as smoke or clouds. It took practice, and most people failed; Jimin had succeeded quickly and now used it to his advantage.

“Origin?” Lia asked as Jimin walked slowly through the thick smoke, feeling the heat on his skin and hearing the cracking of beams and drywall and windows from all around him. He gritted his teeth and dropped low, knowing that heat always rose, and he hobbled towards the source of the fire—apartment 3825. Jimin tucked and rolled rapidly away from the heat source, coughing despite the fact that he was doing his best to clear the smoke, and then he came to rest in the stairwell, even though he knew that he was going to have to go to the hospital for smoke inhalation after this.

“Apartment 3825,” Jimin said to Lia. 

“Belongs to… shit. Bang Hyunjun. Former guard at TRACK in the pyrokinesis wing,” Lia said, and Jimin clenched his jaw, hearing the sirens as they came closer. He then whipped his head to the left, hearing another cracking beam. The sound of screaming echoed throughout the building despite the blaze, and Jimin ran down to the second floor, eyes narrowed as he searched. He skidded to a halt in the hallway, and then he lunged and threw his hand up towards the ceiling, where he could see drywall beginning to crumble. 

“Get out,” Lia’s voice said in his ear. “Phoenix, get out of there. It’s not worth it. The building’s not going to last.”

“Are there any residents still in the building?” Jimin hollered, gritting his teeth and focusing all of his energy on the collapsing ceiling.

“Jesus, hold on. Searching for heat signatures,” Lia said. “In a fucking building fire, this is—shit. Two people, third floor. Apartment 3832. End of the hall past apartment 3825. You missed them.”

“Well, I can’t fucking go up there now!” Jimin called out as the alarm continued to blare. He started to speak again, but then he heard horrid cracking noises coming from near the stairwell. Panicked, Jimin threw out his other hand. There was the age-old argument that telekinetics—or kinetics in general—didn’t need to use their hands for anything, since it was all in the mind. But that, Jimin had found, was for basic kinesis. Not for instances where he had to keep an entire building from collapsing. He had to channel the energy.

“Firefighters are here,” Lia said in his ear. “Phoenix, get out.”

“Can’t,” Jimin said, coughing as his chest burned despite his face mask. It wasn’t good enough, and now the ceiling above his head was starting to crack. 

When will you wake the fuck up and realize how weak you are?

Jimin planted his feet firmly and clenched his jaw in resolve, glancing up at the ceiling, hands still out to support two other danger zones. The drywall stopped crumbling onto his head. It was suspended in midair, and the rest of the ceiling stayed where it was. Fighting the temptation to collapse and cough, Jimin closed his eyes, holding his stance, accessing the part of his brain that made him the hero he was supposed to be. It felt like nothing more than an echoed mantra— hold, hold, hold. His brain fired off messages to every part of the building that was in danger of collapsing, his energy honed in, nothing more important than keeping this building standing.

Jimin heard shouting, so he slowly opened his eyes and dared to turn his head towards the open stairwell.

“HEY.” 

The firefighters came to a stuttering halt.

“APARTMENT 3832,” Jimin shouted between alarm sounds. “TWO PEOPLE.”

“Phoenix, the third floor isn’t going to hold,” Lia said in a panic. “You have to get out. They have to get out.”

“Just another minute,” Jimin insisted. “One more minute. I can hold it. I can hold it until they get water on it. I’m not letting these people lose everything.”

Jimin’s legs began to shake, but he held firm. He could feel sweat trickling down his spine and his face, felt like he had a fever, but he refused to relent. It wasn’t that he wanted to die a hero’s death or as a martyr; all Jimin needed was to prove to himself that he was strong enough to hold up an entire apartment building while buying firefighters time to save two people who were trapped.

“They’re moving!” Jimin called out when he saw the firefighters coming down the stairs again, carrying two elderly women who hadn’t been able to move quickly enough to escape the sudden blaze. Even after they disappeared, though, Jimin hesitated to move. Instead, he began to take slow steps backwards, his eyes still locked on the ceiling as he desperately visualized the insides of the other apartments underneath apartment 3825, trying to keep the ceilings from collapsing. Each step was painstaking, but Jimin finally managed to walk down the staircase in slow motion without hearing the collapse as he held it strong. 

“Get out, move,” Lia commanded. “It’s holding. They’re working on it. Get out of there.”

Jimin finally made it to the ground floor, and then he ran out of the building, gulping down fresh air and wheezing as he turned to face the building. And then he stood and stared, focusing every last minute fragment of energy he had on holding it as it currently stood. Giving the people in the streets a chance to collect their belongings and find a new dwelling. Preventing further destruction.

Telekinesis was nothing like in the movies and comic books Jimin had consumed growing up. Media made telekinesis feel like a brand of immortality, like the user had total control over the world. It boasted manipulating molecules with the mind, sonic booms, destruction, even flight. But when applied realistically to humans as a true genetic mutation, it was nothing of the sort, and it came with a multitude of shortcomings. 

Jimin had a threshold. Hoseok couldn’t manipulate anything that wasn’t directly made of earth or minerals or crystals—if called to the apartment building, he would have likely had to let it collapse, unable to manipulate manmade objects. He had a threshold. Seokjin couldn’t manipulate anything that didn’t contain electrical energy—if called to the apartment building, he, too, would have likely had to let it collapse. He had a threshold. And that was what made Jimin, a telekinetic, the most desirable hero.

Even though TRACK had an entire telekinesis wing with many trainees, Jimin had always found himself holding back. Why was he the only one who could manipulate smoke? Why was he the only one who could sometimes sense things from a distance as if he was a human radar? Why was he the only one who could hold up an entire apartment building as the flames died down? But even with all of that—why did he work under such restrictions?

“CLEAR! ALL CLEAR!”

Jimin slowly tested the waters by blinking a few times and exhaling. He rolled his shoulders back and closed his eyes, giving his mind a break, and all he heard was the anxious chatter of the residents behind him and the barked orders from the firefighters. He opened his eyes and watched the dull grey smoke and ash floating through the night sky, the fire extinguished. When he turned to the right, he saw the two elderly ladies in separate ambulances, ready to be whisked off to the hospital. 

“Leo to Phoenix. All clear,” Lia said, sounding relieved. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“I knew I could control it,” Jimin croaked with a small cough. “I was just… testing my limits.”

Water didn’t bend to Jimin’s will. The earth didn’t move under Jimin’s feet when he walked. Electricity didn’t flow through his veins like blood. Humans with free will were off-limits entirely. But the rest of the world was Jimin’s oyster, and he wasn’t weak. The mere fact that the building was still standing was a minor testament to that.

But why was he so hung up on Jeongguk’s words?

“I need you to look for security footage,” Jimin said as he paced within a small radius, knowing that the paramedics would round on him soon enough. “Of before the fire. Figure out who started it.”

“Do we even know if Bang Hyunjun made it out alive?” Lia wondered. “Or was he burned to death?”

“Hell if I know,” Jimin muttered.

“Okay. Looking…” Lia clicked her tongue repeatedly as Jimin listened to the sound of a keyboard. “Wait, what? Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

“What a fucking cliché. The footage was wiped,” Lia complained. “An electrokinetic, by best guess. It’s way too clean, and the footage is only missing six minutes. That’s enough time for someone to get into the building, set the fire, and leave.”

“And nearby security footage?”

“I’ll work on it. Don’t hold your breath. Go get checked out, please. You need treatment.”

“I’m fine,” Jimin sighed, but Lia signed off, so he walked weakly over to the paramedics, who pounced on him immediately, fussing and asking him to sit down on the edge of the ambulance, giving him oxygen to treat the smoke inhalation, shooing away reporters who had rushed to the scene to catch a glimpse of Jimin in action.

“I need to speak to the firefighters,” Jimin insisted, swatting away the paramedic who continued to try to give him oxygen and walking on shaky knees towards the firetruck. Jimin saw a camera flash, but he chose to ignore it as he approached one firefighter.

“Excuse me.”

“Ah. Phoenix. Thank you for your assistance,” the firefighter said with a small bow.

“The fire was started in apartment 3825,” Jimin stated, and the firefighter nodded.

“Yes, it was. No source. No cigarette, no faulty wires,” he replied. “I’m assuming you think that a pyrokinetic is at fault for this one.”

“Seems like it. There was a man living in that apartment. Bang Hyunjun,” Jimin divulged. “Did he make it out alive?”

“We recovered one body,” the firefighter said grimly. “Badly burned. Male. Once we get dental record confirmation, I’m sure we can positively identify him.”

“Thank you.” Jimin bowed his head, and then he turned back towards the ambulance, quietly coughing. Two anxious women walked past him, clinging to each other, and Jimin rubbed one hand over his chest.

“Did you like my work?”

Jimin came to a screeching halt and stood motionless in the middle of the closed off street, hand still frozen on his chest. The voice in his ear wasn’t Lia. This voice was low, full of gravel, unfamiliar. Jimin didn’t dare to speak. He stood rooted to the spot, waiting for more.

“Bang Hyunjun was an abusive piece of shit. His favorite way to escort me to the principal’s office for discipline was dragging me by my hair. I never liked him.”

“Why were you disciplined?” Jimin asked with caution, his mouth barely moving.

“When I got angry or too emotional, I started to burn up. Fevers that should’ve killed me. And then my skin started to burn. And I began to generate fire. And they didn’t like that.”

“So they tried to put you in your place,” Jimin breathed.

“I never had a place there.” Min Yoongi let out a breath of bitter laughter. “There’s a common theme, Park Jimin. Distractions, distractions, distractions. For example, while you were playing hero like I knew you would, Im Byunhee was in the trunk of a car, and now he’s hanging from our ceiling, and we have a few questions for him. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You what?” Jimin snapped, but he got no response.

“Phoenix? Leo to Phoenix. Shit, are you there?” Lia’s voice cut through loud and clear and full of frustration. “The fucking battle I just had with another electrokinetic to keep me out, I swear to God. I almost got outsmarted. Phoenix?”

“I’m here,” Jimin said in a daze. “Send a team to the residence of Im Byunhee.”

“Who’s that?” Lia wondered.

“I don’t know. Look him up. He has to be related to TRACK somehow. The fire was just a distraction,” Jimin said, fuming. “And we fucking fell for it.”

“Christ. Okay, I’m sending… got him. I’m sending a team to his residence right now. Is he there? Is he dead? What do you know?” Lia asked as Jimin walked right to his motorcycle, ignoring the calls of the paramedics who were begging him to come and get the medical attention he needed. Jimin would take himself to the hospital if he felt like he was in danger of collapsing, but right now, the adrenaline was keeping him on his feet.

“The bare fucking minimum. Get me everything you can and send it to me!” Jimin called out, shoving his helmet on and swinging his leg over his motorcycle. Then he sped off into the night, heading for home in a fit of frustration and resigning himself prematurely to a night of coughing, chest pain, and no sleep.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
08:56 AM

“You shouldn’t even be here.”

“It didn’t affect me.” Jimin tugged at the right sleeve of his suit jacket and quietly cleared his throat, seated in a conference room chair. Hoseok and Seokjin were seated on his right side, and neither one of them looked pleased that Jimin was at the office, but today was the day they were meant to meet with Jo Chansung. This was not a meeting that Jimin could skip, especially with Im Byunhee still missing.

Im Byunhee, as it turned out, was a man who assisted in the TRACK medical clinic for ten years. When shown his employee photo, Jimin immediately recognized the face, though he had never known the name. Byunhee certainly didn’t have the appearance of a clean-cut individual, and he had received a total of four complaints from the parents of children at TRACK saying that he was administering medication without consent of the lead physician. But he had never been fired, and surely that was where Min Yoongi (and the others) found fault. 

“We should have been there,” Seokjin said, adding on to Hoseok’s dissatisfaction with Jimin’s presence. “I can’t believe we didn’t receive the call.”

“Yeah, but we never receive those calls,” Hoseok pointed out. “Jimin has more of a skill set for those sorts of emergencies, not us.”

“Yeah, I get that. I haven’t been cleared to go back out into the field yet, anyways. But Phantom is on the loose, and so are his little friends. There’s safety in numbers,” Seokjin argued.

“But you both said that you didn’t want to risk being called out to a confrontation where Phantom might be,” Jimin said, shaking his foot rapidly for a distraction.

“Yeah, well, that was when we were both still shaken up from the whole mind control thing,” Hoseok said. “I don’t know how the fuck you turned out totally fine. Must be a telekinetic thing.”

“He moves shit with his mind all the time,” Seokjin said supportively, and Jimin rolled his eyes.

“That doesn’t mean that mind control has no effect,” he argued, but he left it at that. This was not the time to bring up the fact that Jeongguk, after seven years, still refused to control Jimin’s mind. Jimin wasn’t even sure he could trust Seokjin and Hoseok enough to divulge all of the information that he knew. It wasn’t that they weren’t friends—quite the contrary. Seokjin and Hoseok were Jimin’s closest confidants. They helped each other find hook-ups at bars in their spare time, complained about overbearing mothers, commiserated about work. But there was a fine line between friendship and trust in their warped world, especially when it came to kinesis. There was just no telling.

“Well, I guess I’m just glad you’re not dead. But now we have one more dead man and another being held hostage,” Hoseok sighed, twisting his lips in thought. It was at that moment that the conference room door opened, and Jimin immediately rose to his feet.

“Good morning,” he said in chorus with Hoseok and Seokjin, bowing. 

“Good morning, good morning. Good to see you. Have a seat.” Jo Chansung, director of TRACK, walked in while Director Nam and a slew of agents trailed behind him. Jo Chansung was far more athletically built than Director Nam. He was broad and strapping with waves of black hair swept back off his square face and dark eyebrows that defined his expression. Jimin knew he had reading glasses that he often pulled out of his breast pocket during meetings, and he always had an earpiece in each ear. Jimin wanted to think that it was so he could receive feedback from other agents or employees, much like Jimin got from Lia, but he could never be too sure. Jo Chansung was an extrovert with a contagious laugh and a smile that convinced parents everywhere to trust him with their child. 

TRACK had been thrown together with haste almost thirty years ago after a sudden pandemic of children turned up with frightening abilities that were out of their control. Jo Chansung’s son, Joosung, had been one of those children. 

Joosung, a soft-spoken and sweet telekinetic, had attended the facility at Chansung’s discretion in hopes of providing him with some guidance. At the time, Chansung had decided to give up his life as a businessman to become a supervisor at TRACK in hopes of being closer to his son. But when Joosung was nine-years-old, a group of young adults with kinetic abilities, recent TRACK graduates, broke into the Jo home during the Christmas holiday, and young Joosung had tried to defend his parents and his home. The intruders had rained hell on him, and Joosung had died in the incident.

Chansung had become director of TRACK that year after a terrible tragedy, which made him a legend of sorts. A grieving father assuming the “throne” to revitalize TRACK and turn it into a leading example, a shining beacon of hope for the kinetic population—that was the kind of story that touched hearts.

But now Jeongguk wanted Chansung dead. And Jimin had to wonder why.

“Terribly sorry for the delay in our meeting,” Chansung said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down at the head of the table. “Business. I know you’ll understand.”

“We’re happy to meet with you,” Hoseok said, bowing his head.

“We don’t get much face-to-face time with you,” Seokjin said with a small smile.

“I’m a busy man,” Chansung said jovially. “Now. Let’s cut straight to the point. You were briefed weeks ago about a very dangerous man who has been assigned the alias ‘Phantom.’ And to the best of my understanding, you’ve all come face-to-face with him. I’ve read the briefing reports from that encounter. My biggest and frankly only concern is that TRACK has no record of a trainee with such abilities.”

“Jimin thinks that he wiped himself from the records,” Hoseok chimed in immediately. “Which, given his abilities, makes sense. It would have been easy.”

“Mm. I see. Which of you saw him up close?” Chansung asked, and Jimin raised his hand halfway. “What’s your best estimate of age?”

“Early to mid-twenties,” Jimin said vaguely. 

“Which makes him a peer in your age bracket,” Chansung stated. “And not one of you has any memory of a man with such skills?”

Jimin shook his head, stewing in his lies as Chansung sighed. Not even the director of TRACK was immune, he thought. Jeongguk really did a number on everyone. Even Jo Chansung can’t remember.

“Recently…” Chansung turned his chair to rest one elbow on the table as he stroked his goatee with a few fingers. “Well, in the past ten or so years, I should say. I’ve been taking precautionary measures to protect myself and my staff from the harmful effects of kinesis. That’s not to say that kinesis is a danger. Quite the opposite. The measures are to protect us from those who choose to use kinesis for harm and not for good. Who play with free will. Who have little concern for human life. Our tireless research has brought us to a good point where we feel that we’ve protected ourselves from potential harm. We’ve built up our defenses. So this is, to say the least, concerning.”

“Is there a way to protect yourself from it?” Seokjin wondered. “From mind control?”

“He can do it remotely without ever meeting you,” Jimin said mostly to himself, but then he looked up. “The entire prison was under his control. It’s clear that there’s no way to protect ourselves from it.”

“Ah, you might be wrong,” Chansung said, holding up a finger. “In my research, I’ve found that mind control and manipulation and hypnosis like what we’re seeing is because the victim has not a leg to stand on. Their minds are weak, easy to invade and manipulate. That’s not to say that you are weak.” He gestured to the trio. “The issue is that this is a new problem, and we haven’t implemented the proper training. If we can teach people how to fight mind control, provide them with the strategies and skills, then we have a way to protect ourselves.”

“I don’t think it would matter much if we’re dealing with someone with omnikinesis,” Hoseok said, frowning. Chansung chuckled.

“Now, now. Omnikinesis is just not realistic,” he said, sounding amused. “The genetic mutations of kinesis that we’ve studied since their birth thirty or so odd years ago simply don’t allow for such things. At best, this man is telekinetic and working without restrictions at a level of mastership. He’s learned how to manipulate things with his mind down to the last molecule. And we’ve seen that he has a small team in place, one of each—pyrokinesis, hydrokinesis, electrokinesis. He’s only missing you, Hoseok-ssi. But he’s surrounded himself with people who have powers that he likely does not.”

That’s not true. That’s the furthest thing from reality. If only you knew. Jimin closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the way that Jeongguk used to secretly fill Jimin’s water bottle up in class, how he used to shock the class bully and pretend it was just static, how he would ask flowers to grow in the garden and they would.

“But it breaks my heart.” Chansung sighed with a small frown and a tiny shake of his head. “That this young man is wreaking such havoc on the world and targeting TRACK. We’re working tirelessly every day to guide children and set them on the right path. It’s a shame. I regret that I have no memory of him, and that he must be experiencing such pain. Forgive me, but I do wish that kinesis was not a trait passed down to innocent children. If only we knew where this mutation came from. Perhaps my son would still be here. Perhaps many people would still be here.”

“Just tell us what we can do to help,” Seokjin quietly requested. Chansung sat in silence for a moment, and then he looked up at his trio of heroes, three young men he had met as boys at TRACK. Jimin could still remember the starstruck feeling in the air in the classrooms whenever Director Jo came to see them before the exit examination began to say “fighting!” and encourage them.

“I commend you three,” he said. “You exemplify all the best characteristics of what it means to be kinetic in our society today. The kids at TRACK idolize all of you. They aspire to be like you.”

“Thank you. We’ll work hard,” Jimin said at the same time as Hoseok and Seokjin, all three of them bowing their heads again.

“Even if I am working from the shadows, we must work together,” Chansung declared. “To stop Phantom in whatever way possible. We can save a lot of lives if we can find him and subdue him and show him the damage that he is doing. Every man has a weakness. It’s up to us to find Phantom’s weakness and exploit it without bringing harm to anyone. One man cannot have that much power. It upsets the balance greatly. It gives the wrong idea to our children.”

“Will, uh… will you implement training?” Hoseok carefully asked. “At TRACK? For the kids?”

“The research center and I will work together to create a training program to introduce quickly,” Chansung replied. “And then yes, there will be training. But first, we must work on ways to identify this man. Once we can identify him, perhaps we can make some progress. We need to talk to him. Capture him without creating a scene. Study him so that we can understand him. ‘Control over chaos,’ as I always say. And after reading through the report of the jailbreak and prison fiasco, it seems that you all managed to escape relatively unharmed. That’s a good sign.”

“He is targeting TRACK, though. So we have to be careful,” Jimin stated, thinking nothing of it. Chansung glanced over, raising his eyebrows in interest. Chansung had shaken Jimin’s hand countless times with pride, expressing how much Jimin meant to him and how he was the best possible example for children. An anomaly who suppressed it. The face of picture perfect kinesis control, in his opinion.

“You know for sure?”

“He told me,” Jimin said, and Chansung leaned in.

“You spoke with him?”

“In the middle of fighting him, yes,” Jimin replied. “He… talked a little bit to me.”

“Good. That’s excellent. That’s a bond we can exploit, no matter how small. You’re our go-to guy, then,” Chansung said, patting his hand on the table a few times. “This is an opportunity, Jimin-ssi. If he’s comfortable enough to speak with you, then use that. Get him to talk. Pursue it, in fact, as long as it’s safe. You may just be the key to all this. I’m counting on you.”

“Yes, okay. I’ll work hard,” Jimin promised with another bow. It appeared that Chansung had something else to say, but there was a loud knock on the door, and silence reigned. The door flew open, and a frazzled agent appeared, eyes shining with concern, slightly breathless. He stopped rigidly and bowed to everyone in the room as Director Nam stood up, drawing himself to full height in preparation to surely scold the agent for interrupting a classified and confidential meeting.

“I deeply apologize for the interruption.” He bowed again. “It’s urgent.”

“Then spit it out,” Director Nam snapped.

“Choi Kyunghyun is dead,” the agent said in a strangled voice, and Jimin stood up with his palms pressed to the surface of the table as Director Nam took a few steps towards the door.

“Was it him?” Chansung barked. “Was it Phantom? Did he murder Choi Kyunghyun?”

“I don’t know,” the agent admitted, and then he swallowed heavily. “The doctor on duty strangled Choi Kyunghyun to death and… and carried him outside. We… We found him sitting on a park bench. Dead.”

“Send a team.” Director Nam gestured to Seokjin. “Flare, go with them.”

“Yes, Director Nam,” Seokjin said, bowing and then briskly walking out of the room as the agent bowed as well and ran off to gather a team.

“That doesn’t bode well for Im Byunhee,” Jimin said into the silence, and all eyes turned to him. “If Choi Kyunghyun was kept alive for that long and we couldn’t stop his death, then Im Byunhee doesn’t stand a chance.”

Chatter broke out. Jo Chansung hastily gathered his team and left the building without so much as a goodbye. Director Nam rushed out to take care of business, calling after Chansung. The conference room emptied until it was just Jimin and Hoseok. They stared at one another, and then Hoseok’s eyes flicked to the open door.

“Do you ever get the feeling that there’s more going on here than they’re telling us?” he asked. With his lips pressed together, Jimin ran his tongue along his top teeth.

“I’m starting to think that we know nothing.”

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
17:13 PM

“There’s something I need you to do.”

Startled at the informal nature of it all, Jimin hastily shoved his desk chair back and stood up to bow as Director Nam appeared in his doorway. Seeming to understand that his actions were a bit unexpected, Director Nam exhaled deeply, nodded his head once, and stepped into Jimin’s office.

“I’m just working on the report from the building fire,” Jimin said, beckoning to his computer. “Making sure I’m thorough. Adding this count of arson and murder to Min Yoongi’s record.”

“Good.” Director Nam cleared his throat quietly. “There’s something I need you to do,” he repeated.

“Yes?”

“Tonight at SEOUL Forest,” he began, sitting down in a chair across from Jimin’s desk but already looking as if he was ready to stand up and walk away. He was tense, the energy radiating off him far more anxious than Jimin was used to on a normal day. “A park bench is being dedicated to the memory of Lee Yongsun. If you recall, she was a pioneer in the education field for children with kinesis.”

“She wrote two of our textbooks,” Jimin murmured. “A woman who wasn’t kinetic ended up writing textbooks about controlling our abilities. Always thought that was fascinating.”

“Well, like her or not, she’s receiving a bench in the park,” Director Nam said. “The superintendent of police will be making the dedication. They’re expecting a few dozen people and the media to be there. Positive publicity, given the mayhem that’s been happening lately.”

“And you think it’s a trap.”

“I think it’s a prime target,” Director Nam confirmed. “I want you there. The dedication is at sunset, which is around nineteen hundred hours. Keep an eye on it.”

“Got it.”

Director Nam nodded curtly, gripping the doorframe on his way out of Jimin’s office and leaving the door open. Jimin glanced back at his computer screen, where he had a split screen with Min Yoongi’s digital case file alongside his report, which was nearly eight pages long now. Truly, he was just using the report as a way to numb his mind and distract himself from feeling the urge to ask questions, knowing that the answers would come at a high price.

Jimin liked the status quo. He was okay with the status quo. Blissful ignorance suited him, mostly because it gave him a place in society. Being the anomaly he was or pushing back against authority made him an immediate outcast. If he dared to ask too many questions, the good he had done for Seoul would be immediately forgotten, cancelled out, washed away. He was in a constant precarious position, his livelihood always on the line. Being the hero who followed the rules earned him consistent praise, respect from his peers and the community. If he deviated, he lost all of that in a heartbeat.

Jeongguk returning to his life in such a jarring and sudden fashion put Jimin in a difficult position. Not only was he the sole person who remembered Jeongguk’s past, but he was the one person who Jeongguk chose not to control. As teenagers, Jeongguk was constantly asking Jimin to bend the rules just a little, and Jimin always obliged, as long as no one found out. But now they were on a bigger stage with spotlights everywhere. Now, if Jimin bent the rules, people knew. Now, Jimin had a thousand questions, and Jeongguk seemed to have answers.

If Jeongguk had just slipped back into Jimin’s life without the added bonuses of murder and psychological torture, Jimin wouldn’t have thought twice. But Jeongguk was the polar opposite of everything Jimin stood for, and Jimin wasn’t sure if having conversations with him for Jo Chansung’s benefit was a smart move. It was the correct one, but it still set off alarm bells in Jimin’s head, and he hated it.

Neither Hoseok nor Seokjin were in the office today, and Jimin hadn’t questioned why. He glimpsed at his office door until it closed and locked, and then opened the closet and pulled out his uniform. It felt silly sometimes, thinking that he had some kind of superhero getup, but if Jimin just showed up wearing regular street clothes, his body would end up in shambles. So he shimmied out of his work clothes, hung them up, and stepped into his jumpsuit. He glanced in the small mirror inside the closet and used a few fingers to tame some of his red hair. Then he slipped the face mask on, grabbed his boots, stepped into them, and snapped on the utility belt.

“Gun,” he murmured to himself before he departed from his office, even though he felt like a firearm would be futile if Jeongguk was there. Firearms tended to be useless when up against fellow kinetics, but in a life-or-death situation, it was useful to be able to point a gun to someone’s head, even more useful to be able to threaten that he could pull the trigger without so much as touching the gun at all.

“Hey.”

With her fingers still on the keyboard, Lia turned her chair just enough to stare at Jimin with one eyebrow raised. She turned back to her computer, long high ponytail swinging, and then she inhaled with a snorting sound of annoyance when her keyboard flew off her desk and into Jimin’s hand.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she complained, but she still spun her chair around and bowed to Jimin politely. “What is it?” Her brow furrowed. “Why are you in uniform? Where’s the fight?”

“SEOUL Forest,” Jimin replied, and then he let go of the keyboard and sent it slowly across the open space back to Lia. She snatched it with both hands from its levitating position and set it back onto her desk with a clatter.

“On whose authority?”

“Director Nam.”

“What’s the issue?” 

“A park bench is being dedicated to Lee Yongsun tonight,” Jimin said, seeing a flicker of recognition in Lia’s eyes. “By the police superintendent.”

“Oh, good. Prime target,” Lia said casually, and Jimin snickered as she rolled her eyes. Her office was in a secluded corner on level eight and she worked by herself (at her request—“If I’m going to help Phoenix, you need to give me my own space”), and Jimin didn’t often visit her face-to-face, so sometimes it was nice to hear her voice and watch her physically speak.

“That’s what Director Nam thinks, too. So I’m going. Will you be on stand-by?” Jimin asked. Lia spun her chair back around, but Jimin didn’t miss the little grin of pride on her face before her back was turned.

“I guess I can do that.”

“You’re an angel,” Jimin stated, knowing that Lia liked the praise.

“I know,” she replied airily, and Jimin smiled, leaving her office and closing the door behind him as he slipped his earpiece in. He stepped into the elevator, and not even a minute later— “What do you think I should order for dinner, since I have to stay behind for your dumb ass?”

“The lack of respect, I swear,” Jimin sighed, and he heard Lia laughing. 

“You know, normally I do well to respect my elders, but you’ve made it way too easy,” she said, which was true. She had treated Jimin with the utmost and purest respect when she had first started working in tandem with him, but Jimin had quickly demanded that she cut the shit and speak to him like an equal, because when he was out in the field, he didn’t have time for formalities.

Though it wasn’t his favorite, Jimin had a spare motorcycle at the NIS locked up in the garage, so he grabbed his helmet and hopped on, watching as the agents in the garage clarified that Jimin was leaving the building. Revving his engine, Jimin held up a hand to wave, and then he sped out onto the narrow driveway and into the streets, weaving right between two cars and checking the directions Lia had sent. The arrow pointed him onward, so he picked up speed, knowing by instinct that he could speed through the red light without being blindsided by perpendicular traffic.

SEOUL Forest
Seongsu-dong il-ga, Seongdong-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
18:57 PM

It was a relatively short trip to the forest, but when Jimin pulled up, he could already see where the small crowd was gathering near the lake. He parked in the grass, forgoing any search for a legitimate parking space in the interest of time. He didn’t want to make a scene or alert the attendees that he was present, so he kept his distance and stood quietly beneath a tree.

“Leo to Phoenix. Anything?” Lia asked curiously.

“I just got here. They have balloons,” Jimin commented, hearing Lia snicker. “I mean, nothing out of the ordinary so far. I’ll just wait it out.”

“Is there cake? Bring me a piece.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, holding back the laugh he wanted to let out as he gazed onto the scene before him. Happy faces, plenty of chatter, no cause for alarm. But that, of course, led Jimin to believe the exact opposite. It felt more akin to a ticking time bomb than anything else.

Lee Yongsun’s family was present, seeing as she had passed away ten years ago just shy of her eighty-fifth birthday. Her son and his wife and daughter were there near the bench, and the media were already swarming. And Jimin knew, just from his research, that the superintendent supported TRACK.

“Phoenix to Leo. Tell me more about the superintendent.”

“Ah, yes. Park Dongseok. He’s quite interesting,” Lia said right away. “Just a regular man who divorced his wife so that he could date a pretty young thing with hydrokinesis. You can imagine that their relationship is based on everything but love.”

“Is he dating her for the power or is he dating her to protect himself?” Jimin asked. “Or does he just need somewhere wet to stick his dick?”

Lia snorted with laughter. “If I say all of the above, would it surprise you?”

“Not at all.” Jimin kept his eyes on Park Dongseok, who was dressed formally and laughing with some colleagues, ready to begin the ceremony at any moment. “I’m sure dating that woman just gives him an ‘in’ with the kinesis community, so to speak.”

“Undoubtedly. He’s a bit of a snake. Aren’t they all?”

“All the more reason for some unexpected guests to show up,” Jimin murmured. “Phoenix out.”

There was some applause, and then Jimin watched from his perch under a tree as the ceremony began, quiet and unnoticed. There was no need to draw attention to himself unless it became necessary. He watched as Dongseok unveiled the bench, pulling the pristine white draping away as his audience applauded again and the media collected their pictures.

Jimin whipped his head to the left, sure that he was hallucinating, but the flash of lightning across the sky had been unmistakable. He waited, holding his breath until he saw another flash closer to the park. The moment that he saw small ripples begin to form in the placid lake, Jimin leapt away from the tree and took off running towards the crowd, unperturbed by the interruption he was about to cause in the middle of a seemingly moving speech. While running, he lifted the sheet that had been thrown to the side straight into the air like a white flag of surrender, and that caught everyone’s attention.

“Time to go!” he hollered. “Quickly!” he added when a sudden wind whipped through the trees, disturbing an otherwise peaceful evening. Whispers spread in a wildfire fashion, but Jimin cut through the crowds. “QUICKLY.”

His shouting seemed to do the trick. The crowd began to disperse as Jimin approached Dongseok and Lee Yongsun’s family, who looked only mildly alarmed and more confused than anything.

“You’re being targeted. You especially,” Jimin deduced, glancing at Dongseok. “I don’t know if there’s much I can do to protect you, but you need to leave. Now.”

Lee Yongsun’s family didn’t have to be told twice; they formed a huddle and began to migrate across the park towards the parking lot, which Jimin wanted to say was a foolish decision, but he didn’t have time. The police were converging on the scene, surely to protect Dongseok, and the wind was picking up as Jimin furrowed his brow. 

Which one of them can control the weather like this?

“Phoenix to Leo. Lightning storm in the vicinity. I’m clearing the crowd. Tell me you have something,” Jimin begged as he continued to usher the group of police protecting Dongseok towards the parking lot as well, left with very little choice.

“If you could see my radar right now,” Lia said, her tone ominous. “It just lit up like a Christmas tree. Four heat signatures and one hell of an electrical charge. Phoenix, this is dangerous. You have no back-up.”

“I don’t have much of a choice.” Jimin continued to follow the police, whipping his head around, watching as cars began to clog the exits of the parking lot. He reached forward to encourage the small group to hustle, but they were all pummeled to the ground like bowling pins by a sudden wave of water. Jimin coughed and rolled, leaping to his feet while pushing back his wet hair, and he immediately twisted one foot into the grass as he faced the nearly drained lake, watching as water began to pull upwards from the soaked ground, as water droplets began to fly off his own suit. 

“Phoenix to Leo.” Jimin took a few ragged breaths. “Maelstrom is here.”

[what’s up danger] :: blackway, black caviar

He was here in a subtle yet grandiose fashion, a peculiar juxtaposition that startled Jimin. Kim Namjoon was sitting on a park bench across the lake with one leg crossed over the other, an elbow dangling off the armrest, one hand up with his fingers curling towards him as he controlled the water. Hair the color of the ocean, dressed in a black turtleneck and black pants that had patches on them to protect his knees. He was wearing glasses, which Jimin found odd for a fight, but given his casual disposition, it suited him. He caught Jimin’s eye, and with a dimpled smirk and a wink, he flicked his wrist.

“Shit,” Jimin cursed as a jetstream of water slammed one police officer square in the chest, sending him flying. Jimin threw out one hand behind him while still facing Namjoon, fixated solely on the police officer’s belt full of weapons, the most tangible object he could use to control the situation. He knew that the DKR wasn’t fond of him using clothing and wearable objects to control people, because it teetered on the brink of manipulating free will to them, but Jimin only used it in moments when there was imminent danger.

“You’ve got company,” Lia said in Jimin’s ear as Jimin struggled to keep the police officer hanging in midair before lowering him down gently to the soaked grass. Then, while running towards the enemy, Jimin lifted the bench that Namjoon was sitting on with speed and dropped it back down to the ground, displacing Namjoon immediately. Gravity did its job, but Namjoon was quick; he pulled as much water as he could in a vortex beneath his body, and the water caught him as it moved swiftly to create a surface on which he could land.

“Jesus,” Jimin breathed, but he lifted the park bench again and hurled it straight at Namjoon’s face, hoping for maximum impact. But the impact never happened. The bench suddenly incinerated, exploding and splintering into pieces as flames danced through the air and rained down onto the grass. The small fires on the grass were like a runway. Namjoon hadn’t come alone.

“Who’s on fire?” Lia demanded as Jimin made the snap decision to attempt to move the group of police officers and Dongseok quickly. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion, but in reality, only a minute had passed since the wave of water had cascaded down onto them.

“That would be Flicker,” Jimin panted.

“Oh, Christ. The whole crew is there.”

The shrieks from the parking lot caught Jimin’s attention next, and then he was blinded. Bright flashes of white hot lightning and electricity seemed to move like spiderwebs through the air and from car to car, engines cutting off everywhere, car alarms sounding. And that could only mean that Kim Taehyung was doing his worst. Jimin was now on his own to defend a hopeless group of people against three of the most dangerous men in Seoul, including an escaped convict.

“Why are you running?”

Jimin pivoted sharply, breathless, as he faced the voice taunting him. Min Yoongi was small in stature, but that didn’t diminish the terror his mere presence enforced. Hair the color of ash and blue flame hanging in his eyes, visible vertical scar over his right eye, dressed in a similar getup to Namjoon but wearing a black face mask. He swept one hand over the grass, gathering the small flames, but it grew exponentially as Jimin tried to back up. He then dove and somersaulted as a jettison of fire soared at him like a curveball.

“All you have to do is give us your little friend,” Namjoon said in his deep, deceptively soothing voice. He was on his feet again, standing right beside Yoongi across the lake from Jimin. From the parking lot, the screams grew louder.

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t go anywhere,” Yoongi suddenly said as he looked past Jimin, and the group of police officers let out cries of surprise, stumbling when a ring of fire exploded around them like a prison. Yoongi turned and glanced at Namjoon. “Be a doll and get Park Dongseok, will you?”

“Phoenix to Leo. I want you to have deniability,” Jimin said hastily.

“Looking away,” Lia immediately said in his ear. Jimin turned and ran towards the group of six locked in a ring of fire, his desperate hope being that Namjoon would aim at him instead. But it wasn’t Namjoon who aimed—it was Yoongi. Namjoon started gathering the lake water, but Yoongi was the one who drew the ring of fire higher and higher, creating a dome around the panicked group of officers, Dongseok included. The shouts were horrific; Jimin knew that the heat had to be unbearable. 

“Hold on!” Jimin shouted to them over the roar of the flames, surprised at how loud it was. Then, seeing that Yoongi was walking the perimeter of the lake on the opposite side with his eyes trained on the group, Jimin shifted his focus to Namjoon, trying his best to ignore the chaos happening in the parking lot. He was only one person. He would have to deal with things separately, as much as it killed him.

Jimin decided that the best thing to do was cheat. It wasn’t cheating, exactly. It was using his abilities to his advantage, because though he did have his limitations (controlling water or electricity or earth were not skills that he had perfected in the slightest), being telekinetic meant that his mind could control virtually any tangible thing if he worked hard enough at it. Years of training be damned. Jimin had to find shortcuts.

Yoongi was maintaining the fiery prison. The cries were growing louder. Jimin watched as the water spiraled around Namjoon’s legs in waves before he gathered it in a ball, water dripping relentlessly as he did. Jimin had no choice. He saw the bench dedicated to Lee Yongsun out of the corner of his eye, and that was what he was going to use. 

“DROP IT,” Namjoon shouted to Yoongi, and at the same time, Jimin had to duck and roll again to avoid a jet of water aimed directly at him like a harpoon being thrown. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that water couldn’t do any damage. Hydrokinetics had been known to bruise his ribs before with their power.

The ball of water unfurled like a whip. Jimin knew that it was meant to wrap around Dongseok and grab him, separate him from the group, but Jimin intervened. With as much speed and force as he could muster, he threw the park bench into the path of the water, shattering the stream, and at the same time, he lifted the splintered pieces of the bench Yoongi had incinerated and sent them hurtling at Namjoon like daggers. Water exploded through the air and rained down on the overheated group of six, who staggered to avoid a park bench landing on them.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD,” Yoongi shouted at Jimin, just barely turning the bench pieces to ash before Namjoon was impaled. One of them did, though, manage to lodge in the side of Namjoon’s thigh, and he cursed and just pulled it out, since it was a shallow wound, more like a massive splinter. It made him stumble, and that was when Jimin knew that he had pissed Yoongi off. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed, turning. “JUST RUN. GO THE OTHER WAY.”

The police officers and Dongseok didn’t have to be told twice. One of the officers took out his gun, though, aiming to shoot, but Jimin waved his arm, because he hadn’t even dared to touch his own weapon.

“Don’t! It won’t work!” he hollered, knowing full well that Yoongi would be able to use a smoking gun and a hot bullet to rain hell down upon them all. So as the group of six ran, Yoongi walked straight across the lake and over the water, because Namjoon, despite quickly tending to a wound, had created a water bridge for him. Jimin saw another flash of lightning in the parking lot, and he heard sirens wailing through the air. It felt like an eternity had passed. By best estimate, it had been only three or four minutes.

“He told us you were here.” Yoongi’s closed fists opened, and Jimin, still breathless, felt a twinge of panic when he saw flames licking Yoongi’s scarred hands. “He failed to say how fucking obnoxious you are. But given that you’re the government’s puppet, I’m not surprised.”

Jimin staggered slightly when he heard an explosion behind him that seemed to shake the entire ground beneath his feet, and he glanced over one shoulder. Two police cars likely meant to take Dongseok to safety were now in flames, black smoke pouring out, and the screams were growing louder from the parking lot.

“I don’t have time to deal with you right now,” Jimin snapped, already sidestepping towards the parking lot. “You’re just a distraction.”

“Ouch.” Yoongi’s laugh was humorless. “Well, I don’t have time to monologue like a supervillain, so I’ll make this easy.”

Jimin saw his life flash before his eyes for a moment as the flames between Yoongi’s hand met to create something far larger, Yoongi’s face illuminated by the fire. He drew one hand back as if he was pulling the string of a bow, ready to shoot an arrow, the fire lengthening into something that looked far worse than what Jimin cared to imagine. Ducking or running wouldn’t help. 

“Leo to Phoenix, you have—”

Jimin barely heard Lia’s words. Her voice became background noise as the flames hurtled towards him at top speed. Jimin anchored his feet into the ground, every muscle in his body tightening as he braced for the pain of being burned, turning his head away to avoid injury to his face, ready to drop and roll to douse the flames, holding one arm up to shield his face.

He could feel the heat. He could hear the crackling of the fire. But he wasn’t feeling pain. Jimin dared to turn his head, eyes slightly narrowed, and he stared at the massive tangled ball of fire that seemed to have hit a wall just centimeters from his face. Jimin stared at it, his fingers tingling, his brain on fire like he had never felt before, and then a massive stream of water doused the fireball and splashed all over Jimin.

“We don’t have time for this shit,” Namjoon cursed loudly. “Stop playing. Get the goddamn superintendent and let’s go.”

But Yoongi was standing across from Jimin, arms hanging as flames danced between his fingers gracefully, as Jimin’s chest heaved from adrenaline.

“How the hell did you—?”

He didn’t finish his sentence. The ground underneath Yoongi’s feet suddenly split, and he stumbled and began to fall with nothing to stand on. It was Namjoon who lunged and sent a stream of water soaring down where the ground had cracked, lifting Yoongi and tossing him to the side. Jimin whipped his head to the left.

“Fucking hothead,” Hoseok cursed as he jogged up to Jimin, shaking his head. Then he grinned. “You didn’t think we’d let you do this alone, right?”

“Exactly how wet is this moron? I’m going to electrocute him.” Seokjin came from the other direction, but then he looked past Jimin to the pandemonium in the parking lot. “Shit. He’s here too, isn’t he?”

“I got the police officers and Dongseok into a DKR vehicle,” Hoseok said quickly.

“Let me slow him down,” Seokjin said, sounding far too confident for someone who had been at Kim Taehyung’s mercy weeks ago. He ran off towards the parking lot, and it was Namjoon who swirled a stream of water in a figure eight pattern around his head and hurled it at Seokjin to slow him down. Seokjin, while running, grabbed the electricity running through one of the streetlights and sent it down across his body in a slashing motion before shooting it forward and through the stream of water. Namjoon yanked his hand away and rolled, water raining down onto the grass as he narrowly avoided being electrocuted.

“I’ll hold these two off. Go check on Dongseok. You saw what happened,” Hoseok said.

“There’s no way you can hold them both off,” Jimin argued, but Hoseok laughed breathily.

“I can work with the elements,” he replied. “I can fuck with them more than they can fuck with me. Trust me. Go.”

Jimin didn’t ask twice. He turned and took off running to where Hoseok was pointing. 

“Phoenix to Leo,” he panted as he ran. “Do I have you to thank for the backup?”

“I thought they were going to throw Director Nam out the window for letting you go out by yourself with these crazies on the loose,” Lia replied. “They left as soon as I sent them the alert. Flare shouldn’t be out. He’s not cleared. But he insisted.”

“Shit. I’m going to find the superintendent,” Jimin said, heading towards the road, his eyes locked on the line of cars that looked familiar to him. He froze, though, when he saw what was going on in the parking lot. There was Taehyung, wearing a long black coat and an all-black outfit, hair tied back at the nape of his neck, eyes electric white even from a distance. He was standing on the roof of a car and moving like he was conducting an orchestra, hopping from parked car to parked car while laughing, because Seokjin was onto him now. 

Jimin took one glance at the government vehicles and abandoned them, because if Seokjin wasn’t supposed to even be out in the field, then he was in danger. Jimin flicked one hand, and the car that Taehyung was standing on soared up into the air. Taehyung went flying, but he didn’t work without limitations for nothing. Electricity crackled all around him, zapped from the streetlights, and the hood of a car ripped right from an idling Hyundai waiting to escape, cradling Taehyung before he hit the ground hard, a pool of electricity underneath the hood of the car to keep it stable.

“Holy shit,” Jimin breathed. Without hesitation, he ripped the hood of the car away, and Taehyung dropped to the ground on his feet, catching Jimin’s eye. His smirk meant nothing but doom for Jimin as he drew power from an electric car in the parking lot.

“FLARE, GET PEOPLE MOVING,” Jimin shouted. He saw Seokjin try to shout, but Jimin focused only on the fact that thunder was rumbling directly overhead, and streaks of electrical currents were soaring upward towards the sky. Jimin had half a mind to grab a car and bring it towards him just for a shield, but he didn’t have time. He was closing in on Taehyung and Seokjin now, and if he could move fast enough—

Seokjin leapt from the roof of the car. He dove and grabbed Jimin around the waist and threw him hard to the ground, and then Jimin heard a grunt. Frantic, he scrambled and picked himself up, only to see Seokjin gritting his teeth and using both hands to hold and control the lightning strike that Taehyung had just sent down.

“I’m getting fired for this,” Seokjin choked out with all his effort, and then he hurled the electricity right at a car beside Taehyung. The car damn near exploded, sending Taehyung flying and forcing him to retreat against his will. Seokjin collapsed into a crouching position, panting. “Jimin, go. Go, you have to go look out for the superintendent and the police. You’ve done enough. Go, hurry. I can hold him off until you take them to safety.”

“They haven’t left,” Jimin noticed, and then he gripped Seokjin’s shoulder and took off running yet again, feeling frazzled and pulled in all different directions. The cars were still parked at the curb, which was too peculiar to go unnoticed. They should have already left. Jimin pressed his finger to his ear. “Phoenix to Leo.”

“I’m here.”

“You said four heat signatures.” Jimin whipped his head to the left, where Hoseok was still fighting Yoongi and Namjoon, the ground nearly demolished like there had been an earthquake, the lake dredged again and again, two trees on fire.

“Meaning what?”

“When you said I had incoming. You said your radar showed four heat signatures,” Jimin said. “Maelstrom, Flicker, Shock. They’re here.”

“There was a fourth.”

Jimin slowed down to a jog, and then he stopped dead in his tracks, chest heaving as he stared at the DKR government car that was still immobile. Keeping his distance, he quietly stared at the car door, and it swung open, never having been locked. That was the first red flag. He took two more steps, and then he paused.

“Go dark,” he said quietly. “Leo, go dark. Disconnect from me.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

Jimin heard Lia cursing in his ear, but then she went silent. The car was full—a driver and six passengers. But the driver was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, staring straight ahead, unmoving. The police officer in the passenger seat was staring out the front windshield, one hand in his lap, the other hand holding his gun with the barrel pressed underneath his chin. Two officers sitting in the middle seats were sitting with their hands folded in their laps. And in the backseat, Park Dongseok was wedged between the last two police officers, holding a gun underneath his chin as well.

“Stop hiding.” Jimin spoke quietly, almost whispering. “Don’t be a coward. Come out and talk to me.”

“Shouldn’t I just pull the triggers?”

The world seemed to quiet like a vacuum around Jimin, and even though he didn’t move, he turned his head. Hoseok was crouching down, unmoving. Namjoon and Yoongi were side-by-side, and neither of them were fighting back. The parking lot was quiet. The screaming had stopped. In the distance, there were still sirens. 

“What good would that do?” Jimin asked, turning back as Jeon Jeongguk walked around the hood of the car and then leaned his lower back against it, propping himself up, slipping his hands in the pockets of his pants. His long black hair was pulled into a messy knot, and he had the black face mask on still. This time, he was wearing an all-black casual suit, the black shirt halfway unbuttoned.

“Ticks one off the list,” Jeongguk replied.

“I see you sent your friends out to do your dirty work. Do you have a job interview with that outfit?” Jimin goaded, standing his ground and trying not to think about how Jeongguk had an entire park of people under his control, the chaos turning into nothing more than a cacophony of eerie silence.

“No. Just a job to do,” Jeongguk replied casually. “And you’re in my way again. So tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“I have an entire utility belt full of weapons.” Jimin gestured, egging Jeongguk on. He has to be tempted to control me. Why is he leaving me untouched again? “Take your pick.”

“Boring.” Jeongguk swiftly tilted his head to crack his neck. “Are you going to try to fight me?”

“Why would I?” Jimin blinked. “There’s nothing I could do to beat you. I feel like you’ve made that abundantly clear. Get out of my friends’ heads.”

“No.”

“You traumatized them last time.”

“I don’t give a damn about your friends,” Jeongguk answered, and then he pushed off the hood of the car and draped one elbow over the top of the open car door, peering in. His dark eyes flicked over to Jimin. “Park Dongseok is an absolute snake who throws his money at women half his age who can pour water into his vodka using their minds. Or light his cigarette. He frequents the underground clubs hunting for people like us. Gets off on it.”

“So that means he deserves to die?”

“Well.” Jeongguk straightened up and turned to Jimin. “I thought maybe he would be useful, seeing as he fucks women who know a little too much. Figured being the superintendent would mean that he knew things that I needed to know. But he’s useless.”

“And Im Byunhee?” Jimin asked, and Jeongguk’s shoulders shook as Jimin pictured the smirk underneath his mask.

“I’m letting someone else enjoy his company,” Jeongguk replied, clearly referring to Yoongi. Jimin could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Speaking to Jeongguk like this after seven years, seeing the way that the world had chewed him up and spat him back out with no mercy, seeing him so calm without his abilities as a shield—all of it was bizarre. The world around them had all but frozen like a supercut in slow motion out of a romance movie with a heavy dose of horror. 

“You can do anything you want,” Jimin said, his tone hushed. “Everyone is at your mercy. The power imbalance is just—you have to know that by now. So why are you dragging it out? Why not just gather up everyone you need and kill them all in one go? Why prolong the suffering?”

“Several reasons.” Jeongguk slipped his hands into his pockets again, but then he glanced over his right shoulder when he heard a strangled, involuntary whimper of fright from the backseat of the car. “Quiet,” he added, and Park Dongseok slid the gun up from his chin to his mouth, slipping the barrel in and clamping his teeth down on it. Jeongguk looked back to Jimin. “If I just corral everyone and kill them all at once, then nobody learns. I kill them all at once and life just continues. New people fill the empty spaces. There’s a method to my madness, believe it or not. But being on a short leash probably makes something like this difficult to understand for you.”

“What, you’re not just on a petty revenge tour?” Jimin asked with a breathy snicker.

“Not at all. That’s just an added bonus. Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered why I’ve been so quiet for seven years,” Jeongguk said, his tone taunting. “I didn’t have a reason to come out and raise hell. But now I have a few questions that I would like answers to, so here I am.”

“You have an entire government scared shitless,” Jimin admitted. “Talking about a training program to keep you out of their heads. And you have questions? You could walk into the NIS right now and get all the answers you want.”

Jeongguk slowly cocked his head to the side, eyes burning a hole through Jimin, and for a moment, Jimin swore Jeongguk was going to finally do it, finally rip into his mind and take what he wanted. But Jeongguk only blinked in slow motion, and then he reached up and pulled his face mask down to his chin.

“A training program,” he repeated, and Jimin stared. Seeing Jeongguk’s face now without any obstruction was startling after so many years. Despite being maddeningly dangerous and, without a doubt, the enemy, he was still just as handsome as he had been at sixteen, but in a different way. I hate what he’s become. I hate it. I hate that he wants to watch the world burn.

“To keep you out of their heads,” Jimin said snappishly, and he pulled his face mask down as well. “Not that it would matter much. You have a double whammy. Mind control and omnikinesis. So if you can’t control their minds, why not just force them to jump off a bridge?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Jumping off a bridge is predictable,” Jeongguk replied stoically, and Jimin scoffed, shaking his head. “You know how much training it would take to keep me out of their heads? Tell them ‘good luck.’ Although I have a feeling that a few of them have succeeded.”

“What?” Jimin raised his eyebrows, and he watched as Jeongguk glanced past him to where the fight was nothing more than a momentary memory, all participants still standing still at his command.

“I’ve perfected the art of remote mind control.” Jeongguk smirked. “Makes life easy. But there are a few people… I have to see them in person. I have to look in their eyes to get access to their mind because somehow, they’ve found a way to block me. And guess who one of those people is?”

“Jo Chansung,” Jimin guessed immediately.

“The very man whose mind I need most. So…” Jeongguk took a glimpse over his shoulder again at Park Dongseok. “I’m using other means to get the information I want, because Jo fucking Chansung has decided to hide from me like a coward. So no, I won’t be doing this quickly. I’m going to drag it out and make sure everyone who ever turned a blind eye to all the kids who suffered at TRACK pay for what they did. I want them to live in fear, Jo Chansung included.”

“Consider first that he blocked you out because he knows you’re dangerous,” Jimin offered, and Jeongguk snickered.

“Right. Sure. Do you bring him lunch on Wednesdays?” he asked spitefully. Then he sighed. “I see you haven’t bothered to wake up.”

“You said you’d kill me if I got in your way again. This seems a lot like my second warning,” Jimin fired back.

“You’re not a threat,” Jeongguk replied airily, but a strange shiver fluttered down Jimin’s spine, as if instinct was telling him that Jeongguk was lying. “But you are an anomaly. Do you need to be reminded of that?”

“Shut up.”

“Deny, deny, deny. You’re just as predictable as jumping off a bridge,” Jeongguk complained. 

“Why are you even entertaining this?” Jimin asked, exasperated. “This conversation. I’m quite literally the enemy. I’m not going to stop. I’m going to do whatever it takes to stop you.”

“Yeah, you’re the enemy. And you suddenly meddling in all my shit pisses me the fuck off.” Jeongguk eyed Jimin up and down with distaste. “I hate what they’ve turned you into. What you’ve become. The government made you their pet. You’re useless. All that power, and for what? Not that you have to take over the world, but Christ. You’re absolutely blind.”

“Come up with better insults,” Jimin fired back. “You’ve called me a dog and a pet and a puppet, and it’s getting old already. Up the insult game or shut up.” 

“I’ll come up with better insults when you hop off Jo Chansung’s lap,” Jeongguk snapped. “Until then, I’ll buy you a collar to wear like a good boy.”

“Didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The corners of Jeongguk’s lips twitched in another would-be smirk, but then he pulled his face mask back up. “I’ll be taking Park Dongseok now. Should I take the police officers, too? Or do you want to deal with them?”

“You’re a fucking monster,” Jimin spat out, and Jeongguk snickered, crooking a finger through the open door. Park Dongseok lowered the gun and unbuckled his seatbelt quietly, and then he got out of the car and stood right by Jeongguk’s side, his eyes wide and dazed like he was paralyzed with fear.

“I’m only a monster to you because you’re still not asking the right questions,” Jeongguk replied. “I’d bet my fucking life that once you start doing that, you won’t think I’m such a monster. ‘Why are you telling me all of this?’” Jeongguk mocked Jimin in a high-pitched voice. “Because you listen, whether you hate it or not. So get off your ass and ask the right questions so you don’t think that I’m just on a murder spree.”

“So you admit that it’s a murder spree.”

“Crudely speaking.” Jeongguk patted Dongseok’s shoulder. “The police officers will have no recollection of the conversation we’ve just had. Lucky them.”

“You don’t want to wipe my memory, too?” Jimin asked.

“Why do you want me to fuck with your head so badly? Are you jealous?” Jeongguk asked, and Jimin pursed his lips. “I’m not wiping your memory. I want you to remember all of this. Ask questions. Why aren’t you even wondering in the first place? It’s all right under your nose.”

“Because I have a job.”

“Well, when you want answers, you can come find me,” Jeongguk said, and then he grabbed Dongseok’s arm. “Let’s go, buddy. Have fun with the clean-up, Phoenix. Should I leave my friends here for you?”

“Take them,” Jimin snapped.

“Mm. They’ll be disappointed.” Jeongguk clicked his tongue, and suddenly, the world around Jimin exploded into chaos again. Sirens began to blare, people began to cry out. Jimin whipped around and saw Hoseok sprinting towards him, since Yoongi and Namjoon were retreating without another shot fired. Jimin heard Seokjin yelling his name, confused.

“What—” Jimin choked on his next words when he turned back around. The police officers in the car were all frantic, unbuckling and hyperventilating, clutching their heads. And Jeongguk, with Park Dongseok in tow, was speeding away on a motorcycle.

“HEY. HEY!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Phoenix to Leo,” Jimin said shakily, watching Hoseok run. “Come on, I know you’re still there.”

“I’m here, I’m here. What the fuck was that?” Lia snapped. “What happened?”

“Send everyone. Paramedics, back-up. Clean-up crew. Everything you’ve got,” Jimin commanded as Hoseok finally approached.

“Copy. Hang tight.”

“He was here,” Hoseok said breathlessly, his face pale. “I saw him. He was talking to you. He was right there.”

“Are you hurt?” Jimin asked briskly, and Hoseok shook his head, confused.

“No, I’m not—what the fuck is going on? They just walked away,” he said, gesturing to where Namjoon and Yoongi had once been standing. “I had to stare at them for… shit, ten minutes? I had them right where I wanted them before Phantom took control.”

“Yah!”

“Are you okay?” Jimin asked, brushing past Hoseok to attend to Seokjin as Hoseok bent into the car to calm down the police officers and ask a few questions.

“I’m fine. Definitely need some medical attention,” Seokjin said, wincing slightly. “That lightning strike I took for you was massive. I’m going back to the parking lot to help people. Shock is gone. Kim Taehyung. He just vanished.”

“They all did,” Jimin murmured.

“I saw you.” Seokjin vaguely gestured. “With Phantom. I saw him taking Park Dongseok. Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Would you like to try stopping him?” Jimin asked, raising his eyebrows. Seokjin sighed.

“Point made. Send medics to the parking lot,” he said, and then he took off in a slow jog despite his poor condition. Jimin laced his fingers and rested his hands on the crown of his head, blowing out a breath, his mind racing, the headache growing stronger.

It’s all right under your nose.

Jimin was about to pry for answers to questions that weren’t supposed to be asked. He was about to question authority and question his very livelihood, all at the suggestion of the man who had once made flowers bloom in the courtyard garden at TRACK at Jimin’s command.

Why aren’t you even wondering in the first place?

Because he had never wanted to wonder. Jimin had let his anger fuel his desire to ask questions for a fleeting moment in his last encounter with Jeongguk, but that had died quickly. Now the idea was rooted deeply into his mind, and it wasn’t because Jeongguk had forced it there. 

It was because Jimin himself had planted the seed. And the weeds were about to grow at a rapid rate.

Chapter Text

:: :: ::

PART III :: THE DEVIL

TRACK Facility: Medical Wing Exam Room 7
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
10:23 AM

14 years ago

Jeongguk had stopped crying a long time ago.

At first, when taken to the medical wing for “examinations” at the tender age of six, Jeongguk had panicked and cried as a child should. The “treatments” he had endured were nothing short of torture. But he had adjusted quickly. The problem was that now, though he was still a child, he was aware that he was a child, aware of what was considered “correct” for a child to do. But he was saving his tears. There was no point. Not anymore. Tears never changed the circumstances.

He was used to this examination room. Jeongguk had convinced himself that this room was special, made specifically for him, and that somehow, the personalization made it less of an atrocity. This is where we can keep you from hurting anyone. This is where an anomaly like you belongs. This is where you will listen to us. Pull those tighter. Lock them. Make him be quiet. 

But they didn’t know. The staff at TRACK assumed that Jeongguk was something they called “omnikinetic.” That meant that Jeongguk could control anything he wanted with his mind—water, fire, earth, electricity, any object organic or inorganic. That made Jeongguk dangerous, although Jeongguk still couldn’t quite understand why. That was why he had cried so much years ago—fear. He had been convinced to be scared of himself because of how these people treated him. But he was nine now. He was learning fast. Sometimes, being Jeon Jeongguk still scared him, but he only whispered his fears to one person these days. The TRACK staff members didn’t deserve his secrets. They just treated Jeongguk like a secret.

The room had a one-way mirror. Jeongguk always faced it, though he wasn’t sure why. Nothing these people did made sense. They hurt him and then wrote letters to his parents saying he was a “delight” and learning to control his telekinesis quickly. They always forced him to face the mirror, and Jeongguk could see his own reflection. He had figured out that the adults were all on the other side, watching him like a zoo animal. Some of them had thoughts about killing Jeongguk. And Jeongguk knew that because he could hear their thoughts sometimes.

That was his own secret. 

“Stay still, please,” a pleasant voice said through the speaker system. Jeongguk tugged at the chains around his wrists that were bolted to the armrests of the chair, but he didn’t move any further. He breathed only through his nose, because the gag he had to bite down on made breathing normally quite uncomfortable. They gagged him so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue or anything. Jeongguk thought they were lying.

“Stand clear.”

No one else was in the room. Jeongguk was alone. And the electric shock delivered through his body was meant to render him helpless and keep him pliant and agreeable for whatever they chose to do next. But Jeongguk had caught on quickly. Now, he was able to filter and control the electricity that they sent through his system, though he pretended to be affected by it. His electrokinetic abilities were strengthening every time they zapped him for discipline or to treat him as a test subject. But they didn’t need to know that.

“Ah, yes. Good morning to you. Jeongguk, is it?”

Jeongguk blinked hazily, his fists uncurling as he relaxed, still breathing heavily from his small bout of acting to make it appear that he had been shocked into submission, shocked to a point where he couldn’t use his abilities to fight back. He could see himself in the mirror—black hair cut short just for his “therapy” sessions, round face with full cheeks like a nine-year-old should have. And then he glanced over to the man who had just walked into the room.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Jeongguk,” the man said with the said cheerful tone, hands in the pockets of his suit pants. He had broad shoulders and dark eyebrows, but he still looked friendly. But Jeongguk knew that appearances were deceiving. Everyone here looked friendly, and they all treated him like a lab rat behind closed doors.

“My name is Jo Chansung. I’m the director of TRACK,” he introduced himself, and then he chuckled while adding, “And my, have you given our staff quite a run for their money.”

It seems that he’s far worse than Joosung ever was. Look at his eyes. He’s hardly human.

Jeongguk blinked rapidly, pulling at his chains for a fleeting moment as the thought flitted in and out of his head. Joosung. Who was Joosung? How could a stranger think Jeongguk was hardly human just from looking at his eyes? So Jeongguk closed his eyes for just a moment, begging his mind to remain calm so that he could have control over his abilities. He had to be at peace to be a master in his own body. That was what he had decided months ago.

“I’ve stopped by today to see all the trainees participating in the exit examination. It must be so exciting for them. Do you think you’ll take the exit examination someday, Jeongguk-ah?” Chansung asked rhetorically, knowing that the gag kept Jeongguk from answering. He tutted a few times as he paced back and forth in front of Jeongguk. “Not until you learn some control. You’ve been here for four years, son. And still, the staff have to subdue you like this because you’re not listening to them. You should be focusing on telekinesis, and you’re not. I’m very disappointed.”

I must keep him scared. If he’s scared, he’ll feel powerless, just as he should. 

Chansung’s thoughts were so loud that Jeongguk almost groaned in pain. His tiny body couldn’t handle adult thoughts, but he was given them nonetheless. He wanted to cry, but Chansung wasn’t finished.

“I’m disappointed, Jeongguk-ah, because you’re not following the rules,” Chansung said with a sigh. “You know what you have to do. All of your teachers and staff members take care of you every day and try to guide you. This is not how you repay their hard work. It’s time for you to do better. I feel sad, truthfully, because I shouldn’t have to come and speak to an individual trainee like this. But you’re dangerous, son. Far too dangerous to ever be released back into society. I want you to take our exit examination, Jeongguk-ah, but I just don’t think it’s the right path for you. You’re almost ten, is that right?” Chansung tutted again, shaking his head as he continued to pace. “I know you’re young, but you’re a smart boy, aren’t you?”

Jeongguk nodded, his eyes burning. He could barely swallow. The gag was starting to choke him. His wrists were burning in pain from the constant tugging. He just wanted to get out of here, not listen to a man tell him that he was dangerous and that he would never be free of this place, this awful place.

“There’s something called power imbalance, Jeongguk-ah,” Chansung said, crouching down in front of Jeongguk as if he was a father speaking to his son. “That happens when one person or a group of people are way too powerful, and the others are too weak. We can’t have one person with too much power while everyone else is powerless. That isn’t fair at all. Do you understand? Do you agree? We have to balance things.”

What we should do is get him into TRACK Plus now. Better that he rots there. Nine must be the golden age for his kind.

“We have to take good care of you,” Chansung said soothingly, but Jeongguk wasn’t listening anymore. He had heard enough. And now he was angry.

[you should see me in a crown] :: billie eilish 

Chansung stood up and opened his mouth to continue his monologue, but his voice caught in his throat, and he froze, rooted to the spot as Jeongguk stared him down. 

Take the gag out of my mouth.

Chansung reached forward with both hands and carefully removed the gag from Jeongguk’s mouth, his back turned to the mirror, shielding Jeongguk from view. Jeongguk was so upset that he could feel his body trembling with rage, eyes watering, and Chansung crouched down again in an awkward fashion, now completely at the mercy of a nine-year-old. Jeongguk could see the alarm and fear in his eyes. But Jeongguk had latched himself onto Chansung’s mind, digging his claws in. It didn’t take much. One look in Chansung’s eyes was like unlocking the key to everything. It was hard to describe the feeling of controlling someone else’s mind, but all Jeongguk had to do was make suggestions while maintaining his cool, or by using anger to fuel his agenda.

This time, it was anger.

I’m in control now. Me. Not you. 

“I’m not going to Track Plus,” Jeongguk said hoarsely, and then he paused. He knew he didn’t have much time. The staff outside the room could hear the conversation. They were surely about to burst in, and Jeongguk hadn’t yet mastered the art of controlling the minds of those he couldn’t see, or providing hypnotic suggestions to the masses. He was still an amateur.

But he could control Jo Chansung.

“And I’m not scared of you,” he whispered. “Now go.” Hit your head on the window until it bleeds. Hurt yourself like you hurt me. 

Chansung teetered with a strangled grunt, and then he stood up and turned to face the one-way mirror. He braced both palms on the mirror, and then he leaned back and hurtled forward, smacking his head on the glass at full force. He repeated the motion again and again as Jeongguk just stared straight ahead, sending him command after command to keep going, trying not to smile but failing, staring at the glass.

He could do it. He could control adults. He could do it.

The alarm sounded. Jeongguk heard shouting, but he wasn’t going to stop until they forced him to stop. The door flew open, and even as a guard tried to get in, Jeongguk slammed the door in his face, forcing the guard to ram his shoulder into the gap with a shout. Jeongguk blinked once, and the light fixture overhead exploded, glass raining down onto the floor as the lights went out. The shouting grew more insistent. Chansung was breathing heavily now, slowing down his pace because surely the impact was painful. But Jeongguk didn’t care anymore. He didn’t want to hear another word from a man who didn’t think he was human, who thought he was nothing but dangerous.

I’ll show you dangerous.

Jeongguk knew his thoughts were not thoughts that a child should have. He was young, but his condition had forced him to grow up far too quickly. He was jaded before reaching double digits. And now, he was going to make everyone pay, one by one.

“STOP HIM! STOP HIM!”

Too many guards converged on the door. Jeongguk knew he had enough power to break free of the chains, but why? He had Chansung in the palm of his hand, and he was having fun. And perhaps Jeongguk could have come up with some more complex commands, but right now, he just wanted to do as much harm as quickly as possible. He wanted them to know.

Guards grabbed Chansung by the elbows, and Jeongguk stifled a laugh, breaking his mental commands to give the director a rest. Chansung collapsed in the guards’ arms, his forehead bruised and red and bleeding, his eyes rolling back. Jeongguk’s eyes flicked to the gag that was lying on the ground, so he threw it directly at one guard’s face, shoving it into his mouth and forcing him to stagger backwards into the wall. But there were too many people, and Jeongguk was tired. He had had his fun.

“PUT HIM DOWN, PUT HIM DOWN!”

Sedation was normal. Jeongguk had been put down so many times, waking up disoriented in his dorm room. It would never end. But now he knew that he could control a fully grown adult. Now he knew that he had just scared an entire room of TRACK employees.

I’m an anomaly. I controlled Chansung using telekinesis. I’m an anomaly. I controlled Chansung using telekinesis.

The last thing Jeongguk wanted was for the staff to catch on that he was learning how to use his mind control and manipulation and hypnotic suggestion abilities. He wanted to improve first before he ever let on that he was too powerful, just like Chansung feared. So Jeongguk frantically assessed the room as several people lunged for him, counting seven different adults. He drilled the suggestion into their minds one by one, quickly catching a glimpse of each of them before one woman grabbed his bicep firmly and shoved his sleeve up to his shoulder. Jeongguk saw flashes of red as the needle pierced his skin, and he laughed in delight.

Jiminie, wait until you hear what I can do now. You’ll think it’s so cool. I can do anything.

Red. He only saw red.

Unmarked abandoned warehouse
Jamsilbon-dong, Songpa-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
23:27 PM

present day

There was something nostalgic about holding a paper list.

Jeongguk pinched the bottom corner between two fingers and lifted the top page, eyes quickly scanning the list of names that the DKR had so kindly compiled for him. Not that it had been specifically tailored to his needs, but Jeongguk liked to pretend that it belonged to him, that they had been doing him a favor by making his life easier.

He lowered the list and rolled his head to the left. He was lying on the couch in their shared warehouse space, a place that Jeongguk had found and commandeered for rendezvous purposes if they ever all wanted to be in the same place. Namjoon and Yoongi were playing ping pong together, which Jeongguk considered miraculous, seeing as two weeks ago, Yoongi had ignited Namjoon’s paddle when Namjoon had cheated one too many times. But the two of them were inseparable—Jeongguk knew how often they fell into bed with one another, even though they constantly bickered. It was fairly obvious that they loved each other in some strange way, whatever it was.

“It’s seventy-two to sixty-eight.”

“No one asked you,” Yoongi complained as he rolled the ping pong ball in his hand. Across the table, Namjoon adjusted his baseball cap and rapped his knuckles against the paddle. And from the chin-up bar across the way, Taehyung hung upside down by his knees, shirtless, eyes trained on the game.

“Let the scorekeeper speak,” Namjoon insisted cheekily.

“I’ll burn your mouth right off your face,” Yoongi threatened, empty as usual.

“He hasn’t cheated once and you still suck ass,” Taehyung said to Yoongi, adding fuel to the almost literal fire like he always did. Yoongi didn’t even entertain the taunting, which was smart. He just served, and the game continued. Taehyung went back to doing some crunches.

Jeongguk returned to the list, rubbing his lips together. He wasn’t going to even comment on the fact that just in the next room, Park Dongseok was being held hostage. Yoongi had delivered Im Byunhee by dropping him off on the stairs of the closest police station. He was still alive, but after hearing the stories Yoongi had told about the way Byunhee had tortured him, Jeongguk had virtually obliterated Byunhee’s mind, leaving him as nothing more than a shell of the man he once was, condemned to a life of silence and stillness and the screaming of his own tormented and twisted mind.

So that means he deserves to die?

Damn Park Jimin and his sanctimonious high ground. Jeongguk’s fingers left creases in the paper as the names began to swim on the page for a moment. If only Jimin knew what he knew. If only he had the scattered puzzle pieces that Jeongguk had. Then maybe he would understand.

But Jimin had slipped up. He had given Jeongguk a tidbit of information that Jeongguk hadn’t had before, confirmation of something he had assumed months ago. When Jeongguk had come out of hiding after spending years training himself and perfecting his skills, he had done it only because of a news report he had seen. TRACK Director Jo Chansung Mourns the Death of His Son 20 Years Later. The headline had been loud, and it had triggered Jeongguk into remembering a slew of repressed thoughts.

Truthfully, he had always planned to seek revenge, no matter what the method. When he had first escaped from TRACK that fateful night seven years ago, Jeongguk had gone running straight to Kim Taehyung, because he knew that he and Taehyung were like-minded. Together, Jeongguk and Taehyung had stumbled across Yoongi and Namjoon, and the four of them had connected as a stranger group with a similar purpose—destroying TRACK. Not just kill everyone and burn it to the ground, because that was ineffective. The goal was to expose, obliterate, and reinvent a training program that was safe for children with kinesis, not an epicenter for abuse and brainwashing. Because TRACK was hopelessly corrupt, and it boiled down to Jo Chansung.

It was that headline and news report, though, that had spurred Jeongguk into action. Jo Joosung. Joosung was the son, and Jeongguk had immediately remembered being gagged and chained down as Chansung monologued all those years ago, how he had compared Jeongguk to someone named Joosung. 

Joosung had been a telekinetic, but now Jeongguk wasn’t so sure. Something was off about the entire situation, but Jeongguk hadn’t been savvy enough to dig deeper at the age of nine. But Chansung had thought about Jeongguk rotting away at TRACK Plus, which was a red flag. The TRACK Plus facility and program was supposed to be intensive training, but Jeongguk had his doubts about that now, too. Yet he couldn’t seem to find anyone who had extensive or inside knowledge about the program.

But it was the segment about Chansung working with research facilities and scientists that had piqued Jeongguk’s interest. Chansung hadn’t gone into much detail, and he had mentioned it almost in passing. But saying that he was working tirelessly with TRACK Labs to find safe and scientifically tested solutions for children with kinesis never sat right with Jeongguk.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk sighed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and then sitting up on the couch, swinging his legs until his feet were on the ground. “Hyung!”

“Yes?” Three voices responded, and Jeongguk almost felt tempted to smile. It was easy to get his friends’ attention with a single word.

“Quit fucking around and come over here,” Jeongguk said good-naturedly. Namjoon and Yoongi abandoned their ping pong game. Taehyung grabbed the bar with both hands, wiggled his legs free, and dropped to the ground. He didn’t even bother with his shirt as he walked over to the couch.

“Did you figure out what you want to do next?” Namjoon asked, crossing his toned arms.

“And which one of us is killing the cop?” Taehyung asked, flopping down in the adjacent armchair. He lazily raised his hand halfway. “I don’t really feel like it, but I’m good at it.”

“He’s useless,” Jeongguk replied, shaking his head. “I got everything I could from him. He didn’t have answers for me, nor did he have access to Jo Chansung. I’m choosing two new targets based on a gut feeling.”

“Which is what?” Yoongi wondered.

“TRACK Plus.”

“The fuck does TRACK Plus have to do with this?” Taehyung asked tiredly.

“Everything, you idiot,” Namjoon replied. “How much do you know about TRACK Plus? Exactly. People go to TRACK Plus and fucking disappear.”

“There’s a small research center in Juam-dong, Gwacheon-si in Gyeonggi-do that I want you three to destroy,” Jeongguk said, and Yoongi’s eyes lit up in anticipation as Taehyung let out a pleased snicker and Namjoon raised his eyebrows in interest. “It’s tiny, but it exists. It’s where they create training materials for TRACK Plus.”

“How’d you figure that out?” Namjoon asked.

“Choi Kyunghyun had a memory of a conversation,” Jeongguk recalled from his previous sessions with the now-deceased Kyunghyun. “Something about being told to send someone to the center in Gwacheon-si to pick up some materials for the failed trainees. So I did some digging.”

“Are we looting, or just destroying?” Taehyung wondered.

“Both,” Jeongguk confirmed. “I want you to scour the place. Whatever you think is useful, bring it back so we can look at it. Otherwise, burn the place to the ground and get rid of any witnesses.”

“And what will you be doing?” Yoongi questioned. Jeongguk held up the list and gave it a shake.

“I’ll be paying a visit to Han Hwijong,” Jeongguk replied. “He’s currently employed at TRACK as a researcher. I have questions to ask him. But I’m also looking for a link to Jo Chansung. I need to know his movements. What he’s doing. What he’s saying. Anything.”

“Yah, you know whose minds you could invade to get that kind of information? Your little bird friend and his motley crew,” Taehyung said with a chuckle. “Guarantee you they have contact with Jo Chansung. Haven’t you tried them?”

“I tried one of them at the prison that night,” Jeongguk admitted, remembering the way he had metaphorically flipped through the files in Jung Hoseok’s mind for anything about Jo Chansung, only to come up empty. Hoseok had memories of discussions with Chansung, but none of them were useful. “But it was worthless.”

“Might be worth trying again,” Yoongi said. “If they’re constantly on our asses now, then you know that Chansung has probably spoken to them.”

“He has. I know he has. But you know that other kinetics are difficult to access remotely,” Jeongguk said, waving his hand around his head. “They have a natural way of blocking me out. If anything, though, I’m sure that Chansung has just fed them lies, so if they have anything useful for me, I would be surprised.”

“Phoenix is his golden boy. Rip that fucker’s mind apart. He deserves it,” Taehyung said with a laugh. Jeongguk blinked, and Taehyung grunted and scoffed, now hanging upside down in mid-air over the armchair. “Put me down, asshole.”

“I don’t rip people’s minds apart unless I have a good reason, asshole,” Jeongguk emphasized, feeling a sudden burning rage deep in the pit of his stomach. “One of you needs to do something with Park Dongseok. I don’t care when. But on Friday, we’ll split up and see if we have company when we do. My guess is that they’ll come after you three.”

“You think he’ll be there again?” Taehyung asked, and Yoongi immediately rolled his eyes as Namjoon pretended to gag. Taehyung, though, just grinned impishly, still hanging upside down. “Oh, come on. He’s cute when he’s mad. He stopped my lightning strike. It was sexy as hell. Not many people can do that.”

“He literally wants you dead,” Yoongi said as he began to circle himself for a distraction while talking. Jeongguk flipped and lowered Taehyung back onto the armchair, and Taehyung just slouched as if nothing had happened.

“I just want to talk to him.” Taehyung said airily, staring at the ceiling. “He seems interesting. I have… memories of him. Kim, uh…”

“Kim Seokjin,” Jeongguk supplied, still staring at the list with blurred vision, because all he could think about was Jimin, and he wanted it to stop. “No killing.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Namjoon sighed as Yoongi snickered again and headed back over to the ping pong table.

“He probably wants to keep the little posse of heroes alive for as long as possible,” Yoongi said, grabbing the paddle and balancing it perfectly upright in his palm. “They’re a wealth of knowledge, those three. Imagine all the secrets Jeongguk could siphon from their brains.”

“Yah, the way they talk,” Namjoon said with a laugh. “The way the government talks, too. It’s hilarious. They act like Jeongguk is God.”

“He may as well be,” Taehyung said with a wicked grin, and then he hopped up. “I’m starving. Jeongguk-ah.”

“Are you going home?” Jeongguk asked, eyes fixed on Namjoon and Yoongi as he spoke. They all had their little apartments. Taehyung’s was a tiny studio apartment ten minutes from their rendezvous point. Namjoon and Yoongi had a shared apartment in Itaewon and they made sure that everyone knew how much they hated living together (a fucking lie). Jeongguk had his own spacious studio apartment in a quiet area of Jung-gu. And all four of them lived in peace because Jeongguk made it so.

“Yeah, feed me,” Taehyung said, grabbing his helmet so he could take his motorcycle home. He grinned with the helmet under his arm. “Please. I love you.”

“Gross,” Jeongguk muttered, but he flicked his hand, and Taehyung departed. Jeongguk then closed his eyes and sank into the couch, searching his mind until he found the man who ran the little restaurant that made the chicken that Taehyung loved so much.

Menu package option number three. Leave it at the door. The money will be there.

“Okay, what was the score?”

“I don’t know. Taehyung left.”

“I was winning.”

“Like hell you were,” Namjoon said as Jeongguk sat back up, Taehyung’s delivery order completed so that he wouldn’t have to risk being recognized and ratted out. “Jeongguk-ah! Are you playing?”

“Nah.” Jeongguk gave Namjoon a small smile and waved the two of them on, so the game continued, and Jeongguk rolled up the list into a tube and tapped it against his palm in thought. Normally, he enjoyed playing ping pong or working out. It was always funny to him, what they did in their free time. When they weren’t on a raging tirade to rid the world of problematic, abusive, hypocritical assholes, they were normal guys in their twenties who broke every law laid out by the government and occasionally played ping pong. The government who thought Jeongguk was a god of some sort, who thought that Jeongguk had too much power and needed to be subdued by any means possible.

The power imbalance is just—you have to know that by now.

Jeongguk inadvertently crushed the list in his fist, and then he tossed it aside on the couch and hopped up, jaw clenched. As he walked over to the chin-up bar to use it as a distraction, he thought only of Jimin and how much anger he felt towards a man who used to be his closest and only friend. Everyone else at TRACK had been afraid of Jeongguk. Jimin had treated him like a human being, asked him about his favorite comic book, his favorite foods. Jimin had heard all of Jeongguk’s secrets, the only one to know from day one that Jeongguk was more than telekinetic. Jimin hadn’t even questioned it back then—he had just told Jeongguk it was “really cool” and had made Jeongguk promise to not do it to him.

Jeongguk jumped up and gripped the bar, and then he crossed his ankles and began to do some slow chin-ups, watching Namjoon send a jetstream of water to catch the flying ping pong ball before it got too far out of reach. That promise Jeongguk had made was coming back to haunt him now. Jimin was coming back to haunt him in ways Jeongguk had never anticipated. He had hoped that years apart, distance, and different moral grounds would have destroyed the link between them. Jeongguk had been wrong.

He liked to think that he didn’t have any weaknesses. But now he was afraid that perhaps he had just one.

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
20:54 PM

Jimin wasn’t one for catering to the ambiance, but the rain was pouring down outside his window with distant rumbles of thunder, so it was the perfect night to do some boxing.

He had a punching bag in the corner of his bedroom that he often used just to release any pent-up frustrations or thoughts. Sometimes he taped his hands up and put his gloves on just to relieve stress. Tonight, it was both.

[painting greys] :: emmit fenn

The bag swung as Jimin used one gloved hand to steady it on the side, his other glove resting against the front as he caught his breath. His hair was damp with sweat already and his shoulders were aching, which meant that it was probably time to quit. But Jimin was nothing if not persistent. He liked to push himself to near impossible limits to prove that he could. But he also was trying desperately to clear his head, and it wasn’t working. So he circled and grabbed his water bottle, and he drank with one hand resting on his hip.

Just as Jimin had thought about how much he hated what Jeongguk had become, Jeongguk thought the very same about Jimin. It was a jarring and startling realization that they both had very different views of the current world as it stood. Jimin was, indeed, a pawn of the government and under strict regulations, but it was for his own protection. If he wasn’t a pawn, then he would have no place in the world. He would either have to completely suppress his abilities or become a world-class criminal. There weren’t many grey-area options available.

And why was Jeongguk so obsessed with getting into Jo Chansung’s mind? What questions was Jimin supposed to even ask? He hated when the people in his life danced around answers that needed to be given. Granted, it wasn’t as if Jimin was questioning the status quo. The primary issue was Jeongguk ripping through the status quo of Jimin’s life with little to no regard for Jimin’s comfort. But wasn’t that what anomalies did, after all?

I’m only a monster to you because you’re still not asking the right questions.

And he had sounded almost exasperated when he had said it. Jimin set his water bottle down while licking his lips, tilting his head side-to-side to crack his neck. His gloves were still on, so he nudged the punching bag and considered that Jeongguk was convinced that if Jimin started poking his nose into things, he wouldn’t think of Jeongguk as being such a horrible excuse for a human being.

It’s all right under your nose.

Jimin landed a punch square to the center of the bag, bouncing on his toes as he landed jab after jab, shoulders up, head bent towards the inanimate enemy. He grunted after each sequence, a trickle of sweat running down his neck to his spine. Once upon a time, he used to exercise in the gym at TRACK with Jeongguk, the two of them just teenagers with their hoods up, giggling because Jeongguk could lift Jimin up to reach the chin-up bar without ever touching him.

“Fuck,” he cursed loudly with one final punch, and then he dropped to a crouching position, gloves against his sweaty forehead as he panted. With his elbows on his knees, he dropped his arms and stared at the wall of the living room while catching his breath, licking at the corners of his mouth and tasting the salt of his own sweat.

The grip Jeongguk had on Jimin’s mind without so much as lifting a finger was terrifying.

Jimin stood up with cracking joints in his knees, and then he used his teeth to rip at the velcro of his boxing gloves, shaking them off his hands onto the floor carelessly and grabbing his water bottle with taped hands. He paced his living room, eyes fixed mostly towards the ceiling when he wasn’t drinking.

He was perseverating. He was absolutely fixated on Jeongguk’s insistence in asking questions. It was one of those situations where Jimin knew that he should, but he felt too safe and cozy in his current bubble to do anything about it. Yet here Jeongguk was, forcing Jimin to confront some ugly things unwillingly, pushing the boundaries Jimin had set close to him. Was that wrong? Was it wrong of Jeongguk to overstep even though he was trying to goad Jimin into taking the metaphorical blindfold off?

It was Friday night, so Jimin set up dinner to cook itself while he hopped into the shower. Once he was dressed, he shuffled back into the kitchen and checked the pot of kimchi jjigae that he had thrown together with whatever was in the fridge. It had taken him a few years to reach a level of proficiency in his abilities for the food to cook itself, but Jimin thought it was a great timesaver. He scarfed down his meal and thought that maybe he would have a chance to catch up on some television he had been missing in the midst of all the chaos.

But his hopes were dashed almost instantly when the alarm sounded from inside his bedroom.

“I fucking knew it,” he muttered to himself, because Friday nights were never peaceful in Seoul. Jimin was always called out for something. He blew out a breath, and then he approached the screen:

URGENT: ALARM @ TRACK CENTER FOR RESEARCH - JUAM-DONG, GWACHEON-SI, GYEONGGI-DO. 3 KINETICS DETECTED. PRISM AND FLARE REPORT. 

URGENT: ATTEMPTED EMERGENCY CALL FROM HAN HWIJONG - NARUTEO-RO 4-GIL, JAMWON-DONG, SEOCHO-GU. 1 ANOMALY DETECTED. PHOENIX REPORT.

Jimin didn’t jump into action immediately as he usually did. He only stared as the message remained stagnant on the screen in all its urgent glory. 3 kinetics detected. That would be Taehyung, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Which meant that surely, the anomaly with Han Hwijong was Jeongguk.

That was when Jimin sprang into action. He grabbed his earpiece first, because while he dressed, he needed information, and he needed it quickly.

“Phoenix to Leo,” he said as he threw open his closet.

“Your response times are getting slower,” Lia teased immediately.

“Yeah, forgive me, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to go deal with Phantom,” Jimin said, and Lia blew out a breath.

“Fair enough. You’re here to ask about Han Hwijong, correct?”

“Reading my mind as usual.”

“Right. I wish I could tell you more about him, but here’s what I know. Han Hwijong is forty-seven-years-old, non-kinetic, not married. He lives alone in a pretty swanky apartment, if I do say so myself. Which leads me to my next point—he’s employed with TRACK.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Jimin said as he shrugged into his suit.

“He’s a researcher with TRACK Center for Research, but there’s no further job description. Just ‘researcher.’ I have no idea what he’s researching, but he gets paid well,” Lia divulged. 

“That’s enough to go off of,” Jimin decided as he pulled his face mask on. “Send me the coordinates.”

“Coming your way.”

Jimin left his apartment and jumped railings down the stairs into the garage, grabbed his motorcycle and helmet, and sped off into the night. His eyes flicked to the directions that Lia was providing on the inside of the visor of his helmet, destination marked for Jamwon-dong. 

“Phoenix to Leo. Hook me up to Prism or Flare. I don’t care which one.”

“Hooking you up.”

Jimin took a sharp right turn as he heard some feedback in his ear, followed by the sound of another motorcycle.

“What’s up?” Hoseok’s voice said.

“Hey, you know that it’s them, right?” Jimin said loudly. “The three kinetics you’re going to find at the research center.”

“Yeah, we put the puzzle pieces together. And you’re on your way to deal with Phantom,” Hoseok replied. “What the fuck are they playing at? Why are they splitting up? Don’t you think that the terrific trio needs Phantom to get things done?”

“I fucking doubt it,” Jimin said with a short laugh, weaving through two cars and speeding through a yellow light. “They can hold their own. You need to be careful. They could easily electrocute you and kill you, Shock and Maelstrom.”

“Yeah, well, Flicker could light me on fire, but that’s just another day at the office,” Hoseok replied. “You, on the other hand… are you being sent to deal with Phantom because Director Jo thinks it’s a good idea? Do they want you to turn up dead? Why the hell are you going without any back-up?”

“Because I’ve confronted this man twice, and he hasn’t killed me either time,” Jimin reasoned without going into detail. “So like it or not, Director Jo is onto something. He’ll talk to me. I know he will. He won’t kill me.”

“There’s something about you that he likes,” Hoseok deduced over the wind whipping around him. “Or maybe he’s just trying to use you to get into all of our heads. You have to be careful, Jimin-ah.”

“He’s already been in both of your heads, so that can’t be it. If this was only about getting into our heads, we’d know it,” Jimin figured. “He has a different agenda. I just need to figure out what it is. But it’s not just invading our minds. There’s something else to it.”

“Yeah, well, good luck. We’re closing in on the research center now, and I’m waiting for the place to fucking explode. Keep in touch,” Hoseok insisted. Jimin agreed, and then he took the last left turn he needed to onto a quieter road. There were several high-rise apartment buildings with about eight stories each, sleek and modern, air conditioning units on the outside windows of most of the apartments. 

Han Hwijong’s residence
Jamwon-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
21:34 PM

“Building on your right.”

“Thanks,” Jimin said as he parked his motorcycle across the street near the fenced-in children’s playground, knowing that Lia could see his surroundings via his helmet. Once that helmet was off, she was blind again, but she usually used it to her advantage while Jimin was driving.

“Han Hwijong lives on the top floor. Apartment 807.”

“Of course he lives on the top floor,” Jimin quipped, shaking his head with a sigh as he left his helmet with his bike and jogged towards the building. “Do me a favor—go dark after you let me into the building.”

Lia scoffed indignantly. “Are you kidding?”

“Not kidding.” Jimin approached the quiet building. “This man is an expert at remote mind control and he’s omnikinetic. That means he can fuck with you, and I’m not letting that happen. You can track me and monitor my vitals. But otherwise, you need to go dark.”

“Fine. The door is open.”

Jimin could hear the displeasure in Lia’s voice, but he wasn’t about to give Jeongguk another vulnerable mind to control for the hell of it. Selfishly, though, Jimin wanted to be able to confront Jeongguk without an audience, even if it was just Lia. He didn’t want anyone to be held accountable. 

The glass doors of the apartment building were unlocked thanks to Lia, so Jimin stepped inside and took the stairs to the eighth floor, uninterested in risking the elevator. The building was eerily quiet, and normally, Jimin would not have thought anything of it. But with Jeongguk somewhere in the building, there was a high chance that he had everyone under his control so that he could get whatever he wanted from Han Hwijong.

The eighth floor hallway was quiet. Jimin could hear a few televisions, a bit of chatter, and he could smell food cooking, so that eased his fears that the entire building was under control. But perhaps Jeongguk was just sending the residents a hypnotic suggestion to ignore anything unusual that happened, which seemed most likely.

Jimin slowly walked down the hall, one hand over his gun even though he knew that it was unlikely he would use it. He reached apartment 807, and he paused when he noticed that the door was cracked open. For an automatic hinge door with a keypad to lock it, a cracked open door was uncharacteristic. Jimin pressed his back to the wall, and then he glanced over and nudged the door open without touching it.

“Well, you might as well come in. He’s been waiting for his hero.”

Jeongguk’s voice rang out clearly into the hallway, and Jimin’s heart skipped. But without hesitation, he turned over his shoulder and stepped into the apartment, letting the door close behind him on its own accord.

“Oh, good, it is you.”

[the devil] :: banks

There was only one lamp on in the room, and Han Hwijong was sitting in a kitchen chair, visibly sweating and trembling but not moving, the kitchen chair far too close to the wide open window in the living room area for Jimin’s liking. Jeongguk was sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, and he held up his hand as he looked over to Jimin. A knife that was lodged in the wall flew back into Jeongguk’s hand, and with a flick of his wrist, he hurled it back at the wall. Jimin glanced, and he saw that this time, there was a piece of paper trapped between the knife and the wall that hadn’t been there before.

“He’s feeling very relieved,” Jeongguk said as Hwijong let out a terrified noise that was akin to a whimper. “He thinks that you being here is going to save him. You’re his hero. Read that.”

“Let him go.”

“Read that,” Jeongguk insisted again as Hwijong continued to blubber senselessly. “Step down from your sanctimonious soapbox for one minute.”

“H-H-Help me, help me,” Hwijong pleaded, but then he immediately began to writhe and choke as if he was being strangled. Jimin lunged away from the paper in Jeongguk’s direction.

“Stop it, stop it! Let him breathe!” he exclaimed, not daring to lay a hand on Jeongguk because he didn’t want to upset the precarious balance that seemed to be present. Jeongguk blinked once, and Hwijong slumped in the chair, gasping, still trembling. Enraged, Jimin turned and pulled the knife out of the wall, and then he pivoted and hurled it right at Jeongguk’s face. The knife stopped with the tip of the blade no more than a centimeter from Jeongguk’s nose, but Jeongguk was staring past it at Jimin.

“Read,” he quietly demanded again, holding out his palm as the knife slowly dropped into his hand. Jimin had known that his attempt would be futile, but it was the intention that mattered. Jimin grabbed the paper that he had left hovering in mid-air, noticing that it was a printed out email. Jimin pursed his lips and read:

SONG SEOKHOON
to: [email protected]
cc: [email protected]

Mr. Han,
Subjects 172, 184, and 203 were unsuccessful. Please select and send five (5) additional subjects within the next 48 hours.

Regards,
Song Seokhoon

“Meaning what?” Jimin snapped, lowering the paper and raising his eyebrows at Jeongguk. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

“Don’t know. Let’s ask Mr. Han.” Jeongguk sharply turned his head towards the chair by the window, and the chair, with Hwijong in it, flew forward and stopped directly in front of Jimin as Hwijong let out another cry, shaking so violently that Jimin swore the man was going to pass out. “Go ahead.”

“Stop holding him here,” Jimin said in a quiet voice, because he couldn’t move the chair, nor could he help Hwijong. Jeongguk was blocking him.

“H-Help me. Help me, help me, save me!” Hwijong gasped pleadingly, saliva at the corners of his mouth. “Save me! You’re here to save me!”

“For fuck’s sake.” The chair spun at Jeongguk’s command so that Hwijong was facing him, and Hwijong let out another choked noise with crocodile tears. Jimin was practiced enough to know when a man was laying it on thick, genuine or not. Hwijong’s fears were genuine, but he was also laying it on thick at the same time. “He’s not here to save you. Get that out of your head right now. He’s supposed to save you, but I won’t let him. How about that? Now—” Jeongguk spun the chair again and sat back, Jimin now staring Hwijong down. “Go ahead.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Jimin quietly said, jaw clenching. He had been desperately trying to control something, anything in the room, but Jeongguk was far too strong. He had Jimin beat by a mile.

“Call me whatever you want, but unless you start asking questions, I’m going to weasel my way into Mr. Han’s mind and let you watch,” Jeongguk flippantly replied. “And it won’t be pretty.”

“He’s crazy! He’s crazy, save me! Help me!” Hwijong gasped out frantically, but Jeongguk was stoic and calm, only blinking at Jimin with the same big eyes he’d had as a kid as he waited. Jimin lifted the paper, eyes scanning over the short email again.

“Mr. Han,” he said, attempting to keep his voice even. “You’re a researcher with TRACK. What is it that you do?”

“H-Help, help me,” Hwijong continued to ramble, eyes unfocused, and Jimin clenched his jaw beneath his mask. He had to play the hero role now, or Hwijong may never calm down enough to speak, let alone survive. Jeongguk was on the brink of taking complete control, but he wanted Jimin to do the questioning. He was forcing Jimin into it, since Jimin had been avoiding it thus far.

“Mr. Han, I can’t help you unless you calm down and talk to me,” Jimin declared, and then he grabbed another chair and pulled it up as Jeongguk’s eyes burned a hole into him. “What do you do for TRACK? What is this email about?”

“I-I-I… I—I don’t know,” Hwijong stammered, but Jeongguk snorted from over on the couch, and Jimin took a deep breath to center himself.

“You’re a researcher,” Jimin calmly said. “For TRACK. What exactly is it that you do? What are you researching?”

“I…” Hwijong took a shuddering deep breath, face still pale. “Good things. G-Good things! I’m—I work with genetics. Ch-Chemistry. Good things! To h-help the children at TRACK s-s-stay healthy. It’s all for good! J-Just advancements in science!”

“Test subjects,” Jimin repeated from what he read in the email. “The people at TRACK Labs asked you for five additional subjects.”

“J-J-Just…” Hwijong’s panicked eyes flicked over to Jeongguk. “Just data. I collect data to send to TRACK Labs. About genetics. That’s—That’s it.”

“Christ, I hate when they lie.”

Hwijong’s chair flew backwards again towards the window, and Jimin leapt and ran after him, but Hwijong lifted out of the chair and flew halfway out the window, screaming. Jimin swept his hand and closed the window until it was pressed down onto Hwijong’s torso, since he was flipped to face the sky, banking on Jeongguk being too distracted by keeping Hwijong from tumbling down eight stories.

“Bring him back in!” Jimin shouted at Jeongguk, who was still just lounging on the couch. “I don’t give a fuck if he’s lying! Get him in here!”

“Do you think he’ll be encouraged now to tell the truth?” Jeongguk spat out, laughing with very little humor. “Good things. Did you know that Jo Chansung is working directly with TRACK Labs to create ‘solutions’ for kinetic children? Said so himself on television. You want me to bring Han Hwijong back inside so you can ask him to tell you what he’s really doing?”

“Bring him back inside, Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin barked, and Jeongguk finally stopped lounging and sat up straight, resting his elbows on his knees and staring Jimin down.

“Do your job, Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk replied with the same emphasis but with a politeness that Jimin had lacked, and then he overpowered Jimin completely. The window flew open as Hwijong smacked the back of his head on the windowsill before flopping back into the chair, his voice hoarse from the screaming and carrying on. Once he was in his chair, he pitched to the side and vomited, and Jimin blew out a breath and tilted his head up towards the ceiling, trying to keep himself composed.

“Mr. Han,” he said politely over Hwijong’s panicked trembling and blubbering. “Answer the questions truthfully. There’s nothing I can do for you if you don’t cooperate.”

“Th-That’s it! That’s it!” Hwijong insisted.

“He wouldn’t have dangled you out the window if that was it,” Jimin snapped, gesturing to Jeongguk.

“Kill him!” Hwijong hoarsely shouted. “Do something! Y-You’re supposed to be magical!”

“Magical,” Jeongguk repeated with a snicker. “Don’t idolize your heroes.”

“The truth, Mr. Han,” Jimin demanded, feeling completely out of control of the situation. Whenever he was confronted with other kinetics when he was sent out into the city, it was often a level playing field where Jimin could use his training to his advantage, where he could outsmart the men and women he was facing with a little bit of a fight, perhaps give the victims a touch of hope. But Jeongguk was too powerful. He was making Jimin look like a fool, and he was doing it so easily. Jimin could have chosen to play it off, but what was the point? He knew Jeongguk too well, and that was what made Jimin both the best and the worst person to be sent out for a confrontation.

Hwijong’s panicked crying didn’t cease as he spoke. “I have to find t-t-test subjects. That’s m-my job. I get emails from—from—from TRACK Labs asking f-for more. From them! From S-Song Seokhoon and Lee Taesuk. I’m only a researcher, I’m j-just a researcher. I do what they say.”

“What are the test subjects for? And where are you getting them from?” Jimin inquired. “And don’t tell me you know nothing. If you’re just blindly taking test subjects at random, then I’ll have to question your methods and what TRACK is even doing.”

“TRACK Plus h-has volunteers,” Hwijong insisted. “I—I just take the ones that fit! That match!”

“That match what?” Jimin pressed.

“Whose kinesis is developed! That’s it! Th-That’s all!” Hwijong gasped, pitching forward like he was about to vomit again and dry heaving, but holding it in. Jimin pursed his lips and looked over at Jeongguk, who was twirling the knife in one hand while he listened without looking.

“TRACK Plus. Interesting,” Jeongguk muttered, and then he clicked his tongue and stood up, focusing on Jimin. “Unfortunately, he’s as dumb as he looks. He’s a sheep. He does exactly what he’s told to do for a comfortable paycheck that he shouldn’t be receiving, anyways.”

“Meaning what?” Jimin snapped.

“Meaning he’s just spilled his guts to you in two different ways, and I just took a look into his mind, and—” Jeongguk let out a breathy laugh. “You know, when I have hunches, usually they’re pretty spot on. But this one…”

“If he’s a sheep, then just let him go, for Christ’s sake,” Jimin said heatedly. “I have other things to deal with, like the friends you sent to the research center in Juam-dong.”

“Your negotiating skills need work,” Jeongguk criticized lightly. “Han Hwijong—” He forcibly turned the chair again, and Hwijong continued to ramble senselessly; Jimin had to wonder if he was tired yet. “He was a long shot, but at least I have two more names now. Closer and closer. But this lovely gentleman?” Jeongguk tilted his head in Hwijong’s direction. “He gets a paycheck from the government working an entry-level job at his age. Why’s that, you ask? Because he’s a decade deep into a child pornography addiction and his preference is children with kinesis. And when he got caught with some photos five years ago, he was working at TRACK as a guard in the geokinesis wing. Guess what he got? Just eighteen months in prison and a slap on the wrist. All so the government could put his skills to work with the research center. Because fuck the child pornography addiction if he can do decent work, right? Who cares about children with kinesis and their rights? The adults have it under control.”

“So hand him over to the authorities. To me,” Jimin emphasized. “I’ll bring him in, get him booked and charged. That’s what I do. So let me do my job, just like you said.”

“For what? Another slap on the wrist?” Jeongguk said calmly over Hwijong’s continued moaning.

“What, that’s it? You’re judge, jury, and executioner?” Jimin asked, his heart pounding. “You’re that kind of monster? You just decide what’s right and wrong for everyone? A vigilante? Give me a break.”

“I never asked you to agree with my methods,” Jeongguk replied evenly. “But use your brain. Men like Han Hwijong strapped me into a chair and gagged me so they could electrocute me into submission, and then they went and ordered jjajangmyeon for lunch while I was unconscious. Is this a personal vendetta? Only partially. Am I onto something way fucking bigger than my own petty abuse? That’s for you to find out. And like I said—maybe when you understand why I’m doing what I’m doing, you won’t think I’m a monster.”

“You’re making that difficult,” Jimin whispered.

“I’m not asking for your approval or your forgiveness,” Jeongguk replied. “Just think. I’m not doing any of this out of anger. It’s not rage. So maybe keep asking yourself why.”

“You don’t need to kill him,” Jimin said, feeling like he was hallucinating the entire situation, because this was the worst-case scenario for him in the field, a disaster. Jeongguk wasn’t raising his voice. He wasn’t erratic. He was matter-of-factly, almost speaking in earnest, his tone just as careful and calming as it had been seven years ago. He was presenting a man who wasn’t worth a damn in Jimin’s mind, who was a quiet predator getting away with it all, yet Jimin’s job was to save Han Hwijong from being killed. And Jeongguk knew that.

“You’re right. I don’t. So this time, I’ll play by your rules,” Jeongguk replied as the legs of the chair scraped against the floor, and Hwijong sailed backwards towards the window again. “I won’t kill him. But you should leave.”

“I’m not leaving without him,” Jimin hissed.

“Then stay. But I’m about to fuck his mind up so that he confesses all of his bullshit to the first available officer of the law and every single one he sees after that,” Jeongguk replied, and Hwijong wailed. “He’ll be confessing until the day he dies because I’m going to condition his brain to do so. My hope is that he’ll be locked up for life, but what do I know? So if you don’t want to see that, then leave.”

“That’s your compromise?”

“You want him to just walk out of here with you so they can wrap a shock blanket around him in an ambulance. I want him dead. I feel like we’ve reached a good middle ground,” Jeongguk replied. “Take the blindfold off, Park Jimin. It’s not doing you any fucking favors. Keep pulling on threads, though. This is a good start. Now leave.”

“Make me.”

“No.”

Jimin stared Jeongguk down, even despite Hwijong’s hysterical crying. 

“Either you leave by your own free will or you watch me,” Jeongguk offered. “Your choice.”

“This is my job. I can’t just walk away without the man I’m here to help,” Jimin replied, even though he knew that he was going to have to walk away. He wasn’t going to be able to watch Jeongguk warp and condition someone else’s mind, no matter how mild it looked.

“Were you really here to help him?” Jeongguk asked, seeking honesty. “What were you going to do?”

“That’s not—”

“You’re too limited in your job to do much of anything because the man in charge of overseeing the training of people like us wants you to be submissive,” Jeongguk interjected. Then he grabbed the back of Hwijong’s chair. “Leave.”

Leaving would make Jimin feel like a failure. It would make him feel redundant. Useless. It would make him feel like the job he had and the purpose he had were both for absolutely nothing. But in the same breath, Jimin had to admit defeat. He had to know when he was down. He had to know when to walk away, and that walking away was going to be more difficult and take far more courage than staying.

Jimin had passed the exit examination at TRACK with flying colors. He had been referred to the Department of Kinetic Relations immediately for training, where he had begun as an entry-level agent while working his ass off and admiring Kim Seokjin from afar. He had watched Hoseok move on to join Seokjin. And Jimin had been put through hell by the DKR training program to make sure that he was “stable,” to make sure that he was going to be able to handle being out in the field using only telekinesis, that he could adhere to the rules.

One of the things that Jimin had not been taught by his trainers was to abandon his duties. NIS agents and higher-ups at the DKR had drilled into him the importance of loyalty and committing to the job at hand. It was Hoseok who had quietly talked to Jimin after one particularly difficult assignment about how sometimes, it took more courage to walk away from the assignment instead of going down in figurative flames because of a sense of duty and making things worse.

“Fine.” Jimin momentarily clenched his jaw. “I’ll leave. But I’m going to keep showing up everywhere you are when I can just to ruin your plans.”

“Good.” Jeongguk lifted his chin slightly, Hwijong’s cries far quieter now due to Jeongguk’s handiwork. “It’s about time.”

Jimin had a lot to say. Thousands of thoughts fluttered in and out of his head, phrases on the tip of his tongue that he swallowed down, because his desire to have the last word was strong. But having the last word wasn’t going to change the situation. So instead, he inhaled deeply through his nose and pivoted on his heels, and then he headed straight for the door. The moment he had his back turned, Hwijong started shrieking until he was hoarse, begging Jimin to help him, to save him, that he was innocent, that he hated children, that he didn’t want to die.

But Jimin knew that Jeongguk wasn’t a liar. He never had been.

The door to Hwijong’s apartment closed behind Jimin. He marched down the hallway while gritting his teeth, eyes burning angrily, and he took the stairs all the way to the ground floor as the panicked shouting died down. He threw the doors open and stepped out into the cool night air, hearing sirens in the distance, and the moment he did, he pressed his finger into his earpiece.

“Phoenix to Leo,” he barked, his tone far harsher than he had intended.

“What do you need?” Lia asked without hesitation, because she had been in Jimin’s ear for years. She knew.

“I don’t fucking know.” Jimin swung his leg over his motorcycle and bent at the waist, hands pressed into the handlebars, knuckles white, head bowed. “There was nothing I could do.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning Han Hwijong.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. But his brain likely is. Send a team,” Jimin said evenly, his eyes closed. “Ambulance. Psychiatric help. I don’t know. And police. They’ll arrest him. But he’ll be too incompetent to ever stand trial. They’ll just lock him up.”

“Phoenix, what the hell are you talking about?” Lia’s voice was exasperated.

“Just send everyone,” Jimin loudly requested, and then he sharply inhaled to calm himself down. “How are the others?”

“Battered and bruised. The research center was empty, so no employees were harmed. But everything’s gone. Flicker set the place on fire. Prism and Flare are both at the hospital right now getting checked out. Minor burns, and I think Prism gulped down a little too much water. But they’re okay.”

“I should’ve been there.” Jimin lifted his head. “I couldn’t save him. Han Hwijong. Phantom had him.”

“Honestly?” Lia hesitated for a moment like she was waiting for Jimin’s approval, but then she continued. “I wasn’t expecting you to be able to do jack shit. I don’t think anyone else is, either. Phoenix, between you and me…”

“What?”

“I think they’re just sending you out to confront Phantom as bait.”

“Bait for what?”

“I have no idea. It just feels that way. I can’t explain it. Come back to headquarters.”

“I should stay on the scene.” Jimin stared at the apartment building, waiting for Jeongguk to emerge, but he knew it was likely futile.

“They’re two minutes away. I already detailed the scene in my notes. Just come back.”

“Copy. Phoenix out.”

Jimin shoved the helmet onto his head and started the engine, and then he took off at top speed into the streets, trying not to drive as fast as his mind was racing.

It’s about time. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why had Jeongguk sounded relieved that Jimin had as much as committed to poking his nose into all of their illegal business? And why had he been so calm about everything?

Jimin had seen all sorts over the years. He dealt with murderers, serial killers, psychopaths, narcissists, sadists, the works—and they all had the added bonus of kinesis. Jimin had studied human behavior extensively. But Jeongguk, besides clearly being a murderer, wasn’t exhibiting any signs of a psychopath or narcissist. He was exhibiting the signs of an adult living with profound trauma that no one else cared about, because the world saw Jeongguk as easily disposable. Until he had started his crusade. Now he was a living nightmare.

Jimin couldn’t work it out. Was Jeongguk too far gone? Was he carrying out a crusade that was based on delusions, or was he truly onto something? Han Hwijong had as good as admitted that there were more threads to pull on, given the contents of that email. Jeongguk had seemed grudgingly resigned to the little information he had received, though satisfied. And once again, Jeongguk had reiterated the fact that Jimin was being forced into a submissive role to keep him under control.

And Jimin knew Jeongguk was right.

It wasn’t a secret. Jimin worked with limitations—all three of them did. But Jimin’s limitations were extreme, given that he was an anomaly. Seokjin and Hoseok had some restrictions, but neither of them had an entirely suppressed ability spanning two decades. Jimin had always talked himself into being okay with it, but all he could think about was how weak he was to already be so susceptible to Jeongguk’s vitriol. 

But was it really vitriol?

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
23:03 PM

The guards let Jimin into the facility, announcing his arrival, but Jimin breezed right past the agent meant to escort him and rode the elevator himself. The doors opened onto level eight, and even though it was nearing midnight, there were plenty of people still milling around, and many eyes turned to Jimin when he walked in.

“Jimin-ssi!”

Jimin glanced to the right as Lia walked out of her office, holding the doorframe with one hand. She gestured towards Seokjin’s office.

“Are they back?” Jimin called out, already rounding the railing of the bullpen.

“Two minutes ago,” Lia confirmed, and then she disappeared back into her office without another word. Jimin ripped his face mask off and marched right to Seokjin’s office, and he didn’t even bother to knock before he pushed the door open.

“Jesus, you two look like hell,” Jimin commented instantly, though he was sure he didn’t look much better. Hoseok had stitches on his forehead and a busted lip, and Seokjin had a bruised eye and was wearing a black DKR t-shirt and sweatpants, but they both managed a barely-there smile.

“You ready for this shit? Because it’s wild,” Seokjin said, so Jimin collapsed into the empty chair. “And Director Nam will be on your ass any minute now.”

“Looking forward to it,” Jimin grumbled, and then he beckoned. “Let’s hear it. All the details.”

“What’s there to even tell?” Hoseok said with a chuckle. “We got to the research center, and it was already up in flames. There were no researchers or workers there. Too late at night. Thank fuck, to be honest.”

“We passed this other motorcycle on our way in,” Seokjin continued. “So I turned around to follow it, but there was no fucking way I could let Hoseok go there alone.”

“Was there any backup?” Jimin asked, and Hoseok nodded.

“Yeah, there was backup on the way, but you know how slow they are,” Hoseok said, rolling his eyes. “Hyung came back and put out an APB for the motorcycle.”

“He was carrying stuff,” Seokjin said, turning around to pretend that he had a backpack on. “A whole backpack of it. They obviously looted the place first before setting fire to it. But we thought we could salvage something.”

“It was pointless,” Hoseok added. “They attacked us the second we showed up. Kim Taehyung took Seokjin for himself. Didn’t even give me a chance. So I had to deal with Kim Namjoon.”

“And how did that go?” Jimin raised one eyebrow, focused on Hoseok’s physical condition.

“The physical manipulation sucked,” Hoseok complained. “He took full advantage of it this time, since there were no other witnesses. I was a fucking ragdoll to him. He kept throwing me around. Made me wish I wasn’t sweating, too, because he almost choked me with it. Don’t ask. I’ve never seen a hydrokinetic do the shit he was doing, either. He almost trapped me in a damn whirlpool that he made with sweat. Who can do that?”

“So then what about Shock? Taehyung. What was he doing?” Jimin asked, brow furrowed as he eyed Seokjin. “He took you for himself? What’s that about?”

“He was weird.” Seokjin rubbed his pointer finger against his bottom lip in thought. “It’s like he wanted me to be there. And the shit he was doing was textbook, like he was purposely working on limitations like me. He kept cornering me, but he wasn’t giving me his full strength. You know what I mean?”

“In what way?” Jimin asked.

“He kept taunting me,” Seokjin replied. “Saying he thought I was better than this, that he always thought I was better than this, and why don’t I just hit him where it hurts? I don’t even know what he was talking about. He kept trying to convince me to hurt him.”

“Pain kink,” Hoseok joked dryly, but Seokjin shook his head.

“No, that definitely wasn’t it. I don’t know. The whole thing was a fucking bust. Flicker got away with whatever files he thought were relevant,” Seokjin said, touching his knuckles to his bruise. “God only knows what that would be. The place was on fire, but I could tell that things were missing.”

“I purposely got Namjoon to douse some of the fire,” Hoseok said with a grin, wincing immediately because of his lip and touching his fingertips to it gently. “It was pretty obvious that some hard drives and laptops were missing.”

“Any paper files?” Jimin wondered.

“If there were, Flicker took them, or they were burned,” Hoseok replied. “So then that begs the question—what exactly is it that they needed from the research center, and why the hell did they split up?”

“And is this why they’re targeting TRACK?” Seokjin continued. “We thought it was just a personal vendetta, that maybe they were all just wronged by TRACK employees or something and now they’re just working from the bottom to the top.”

“And what if it’s both?” Jimin murmured, knowing that Seokjin and Hoseok would hear him. There was a heavy silence as Jimin’s mind fixated only on Jeongguk, on how he knew more than Seokjin and Hoseok knew but couldn’t speak on it, because there could be consequences that he wasn’t prepared to face. If Jimin were to admit that he knew who Phantom was, there was no telling how the tables would turn.

“Why was Phantom with one of the researchers?” Hoseok asked.

“Right, good question. What’d you get from Phantom? Anything? How about that guy he targeted? Han Hwijong?” Seokjin asked Jimin.

“Also a bust,” Jimin admitted reluctantly. “He had control of the entire situation. He rigged Han Hwijong’s brain to confess to a child pornography addiction every time he sees a police officer or someone from law enforcement. Which is true. He did jail time for it, apparently.”

“Christ,” Hoseok murmured.

“But Han Hwijong was a researcher. Specifically at the research center where you guys just came from. He was imprisoned for the child porn charges a few years ago, but they pulled him when he was released to work at the center because he had the skills.”

“And you got all this from Phantom?” Seokjin asked, impressed. “He just hacked into this guy’s head and dragged out all his secrets to air like dirty laundry? How do we know he’s not making this shit up?”

“Take five minutes to do a search on Han Hwijong. I’m sure you’ll see it all,” Jimin muttered, eyes flicking to Seokjin’s computer. “Unless the records are sealed, which is likely. But Phantom doesn’t strike me as much of a liar for sport. He doesn’t really do the whole ‘withholding truth’ thing just for spite. He said Han Hwijong is a liar and… well, that he’s scum. And I hate that he’s probably right.”

“So that’s why Phantom fucked with his head. He’s playing hero in his own special way,” Hoseok assumed, and Jimin blew out a breath, rubbing his brow.

“Han Hwijong,” Jimin slowly said, “was getting emails from TRACK Labs asking for test subjects.”

“Test subjects?” Seokjin repeated, shifting with the notion that he was still in pain from the fight.

Jimin pulled at the corners of his eyes with his fingers. “Yeah.”

“For what, exactly?” Hoseok asked. “And from where?”

“Apparently the test subjects are coming from TRACK Plus voluntarily,” Jimin explained, seeing the way that Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “Strictly for science. Han Hwijong knew nothing. He… Phantom. He checked.”

“I mean…” Seokjin chuckled. “Director Jo did say that he was trying to put together a training program to protect the kids at TRACK from mind control. Could that be it? He’s using TRACK Plus as test subjects for the program.”

“Mm.” Jimin twisted his lips and stared at the lamp on Seokjin’s desk until his vision blurred. He blinked rapidly. “I don’t know. Too many questions, not enough answers.”

“Did you talk to him? Phantom?” Hoseok wondered, and Jimin nodded.

“I did. He, uh… he was planning on just killing Han Hwijong when he was done getting information from him. I talked him out of it. That’s where the brainwashing came from,” Jimin replied, and Hoseok raised his eyebrows.

“So this guy can reason?” he asked, surprised. “Okay. Shit, maybe Director Jo was onto something saying that you should be the go-to guy for Phantom. He seems awfully happy to talk to you.”

“We—”

“Excuse me.” 

Jimin twisted his upper body and glanced at the door, where an agent was standing and bowing to all of them.

“Director Nam wants to be briefed,” she said with another bow. “Phoenix. He would like to speak with you first.”

“Goody,” Jimin murmured, but he got up and followed the agent out of Seokjin’s office and down the hallway to Director Nam’s office. Director Nam wasn’t sitting at his desk as expected; he was pacing in front of it, waiting for the briefing to happen. He motioned for the agent to close the door, and Jimin stepped forward.

“Paramedics and law enforcement have given us all the information we needed regarding Han Hwijong. He’s been taken in for psychiatric evaluation. His statement is… alarming, to say the least,” Director Nam began without prefacing, and then he stopped his pacing and folded his arms, turning to Jimin. “A full confession to child pornography charges from years ago, and a confession that he’s still dabbling in such content. He’s offered us his computer.”

“Yeah.” Jimin crossed his arms as well. “That would make sense, seeing as Phantom decided that a hypnotic suggestion and reprogramming Han Hwijong’s mind would be worse than killing him.”

“And you did nothing to stop this?” Director Nam asked with emphasis.

“I’m the one who convinced Phantom not to kill him,” Jimin said, trying to curb his attitude as best as he could. “With all due respect, Director Nam, I don’t really know what else you wanted me to do. You’re sending me out in the field to go face-to-face with an omnikinetic with mind control abilities. The fact that he even talks to me without controlling me is a miracle in and of itself.”

“Okay. Okay, just—” Director Nam sat down at his desk in a huff. “Okay. So you get to the scene.”

“The entire building had no idea Phantom was there,” Jimin began like clockwork. He was used to this. He knew Director Nam was recording him to write up the report later. He knew he would have to scrawl out the details in a classified document as well. “I got up to Han Hwijong’s apartment. The door was open. I walked in, and he was sitting in a chair. Phantom was on the couch waiting for me.”

“And then?”

“We negotiated.” Jimin shifted his footing. “Phantom called Mr. Han a liar. Mr. Han was receiving emails from TRACK Labs asking for test subjects. These test subjects supposedly come from TRACK Labs willingly. Mr. Han had no idea what he was gathering test subjects for, only that they had to be kinetic. The working theory the team and I just came up with was that they’re testing for the training program to prevent mind control. Could explain why Flicker, Maelstrom, and Shock were at the research center to do maximum damage. They don’t want the training program to happen.”

I’m lying. I know I’m lying, because I’m the one who was forced to do the questioning. I might know why Jeongguk is doing this if I ask a few more questions. But is that something I want to share?

“Mm. It’s possible. And you’re saying that Phantom stayed out of your mind. That he wasn’t controlling you,” Director Nam stated, and Jimin shook his head.

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll expect your report by tomorrow,” Director Nam said with a small frown. “And Jimin-ssi.”

“Yes, Director.”

“You did everything you could to stop him. To stop Phantom,” Director Nam said calmly.

“Are you accusing me of not doing my job?” Jimin asked, keeping his voice low.

“You’ve emerged unscathed from all three interactions with Phantom so far, and all three times, Phantom has walked away without so much as a fight,” Director Nam pointed out. “It’s raising eyebrows.”

“Whose eyebrows?” Jimin asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Yours? Or someone else’s? The NIS director? The president? Jo Chansung?”

“You know that we have to examine all angles,” Director Nam evenly said, and Jimin let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m doing my job,” Jimin said with great care. “Which I’ve been hired to do by the government. But once again, and with all the respect in the world—you’re pitting me against an omnikinetic and expecting miracles, and when miracles don’t happen and I can’t save the day, you think poorly of me.”

Director Nam exhaled deeply, resting his elbows on his desk. He pressed his knuckles to his lips, and then he sat back.

“I’m the messenger,” he said. “Just send the statement to me as soon as you can. With detail. Please.”

“Yes, Director.” Jimin bowed stiffly, and then he turned on his heels and left without being dismissed, knowing better but far too riled up to continue the conversation with a cool head. He walked down the hallway, passing by Seokjin and Hoseok as he did, who were both headed right to Director Nam’s office to deliver their statement. Jimin saw the way that Hoseok nudged Seokjin’s arm, mostly because of the look on Jimin’s face. Jimin ducked his head and turned into his office, unclipping his utility belt and tossing it onto his desk before collapsing into the chair.

I’m fucked. Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing. Too many threads. It’s getting worse. We’re useless. Helpless. What am I supposed to do?

“Excuse me?”

“What?” Jimin snapped, but then he found some sense and stood up to bow to the agent who had just walked into his office. He was wearing a suit and looked far too put-together for close to midnight on a Friday night. Jimin took notice immediately of the earpiece in his ear. “Forgive me. Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I’m here to ask about your assignment in the field tonight,” the agent said with another bow. “We’d like to know if you had any physical contact with Phantom.”

“Physical contact? No.” Jimin shook his head, brow furrowed. “That’s a weird question. No offense intended. I apologize.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” the agent said, bowing again. “If you did have any physical contact, we would like to know immediately. We’re, uh… we’re attempting to build a DNA profile of Phantom to learn more about him. So if you had any contact, we’d like to take a sample.”

“Ah. Well, no. I didn’t have any physical contact with him,” Jimin replied, shaking his head again. “Sorry.”

“That’s a shame,” the agent sighed, disappointed. “We were really hoping to start building a profile tonight. Thank you, though. If you do have any physical contact with him in the future, please alert us immediately. Or perhaps attempt to make physical contact. It would help us greatly.”

“Right. Okay. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” The agent bowed one final time, and then he backed out of the office and closed the door. Jimin stared at the closed door with pursed lips, flicked the lock back and forth, playing with the idea of locking everyone out or leaving a window of opportunity. Toying with the idea of staying to write up the report while it was fresh in his mind or abandoning his post to go home and sleep.

A DNA profile. They wanted to build a DNA profile on Jeongguk. And they wanted Jimin to risk his life to make physical contact. It seemed innocuous enough. A normal person wouldn’t have batted an eye.

But the agent had been disappointed. Visibly disappointed. And that, more than anything, spoke louder than any statement Jimin could ever give.

Chapter Text

:: :: ::

PART IV :: IN FLAMES

LEVITATE Nightclub
Itaewon-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
21:07 PM

Jimin crouched down with his hands clasped, and then he hung his head as Hoseok knelt down next to him.

“Why are we here instead of forensics?” Hoseok whispered.

“Because we saw Phantom take him,” Jimin responded, staring at the dead body of Park Dongseok. The entire club was blocked off with police tape, a club called LEVITATE the scene of the crime. LEVITATE was supposedly a “clean” nightclub, but it was no secret that there was a massive basement where anyone who enjoyed the company of a kinetic individual could disappear for a small fee. Park Dongseok spent an exorbitant amount of time at LEVITATE. And that was surely why it was his final resting place.

“So that makes us qualified?” Hoseok blew out a breath. “I mean, shit, I know we took a couple of courses and did some intense training with the DKR for this, but damn.”

“He wasn’t killed here.” Jimin shifted slightly and surveyed the immediate area around Dongseok’s body. The lights were on in the basement, a stark contrast to the typically dark dungeon that it was. “There’s no way.”

“What do you mean?” Hoseok raised one eyebrow, peering back and forth around Park Dongseok’s body. Jimin pursed his lips, and then he leaned in and examined Dongseok’s pale face.

“Several things,” Jimin replied. “Rigor mortis hasn’t even set in. This is still pallor mortis. He hasn’t even been dead for two hours yet. That…” Jimin took a chance and reached forward to touch his fingertips against Dongseok’s filthy button-up shirt, the same one he had been wearing during the attack at SEOUL Forest. “And his shirt is wet.”

“Could be sweat,” Hoseok offered, but Jimin shook his head.

“But his shirt isn’t damp where sweat would typically form on the chest. This is around his collar and everything. Like…” Jimin drew in a breath. “Like he dribbled on himself. Water. And his body is positioned.”

Dongseok was seated on the floor near a kidney-shaped booth that looked out directly onto a stage where dancers could perform, and from what the bartender said, the booth was his usual spot. Dongseok was slumped over slightly, but he had his hand wrapped around a full drink that was resting on the floor, untouched. He was posed perfectly, even if he wasn’t seated in the booth.

“This is why you’re the government’s favorite,” Hoseok murmured, sounding gleeful. “What else have you got?”

“He was killed somewhere else. And we know who was holding him,” Jimin said darkly. “And if his shirt is wet—I mean, this is before the medical examiner gets his hands on Dongseok, obviously—but if his shirt is wet only in one spot, then I’m going to guess that he wasn’t electrocuted and he wasn’t psychologically tortured to death. No sign of burn marks. And he wasn’t fully submerged in water. No gunshot wounds. I could guess poison, but he’s wet. What if he was dry drowned?”

“Dry drowning. Do you know how rare that is?” Hoseok said as they both stood up.

“Do you know Kim Namjoon?” Jimin emphasized, and Hoseok set his hands on his hips, eyes flicking up to the ceiling for a moment. “The wet shirt makes me think that he gagged up water at some point, whether during the drowning or after he was already dead. I’ll alert forensics—”

Jimin’s phone began to vibrate on his hip, and when Hoseok reached for his phone at the same time, Jimin knew full well that there was another incident happening that needed their attention, or law enforcement to respond. He checked his phone:

URGENT: ARMED ROBBERY @ 7-11 USADAN-RO 2-GIL, BOGWANG-DONG. SUSPECTS NK. CLOSEST UNITS RESPOND.

“You gonna get that?” Jimin asked, glancing at Hoseok.

“I need to stay and get the update from forensics, and tell them your theories,” Hoseok replied, so Jimin tucked his phone away and pressed his finger to his earpiece.

“Phoenix to Leo. Get eyes on that 7-11,” Jimin requested, clapping Hoseok on the shoulder and walking away, since he had already told Hoseok everything he knew. 

“Are you responding? Excellent. Two fools with guns holding up a nervous forty-something man working the night shift,” Lia explained as Jimin jogged up the staircase back into the main club area, ducking under the police tape. “I’m watching the security camera footage right now. They’re still there getting the money they want. You’re only three minutes away. Two if you book it.”

“On it.” Jimin swung his leg over his motorcycle and took off, the directions popping up on his visor as Lia provided them. Jimin didn’t ask for further backup, knowing that he was likely to be enough. “NK” meant non-kinetic, so that would make Jimin’s job of apprehension far easier.

7-11
Bogwang-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
21:26 PM

The 7-11 was undisturbed from the outside, but the panic alarm had inevitably been activated with haste, which was exactly why Jimin had received the call—he could respond far quicker than police, who would take seven or eight minutes to arrive in full force to respond to the panic alarm. The 7-11 was on the corner of the building, so Jimin pulled up and checked to make sure the other stores were closed for the night before he peeked in from a careful position. He drew his gun from its holster and cocked it, just in case.

“I don’t have eyes on the suspect, only the cashier,” Jimin said, catching a glimpse of the cashier with his hands up behind the register, cowering and trembling.

“They’re trying to get into the back room,” Lia answered in his ear. “Probably looking for more cash or anything else to take. You’re clear through the front door.”

Jimin walked in as the front glass door slid open, carefully holding his gun as his eyes flicked to the cashier.

“In the back, in the back, in the back,” the man slurred repeatedly, backing up further. Jimin nodded and began to walk through one of the aisles, but then one man with a black hooded sweatshirt and a black face mask walked out of the back room, a gun dangling in one hand.

“What—”

The man didn’t have time to say another word. Without ever losing his clear shot or wavering, Jimin opened the refrigerator door right near the suspect, sending one full Chilsung cider flying and knocking the gun directly out of the man’s hand and right down the aisle towards Jimin. 

“Show me your hands,” Jimin calmly demanded.

“No! I’m not going down over some magic tricks!” the man frantically replied. Jimin rolled his eyes as the gun rose off the floor, and Jimin pointed it directly at the suspect as well, letting it hover in midair.

“I’ve had a long night, so if we could just—ah.” Jimin sent multiple containers of ramen flying into the face of the second suspect who had just sprinted out the door to see what was going on. The moment he was distracted, Jimin grabbed another Chilsung cider from the fridge and hurled it at top speed until the second gun was on the floor. Jimin dragged it towards himself and brought it up to hang in midair as well.

“Show me your hands,” he requested again. “And if you’re feeling up for it, you can get on your knees.”

“We’re not—yah!”

It was a chaotic version of amateur hour, or Robbery 101. Jimin held up his left hand and caught the black backpack from one man’s shoulder, a bunch of cash falling out onto the floor. He shouldered it, and then he sat into one hip and cocked his head to the side.

“I left the scene of a murder for you two,” Jimin said, glancing over his shoulder to check on the cashier, who was still cowering behind the register, waiting for the authorities to show up and secure the scene. “Stop standing there and turn around. You’re both under arrest for armed robbery. Don’t give me excuses or act like you can get out of this. No, I’m not putting the guns down. Turn. Around.”

“Don’t turn around! What are you doing? We can fight him!” the suspect closest to Jimin hissed. The second suspect was already starting to turn around and comply, and he gave the first suspect a look of disbelief. But Jimin took full advantage, keeping his gun trained on both men as the handcuffs he had flew off his utility belt, slapping around the suspect’s wrists. When the first suspect flailed in a fit of panicked rage, Jimin used the other set of handcuffs he had on him, and then sirens permeated the quiet air.

“You want to fight him?” the first suspect snapped. “He’s a fucking telekinetic! You can’t fight him!”

“POLICE.”

It was textbook. Jimin backed away as the police rushed down the aisle and apprehended the two suspects, who were weak in the knees and flustered at how easily they were caught, bewildered by their broken plan. The officers thanked Jimin as they passed, and Jimin backed up and admired the scene, admired two more criminals being hauled off for booking and sentencing, admired how quickly he had been able to wrap things up without much of a fuss. A typical officer of the law might have found a confrontation like this frightening—two men with guns, both young and eager to fight. But they had both rolled over when Jimin had shown up, and that was the kind of reaction that Jimin sought out. That was the kind of reaction that made his life easier.

“Here.” Jimin shrugged the backpack off his shoulder and into the hands of the officer that was near the register. The paramedics were already escorting the cashier out of the building, supporting him while he trembled in palpable fright, the adrenaline rush creating a crash that Jimin knew all too well.

Han Hwijong had trembled in palpable fright like that. And Jimin hadn’t been able to save him.

“Thank you. And thank you for your hard work,” the officer said with a bow of gratitude towards Jimin. “We came from the scene at LEVITATE. You were quicker.”

“That’s my job,” Jimin dismissively insisted, but his voice sounded hollow. Robberies were par for the course. He always had the upper hand on would-be criminals, more so than Seokjin or Hoseok ever did. Being telekinetic—and a powerful telekinetic at that—gave him a leg up. “I’ll, uh… I’ll write up my report for the file and have it to you by tomorrow once these two clowns are booked.”

“Much appreciated. Do you need to be checked out?” the officer asked, stepping to the side as someone came in with a camera to snap a few photos of the crime scene that could have been a lot worse.

“I’m good. Enjoy your night.” Jimin bowed, and then he pressed his face mask around his nose firmly and departed alone, skirting around any other police officers and watching as a news van pulled into the parking lot. Jimin broke into a jog, because the last thing he wanted was to be summoned for a quick interview or statement. The suspects were apprehended quickly. That was all he could say.

“That was fast.”

Jimin swung his leg over the seat of his motorcycle, slipping his helmet on. “You were awfully quiet.” 

“Well.” Lia let out a sigh that sounded like a yawn while she was stretching. “I was watching the whole thing through security footage. Figured you had it under control. What could I have done except provide a bit of comic relief?”

“Could’ve used some of that.” Jimin began to drive out of the parking lot.

“Ah, sorry. I’ll do better next time,” Lia joked. “Park Dongseok’s body is on the way to the medical examiner, by the way. Prism provided your theories before the body was moved. I think once the autopsy results come in, you’ll get bragging rights.”

“Did you manage to pull any footage from LEVITATE?” Jimin asked, turning onto the main road so he could head home.

“Of course not,” Lia answered. “It was all wiped, and there are no cameras in that dingy basement, anyways. If there were, we could watch all these men sinning and cheating on their significant others with some girl who can light your cigarette without a match.”

Jimin snorted humorlessly. “Funny enough, Phantom said the same thing.”

“I take it back,” Lia immediately declared, and Jimin grinned despite his fatigue. “Get some sleep. I’m going home.”

“Goodnight.”

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
00:13 AM

Jimin’s apartment was quiet and dark when he arrived home, and for the umpteenth time, he considered getting a cat just to have another living, breathing thing in the space with him. Instead, he ripped his face mask off and tossed it onto the kitchen table, and then he walked towards his closet, shrugging out of his suit as he walked and turning the shower on from a distance. Once he was stripped down completely and the shower was running, he stepped underneath the stream.

Jimin had no idea how other people chose to shower, but he had an affinity for scalding hot water. Steam always filled the bathroom when he bathed, his skin tinging pink and red as a result. But it always felt so good. Jimin scrubbed his scalp, remembering the time that Seokjin had spilled a boiling hot cup of tea on him by accident and Jimin hadn’t even flinched, even though his skin had shown the effects almost immediately.

You know what it means. Just don’t think about it.

Jimin turned the shower off and stepped out, wrapping a towel around himself as he viciously stomped out any and all thoughts of being an anomaly from his head. That wasn’t something he needed to entertain right now. Instead, he stepped into some pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt for comfort, choosing to let his red hair air-dry. For a moment, as the towel hung itself up, Jimin stood in the middle of his bedroom, looking around. This apartment had been handed to him for free by the government. He didn’t pay rent. It was one large bedroom and a decent bathroom with a comfortable kitchen and a nice living room space. Jimin wanted for nothing, yet it still felt like he needed everything.

Good. It’s about time.

Jeongguk had sounded delighted at the prospect of Jimin meddling more into his business, and Jimin couldn’t get it out of his head. Dazed, he lowered down to his knees and dragged out a black trunk that was underneath his bed, flat and wide in shape with a lock on it. Jimin blinked at it as the lock scrolled to four numbers—0927. 

That was the day that Jeongguk had left TRACK.

Jimin hated how much he had let Jeongguk seep into his everyday life in ways that he hadn’t even noticed until now. He had set that code on the lock years ago, back when he had still been devastated by Jeongguk’s actions, and he had never found a reason to change it. Because this black trunk was the trunk that had been under his dormitory bedroom at TRACK, and he had stored many memories inside it.

Jimin popped open the trunk with the lock set aside, and he felt his lips twitch in a hint of smile. His time at TRACK was a blur in many ways, but seeing the stack of textbooks brought back a flood of memories. He grazed his fingertips over the cover of one book, hooking a finger at the spine and wiggling so he could lift it to see the second book in the stack. Lee Yongsun. Right. She had written several textbooks for TRACK. 

Underneath a small squared container for some of Jimin’s little knick-knacks was a compartment that was hidden for a good reason. Jimin held his breath as he reached in, and then he used gentle fingers to pull out a piece of origami that was flattened and folded into a simple swan. He swallowed heavily and set it aside, and then he grabbed a folded up piece of paper.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, unfolding it and staring at the drawing. It was a phoenix. Brilliant in shades of red, orange, and yellow, taking flight. No signature from the artist, but Jimin hadn’t drawn it. He set the drawing beside the origami swan, and then he pulled out one of his old journals. He had flipped through the pages before, but he had never written anything overtly personal or damning. He had been very careful not to ever get too candid, because privacy was a privilege at TRACK, and Jimin had always been afraid of his room and belongings being raided.

There were flowers pressed all throughout the pages of the journal, and Jimin knew why. He wasn’t stupid, but it was particularly painful tonight, especially knowing what he knew now. He set the leather-bound journal onto the ground, and then he peered into the trunk.

Not this.

There were items in the trunk that Jimin knew existed, but he hadn’t spent a single second thinking about them until now. Like he had some kind of audience, Jimin bent over the trunk and pulled out a long-stemmed red rose. Real. And not dried up and dead. To the average human, a real rose surviving almost eight years was a miraculous feat. But given that it was from Jeongguk, Jimin wasn’t calling it a miracle at all. And he could still remember the exact moment when Jeongguk had handed him the red rose. The day. The time. Everything that had happened.

Jimin tossed everything back into the trunk except the red rose. He locked the trunk up and shoved it back under his bed, but he set the rose onto his bedside table, right next to the alarm that the DKR had installed to summon him to crime scenes. Then, with his hair still damp but very little energy to care, Jimin crawled into bed and flicked the lights off, rolling over and hugging his blankets to his chest as he stared at the rose in the darkness, illuminated only by the streetlights from outside his window.

His sleep was fitful at best, but it was cut short when Jimin’s phone began to vibrate incessantly on the bedside table. Tired and bewildered, Jimin grabbed his phone and checked—UNKNOWN CALLER. Peeved, he set the phone back down and closed his eyes as the vibrations stopped. But only two seconds later, his phone began to vibrate again, and Jimin clenched his jaw and grabbed it—ANSWER THE PHONE.

“What?” Jimin whispered, staring at the caller ID as his heart stuttered. Panicking, he grabbed his earpiece with a grunt, shoving it into his ear and pressing it and holding it, which signaled to Lia that he needed help. Then he answered the call.

“Hello, this is Jimin,” he quietly said.

“I was about to start using riddles as the caller ID next.”

[man or a monster] :: sam tinnesz, zayde wølf

“No need.” Jimin sat up slowly, blankets pooling in his lap, one hand tangled in his hair as he bent at the waist, startled.

“Check out the time.”

Jimin glanced at the clock—03:06 AM.

“Is this how you torture people?” Jimin asked. “The psychological torture?”

“What, does me calling you at six minutes past three in the morning constitute as torture?” Jeongguk wondered on the other line. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Shut up.”

“You were right, by the way. I caught a glimpse of the medical examiner’s report for Park Dongseok, since I heard that you’d been called to the scene. You were right about the way he died. Namjoon found out that Dongseok was treating a few hydrokinetic women at LEVITATE like trash, and he took it personally. Can’t say I blame him. Though the general consensus is that drowning is a relatively peaceful way to die.”

“Why are you calling me?” Jimin asked, because he wasn’t even going to bother with the polite questions— how did you get my number? How did you change the caller ID? Because Jimin already knew the answers to those questions.

“I was just wondering if you’d been asking more questions than normal. I know I sound like a broken record. Or that I sound pushy. But indulge me,” Jeongguk said, and at the same time, Jimin heard a sleepy voice in his ear.

“What the fuck are you calling me for?” Lia croaked. Jimin quickly fired her a text message: I’m on the phone. Trace the other caller. Get me a location. And then— “Alright, fine. Is this official business? Will I get fired for this? Doesn’t matter. Hold on.”

“I don’t really think that you appreciate the magnitude of my job,” Jimin responded after a moment’s hesitation. “I can’t just walk around the DKR asking questions, Jeongguk. That kind of shit has consequences. Someone like you doesn’t care about the consequences, but I do.”

“Okay, fine. I get it. There’s a balance. A fine line,” Jeongguk agreed, to Jimin’s surprise. “But I’m getting closer to answers, and I don’t know exactly what it is, but I know there’s been some shady shit happening ever since I showed up.”

“They’re trying to build a profile on you.” Jimin flopped back onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling. “The DKR. TRACK. They want to figure you out. Imagine if I told them that I knew everything about you. Your name. Your age. Your blood type. Your favorite food.”

“Maybe my favorite food has changed.”

“It’s always been pork belly.”

Jeongguk was silent on the other line for a moment, and that was when Jimin realized that he’d finally touched a nerve, though perhaps not in a bad way. Jeongguk had a lot of well-placed bravado, given his current crusade. But Jimin was the only one who really knew Jeon Jeongguk, and that was likely the reason why Jeongguk was calling. He was feeling nostalgic. Much like Jimin had gravitated straight towards his school trunk just hours ago, Jeongguk was seeking out something familiar. And Jimin was the only familiar thing in his life, whether they were on opposite teams or not.

“Have you thought more about what Han Hwijong had for us?” Jeongguk asked, and Jimin rubbed his eyes.

“I’ve been trying not to. Because I saw his psych evaluation. You fucked him up.”

“I’m good at that.”

“I wish you weren’t.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

“So is nostalgia.”

Jeongguk chuckled. “Don’t get sentimental on me now. Because I have a slew of files and data from the research center that you don’t have, and I think you might want to hear some of it.”

“For what purpose?” Jimin asked. “Why are you literally spoonfeeding the enemy? I work for the DKR. I basically do Jo Chansung’s bidding, and you’re the one saying that he’s the mastermind behind all this. And I don’t even know what ‘all this’ is. I’ve been confused since the day you broke Kim Taehyung out of prison.”

“I’m telling you all of this because even though you’re just a mouthpiece for the government, I’ve now seen you… what, three times?” Jeongguk questioned himself as Jimin listened. “Yes, three times. And I’m not exactly getting the ‘total submissive’ vibe from you. Maybe you like to follow all the rules to keep things calm, but you’re just as curious about what I’m up to. Don’t lie.”

“What did you find?” Jimin softly asked, ignoring Jeongguk’s profiling.

“A hell of a lot of data from TRACK Plus,” Jeongguk replied. “Profiles. Medical information. Data taken on test subjects. It’s vague at best, and a lot of it is redacted on purpose. But it looks like they’re trying to develop some kind of serum to give to all the kids at TRACK. Some kind of vaccine. At first, I thought that maybe it was what you had talked about. That training program to teach the masses how to fight off mind control, you know? I thought maybe they’d figured out some kind of serum for that. But I don’t think that’s it.”

“So what’s your theory?” Jimin asked, his eyes wide open as he glanced at his phone. Still no response from Lia.

“I don’t know. And no matter whose mind I get into, I’m not getting the answers I want. I need Jo Chansung, and I can’t access him. I can’t even locate him.”

“Probably because he knows you want to kill him,” Jimin fired back. “You’re targeting TRACK employees or anyone involved in TRACK, which is just bad for business, isn’t it? So of course he’s trying to develop a training program or serum or something to keep you out.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not.”

“Jimin hyung.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jimin quietly snapped, squeezing his eyes shut. Silence reigned. Jimin’s pounding heart settled.

“Do you really think that the DKR and TRACK are just trying to build a profile?” Jeongguk nearly whispered. “For me? Do you think that’s their goal? To just learn about me? You think that’s all Jo Chansung wants?”

“What he wants is for me to talk to you as much as possible and get information from you to share with him,” Jimin admitted outright, and Jeongguk snickered.

“I’m not surprised. Which is why I said that you’re not exactly following the rules.”

“I don’t know why they want to build a profile on you other than government reasons,” Jimin said, but he could hear it in his voice—he was unsure. And Jeongguk wasn’t oblivious.

“Take Jo Chansung off the pedestal you put him on,” he insisted. “He’s not a grieving father channeling his emotions into action.”

“You don’t know that.”

“When I was nine,” Jeongguk began, and Jimin’s hands curled into fists. “I had a therapy session like usual. More electroshock therapy.”

“Jeongguk—”

“No, I need you to listen,” Jeongguk barked. “I don’t want you to interrupt me this time. I need you to hear this.”

“Okay. Okay, fine,” Jimin agreed, because the passion in Jeongguk’s voice was loud, like he had been waiting to tell this story, almost desperate.

“I was nine. I had a session. And you know how I was just absorbing the electricity at that point.”

“I remember.”

“It was right before exit examinations. I was strapped into the chair, and guess who walked into the room? Jo Chansung. Big as life, like a nine-year-old strapped to a chair being shocked into submission was normal. He didn’t even flinch.”

“He came to see you?” Jimin whispered.

“He did. And he told me, amongst other things, that I was too dangerous to take the exit examination and pass. That I couldn’t be released into society. That I wasn’t following the rules and using only telekinesis. That he was disappointed in me. So I took control of his mind and made him hit his head against the window until he was bleeding and unconscious. But before I made him do that to himself, while he was still talking to me, do you want to know what he was thinking?”

“What?” Jimin breathed.

“That I was hardly human. It was all in my eyes, apparently. That he had to keep me scared so I would feel powerless. That what he needed to do was get me to TRACK Plus so I could rot there.”

“TRACK Plus?” Jimin repeated, aghast. “You were only nine.”

“I think he made exceptions for anomalies like me,” Jeongguk softly said, his voice sending a chill down Jimin’s spine. “Because do you want to know what else he was thinking?”

“What?”

“That I was far worse than Joosung ever was. And that nine was the golden age for my kind.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“I was only nine, so I didn’t understand back then, either,” Jeongguk admitted. “I didn’t even know who Joosung was. It didn’t make sense to me. But now it does. Now I get it. I know why he was thinking that. Or, at least, I have a hunch. Because I have a lot of data from the research center that I shouldn’t have in my possession. And there’s a test subject from TRACK Plus. Number nine. Low number. Been there awhile. Family name is Jo.”

“You’re not…”

“I think Jo Joosung is still alive.”

“That’s impossible,” Jimin whispered. “Impossible. He died in that home invasion. There was evidence, Jeongguk.”

“The evidence is bullshit. Because this test subject number nine is telekinetic. Thirty-years-old. Male. And I think he’s an anomaly. I think he was just as dangerous as Jo Chansung thought I was, or like all the staff at TRACK thought Yoongi was, or Taehyung, or Namjoon. But Joosung was enough of a threat to lock away before his tenth birthday. And I don’t have any proof yet, but I’m going to find out. I need to get into TRACK Plus.”

“You could walk in there at any given time,” Jimin snapped quietly, but Jeongguk tutted.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You think having all this power means that I can be reckless and do whatever I want, take whatever I want. But you see, hyung, this is just like your situation. There’s a balance I have to maintain. If I play my hand too soon, if I come in guns blazing, then I’ll fail. I’ll fall short. So I have to do this carefully. I just need to figure out how to get to Jo Chansung without him knowing.”

Jimin blinked at his ceiling, his mind racing. “Good luck with that.”

“You want to know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“Because I’m trusting that maybe one day soon, you’ll do something about it,” Jeongguk replied. “I’m not asking you to become the villain. You can leave that to me, to my friends. I’m just asking you to not be so complacent. And to maybe help an old friend.”

“You want me to help you?” Jimin let out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe. It’s a long shot. But I’m not foolish enough to think that I can accomplish all of this with you doing everything you can to stop me. If you don’t have all of the facts, then you’re going to keep fucking with my plan. And I can’t let you do that.”

“So this is for selfish reasons.”

“If that’s how you want to think of it.”

Jimin felt his phone vibrate with a message, but he didn’t look at it immediately. Instead, he rolled his head to the side, his eyes locking onto the red rose from seven years ago. He reached out with one hand and grabbed it between a few fingers, and then he held it up towards the ceiling, turning it in the light from his window. Slowly, he brought it down to his chest right over his heart.

“I went through some of my old school things tonight.” Jimin used the pads of his fingers to roll the stem of the rose back and forth on his sternum. “And I found a long-stemmed red rose in my trunk.”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Jimin could hear his heartbeat in his ears again. If he closed his eyes, he swore he could still feel Jeongguk’s hand brush his as he handed over the rose. Jeongguk had called him an old friend. Despite all of his trauma and all of his emotional scars, despite that murderous spree that he was embarking on for the sake of some bigger and ambiguous agenda that Jimin was just now beginning to understand, Jeongguk still had his wits about him. He was speaking up first. He was throwing a rift into the contemptuous fight they had going on between the two of them, the mutual hatred for how the other had transformed over time. He was trusting Jimin with information, and Jimin had no idea if that was a power play or genuine. But Jeongguk’s silence in the face of nostalgia spoke louder than any words ever could.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead. Jimin inhaled sharply and sat up, the rose falling into his lap, and then he stared at his phone screen.

LEO [03:19:52AM]

Toegye-ro 50na-gil, Myeong-dong, Jung-gu, SEOUL

He had a location.

TRACK Facility: Telekinesis Wing
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
11:36 AM

7 years ago

The hallways seemed to shrink as Jeongguk was guided towards the medical wing. He felt as if he was dragging his feet, mostly because he was quietly attempting to hide his rage at being pulled away during the transition between classes. He had been planning every single day for a month, and now his entire plan was going to be shot to hell because of therapy. They were going to knock him out and exhaust him, keep him from seeing his plan through. 

Jeongguk had just about had enough. He was reaching his limit. He wasn’t sure exactly how much more of the quiet, under-the-table abuse he could handle. He was enduring it for the sake of his parents who loved him and turned a blind eye, but mostly, he was enduring it for Jimin.

Jeongguk was only fifteen. There were many emotions that were a mystery to him still, and he knew that he could attribute that to the treatment he endured at TRACK. He knew that he had been smothered and stifled from day one purposely, that his emotional growth was meant to be stunted. And if not for Park Jimin, Jeongguk knew that he never would have stood a chance. So while deep empathy, altruism, and unconditional love were still a question mark for him, there was something about Jimin. Something Jeongguk couldn’t quite explain. But there was also a breaking point, and Jeongguk had to act soon.

“Get in,” the guard, Kangdae, barked, throwing open the medical wing door and nudging Jeongguk in by his shoulder blades. Jeongguk didn’t even spare a glance at other trainees or staff in the main atrium. He just detoured to the left and walked down the narrow hallway listlessly, because he knew where to go.

“Sit,” the next man snapped as Jeongguk approached the room reserved for him. Yang Jaeyong. Thirty-nine-years-old, medical staff, divorced, paying child support for a son he never saw. Empathy and altruism were lost on Jaeyong, and Jeongguk knew that because every time Jaeyong dragged him into this room for “therapy,” Jeongguk flipped through his mind to see exactly what kind of person he was.

“What is it today?” Jeongguk dully asked as he sat down in the chair. “And why today, of all days?”

“You’d think—” Jaeyong strapped Jeongguk’s right wrist in and pulled tightly as Jeongguk gritted his teeth, trying to fight the urge to kick Jaeyong— “that after all these years, you’d stop asking questions.”

“I like asking questions,” Jeongguk replied flippantly, watching Jaeyong strap his other wrist in. “No one ever answers me until I ask one too many questions. Asking questions is how you get what you want. So I’m not going to stop.”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of bullshit you’re pulling, but today’s therapy session won’t leave any room for questions.” Jaeyong smirked and sat down in the chair across from Jeongguk’s usual spot. He didn’t give Jeongguk anything to bite down on anymore. The pleasant formalities had evaporated a long time ago. Ever since the staff determined that Jeongguk’s mental capacity and sanity weren’t diminishing because of their therapy, they had stopped treating Jeongguk well. Now they just treated him like a body.

“And why is that?” Jeongguk asked, exhausted. He wanted to be finished. He wanted to go find Jimin. He wanted to see his plan through.

“Because.” Jaeyong leaned in, and Jeongguk stared. Yang Jaeyong was innocuous at first glance, a run-of-the-mill doctor in a government facility taking care of dozens of children’s medical needs. But every session for the past three years that he had gotten Jeongguk one-on-one, he spent it taunting Jeongguk in an attempt to make Jeongguk break. To prove to people that Jeongguk was crazy, unstable, a perfect candidate to chuck over to TRACK Plus. But Jeongguk wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He had to move in silence. 

“Because why?” Jeongguk tilted his head to one side curiously.

“Because you’re a burden,” Jaeyong said without hesitation. “How many times is Park Jimin going to fail his exit examination because of you, huh? How. Many. Times?”

Jeongguk clenched his jaw and said nothing. He didn’t even blink. He feared that if he did anything other than breathe, he would explode. Because hearing Jimin’s name come from the mouth of someone Jeongguk hated was borderline too much for him to handle.

“It wasn’t a stretch. Your obsession with him is sick,” Jaeyong hissed.

Fucking sick bastard. Disgusting waste of space. Can’t believe he’s still alive.

“He’s too smart to be failing. He’ll be a hero someday. And what will you be?”

He’ll corrupt Jimin. Fucking psychopath. He’ll turn Jimin into a nightmare.

“So today, I’ll make sure your therapy session is effective,” Jaeyong said with no emotional attachment, but Jeongguk was pulling all of Jaeyong’s thoughts in real time like a film, storing them into his own memory for later use. If Jaeyong thought that Jeongguk had a sick obsession with Jimin, then he and the rest of the staff at TRACK were painfully ignorant. Their fixation on Jimin was borderline terrifying, but Jeongguk figured he was the only one who felt that way. It was all disguised as praise.

“What, are you afraid that I’m going to corrupt him?” Jeongguk asked with emphasis, and Jaeyong quietly leaned in as close as he dared to get to Jeongguk. And Jeongguk wanted it. He wanted to do nothing more than make Yang Jaeyong slam his head into the concrete ground until he was dead. He wanted blood. But he also needed to be patient.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Jaeyong smirked again, but there was a far more sinister nature to it this time. “When Park Jimin takes the exit examination in October, I’ll make sure that I’m the one who examines him beforehand. And I’m going to push him to his limit.”

“If you touch a single hair on his head, I’ll make sure that you regret it,” Jeongguk whispered, and Jaeyong snorted with laughter.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he said as he sat back like he was going to stand up. But then he paused, trapped in one position as Jeongguk stared him down, forcing him to stay in the chair for only a moment. Even though his wrists contained him to the chair, and even though Jeongguk could break free, he just leaned in.

“You have no idea what I can do,” he whispered. “No idea. You touch him and I’ll find you someday. Make you pay for it.”

“Empty promises.” Jaeyong snickered, shaking his head. “I’ll put your precious little friend through the ringer just for you. That will teach you to keep away from others. Now be a good boy and do well in your therapy session.”

I’ve been compliant for so long. Too long. I could have burned this place to the ground years ago. I’ve let you abuse me freely for your own enjoyment. I won’t do this anymore. This is it.

But Jeongguk sat back and endured the therapy. He stayed in the chair for an hour and took multiple electric shocks, each one stronger than the last, until his body was so fatigued from dispersing and fighting off the negative side effects that he could barely keep his eyes open. He had learned long ago to control the voltage coursing through his veins so that it didn’t warp or fry his brain, but it took all of his strength and energy. When Jaeyong finally came back into the room to remove the wrist straps, Jeongguk was barely conscious.

“You’re free to go,” Jaeyong said airily. Woozy, Jeongguk rose to his feet, and it took all of his willpower to keep from collapsing, because collapsing would lead to mocking laughter and maybe a kick in the stomach or two from Jaeyong, asking Jeongguk in a baby voice why he couldn’t walk. 

So Jeongguk put one foot in front of the other and stuck close to the wall once he was in the hallway, using it to hold himself up as he exited the medical wing. He trailed the walls all the way back to the telekinesis wing, the hood of his sweatshirt up, his head down as a few other trainees walked the hallways, the next classes about to begin. Jeongguk should have gone to class as well, but he didn’t have the strength. He went straight to his dormitory room, the room he had all to himself, and he collapsed into his bed.

There was no telling how long Jeongguk was out. When he groggily opened his eyes, the room was pitch black, no daylight coming from the one window he had. He glanced at the clock—half past nine at night. Thirty minutes to curfew for anyone over the age of twelve. The entire day had vanished, and Jeongguk’s plan was ruined.

All he had wanted to do was take Jimin to the gardens and have lunch with him, surround him with blooming flowers just to see him smile, present his list of fourteen reasons why Jimin was an angel, and maybe try to hold his hand for the first time without collapsing from the butterflies in his stomach. It was White Day, after all. Last month on Valentine’s Day, Jimin had given Jeongguk a brand new leather-bound journal in secret, knowing that the TRACK staff liked to keep Jeongguk from having anything personal or anything to call his own. And Jeongguk had been intent on returning the favor, expressing the same sentiment with a little more urgency.

But like every glimmer of hope in his life, the spark had been extinguished.

Jeongguk stirred groggily and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, but then he heard a knock on his door. Perplexed, Jeongguk turned his head slowly, trying not to induce a strong headache, and then the door opened.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk whispered, wishing desperately that he could get up and walk, that he could greet Jimin properly. Instead, Jimin slipped into the room, and Jeongguk rolled his head over towards his lamp, encouraging the dim light to flick on. Jimin was wearing the standard issue TRACK pajamas—black pajama pants, white t-shirt with a TRACK logo on it. But he was also wearing a zip-up hoodie that didn’t belong to him, because it was two sizes too big. And Jeongguk had gone through a growth spurt last year. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s almost curfew.”

“You didn’t come back to class,” Jimin said as the door closed behind him on its own accord. “I figured you must’ve had a long therapy session. Exhausting enough to make you sleep all day.”

“Understatement,” Jeongguk murmured. He refused to ever detail his therapy sessions to Jimin, because he feared that if he said too much, Jimin’s view on life itself would become tainted. And Jimin was the optimistic light in Jeongguk’s life. Jeongguk didn’t want to be responsible for dimming it, but one day, he knew it would be him. He knew that he would be the one to corrupt Jimin, just like Yang Jaeyong thought. But Jeongguk still couldn’t keep away.

[in flames] :: digital daggers

“You said you wanted to have lunch with me today, but you didn’t show up,” Jimin noted, twisting his torso a few times as he spoke. “It seemed important. Is everything okay?”

“Mhm. Everything’s fine,” Jeongguk whispered. I wanted to say so much to you. I wanted to tell you how I feel. I wanted to see you smile at me. “Sorry. It was only lunch. I just… I wanted to do something for you. Show you something. I… I still can, if you have time.”

“Okay. What is it?” Jimin walked up to the edge of the bed, and then he pursed his lips in a smile that almost satisfied Jeongguk’s needs. “Scoot over.”

“Hmm?”

“Scoot over,” Jimin repeated. Confused, Jeongguk scooted closer to the wall, and suddenly, Jimin twirled and plopped onto the bed, wiggling until he was lying side-by-side with Jeongguk, staring at the ceiling with his hands resting on his stomach. He turned his head at the same time Jeongguk did, and when Jeongguk caught his eye, Jimin giggled before turning his head back to the ceiling. Then he tilted his head, resting it on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“What was it that you wanted to do?” Jimin asked as Jeongguk held his breath. When he closed his eyes, he could hear Jimin’s steady heartbeat, could feel his body heat, the way his ankles were crossed with his heels resting against Jeongguk’s shin.

“Well, you got me a journal last month,” Jeongguk began, trying to control the pitch of his voice so that Jimin couldn’t pick up on his nerves. “And I’ve used it every single day so far.”

“That’s great. That’s why I got it for you,” Jimin said, his voice hushed and soothing. It was astounding how calm he could keep Jeongguk, even when Jeongguk was frantic or angry. 

Over and over again, it echoed in Jeongguk’s head that Jimin was the thread keeping him hanging on. But Jeongguk wasn’t foolish enough to think that he could remain dependent on Jimin to keep him sane. He was going to have to let Jimin go very soon, and he had a sinking feeling that he was going to have to do it by force. Jimin wasn’t going to detach from Jeongguk easily, not when they had been friends for almost ten years. Not when Jimin was the budding hero being groomed for success and only saw the best in Jeongguk.

“Here.” Jeongguk had a small cactus over on his windowsill, so he pulled fragments of dirt from the pot and towards his hand as Jimin watched. The dirt swirled into a vortex as Jeongguk visualized and willed it to become exactly what he wanted for Jimin. With one sweep of his hand, the dirt morphed into a single long-stemmed red rose, the petals unfurling, and then he pinched the stem between his fingers, pleased with his handiwork.

“I always love when you do that,” Jimin whispered. “Make something out of nothing.”

“For you.” Jeongguk handed over the rose, and Jimin’s hand brushed his as he accepted the rose. He then twirled it between his fingers with a small smile that Jeongguk saw in his peripheral vision, and then Jimin brought the rose down to rest it against his sternum. “Watch this.”

“What—oh,” Jimin breathed, because Jeongguk channeled electricity from the power outlet in the wall with a wiggle of his fingers, and he flicked his fingers repeatedly as small fireworks began to burst near the ceiling in various shades of red, orange, and yellow. Jimin’s delighted laughter as he watched was all Jeongguk needed. Despite his exhaustion, despite the ache in his bones, Jimin’s happiness was important to him.

“How are you doing that?” Jimin whispered, his head still on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“I’ve gotten really good at electrokinesis recently,” Jeongguk replied. “I’ve been practicing different things. A lot of different things that they won’t teach me here.”

“Like what? Ooh, that was pretty,” Jimin breathed, curling in towards Jeongguk more when a red firework burst into the shape of a heart. “What kind of things are you practicing? What haven’t you been telling me?”

“A lot.”

Jimin stifled a laugh. “I thought you were supposed to tell me everything.”

“That’s a lot to tell.” Jeongguk smiled tiredly. “They limit me to telekinesis, you know? So I have to find ways to practice everything in secret, all the stuff they won’t teach me.”

“Including mind control?” Jimin whispered. Jeongguk fired off one final burst of yellow fireworks in the shape of stars, and then he let the show fizzle as silence reigned. “It’s okay. You can tell me. You know I would never tell anyone.”

“I know. I trust you,” Jeongguk agreed. “I, uh… well, the guards are already doing their rounds, and you haven’t gotten in trouble for being out of bed so close to curfew.”

“Oh?” Jimin propped up on one elbow, facing Jeongguk with a grin. “And how are you doing that?”

“Broadcasted hypnotic suggestions.”

“Hypnotic what now?”

Jeongguk stifled a laugh. “I started small. I studied the brain first and learned which parts of the brain control which functions. Practiced on a few teachers and other staff members. Instead of forcing them to do things or interrupting all their synapses and stuff, I started putting suggestions in their heads. It feels like their idea, but I’m the one who put it there, and they don’t really know it.”

“That sounds complicated,” Jimin said.

“It’s not that complicated,” Jeongguk retorted, mesmerized by the way that Jimin’s smile seemed to first consume his eyes before ever reaching his mouth. “For example, if anyone walked by your dorm room right now and checked in, they would see you sleeping. Your roommate thinks you’re sleeping in your bed, too.”

“How is that even possible?”

“It’s just an illusion. Like a magic trick. I trick their brains into seeing what I want them to see,” Jeongguk replied. “The occipital lobe, specifically. I could make all kinds of noise and cause all kinds of trouble, and everyone would stay asleep because that’s what I’m telling them to do. It’s one of my newer skills, but it’s been working pretty well. So you won’t get in trouble for being here.”

“Do you ever worry?” Jimin whispered, still twirling the red rose by its stem between his fingers. His eyes were fixed on the petals, but they flicked up to Jeongguk, and Jeongguk realized that the cliché of a heart fluttering from eye contact was a real thing.

“About what?”

“That… I mean, we’ve talked about it. About how… what did they call it? Omnikinesis. That you can do everything,” Jimin said softly. “There’s really no limit, is there? To the things you can do. Because mind control and—and all this cool hypnosis stuff that you do… I mean, that’s different from telekinesis, Jeongguk. You can do all kinds of things that other people here can’t do. Does that ever worry you?”

“Not really.” It worries me all the time. Every single day. They think I’m losing control, and I think they might be right. I’m losing my ability to be complacent every single day that I’m trapped here. I don’t think you can save me.

“You don’t think it’ll hurt you?” Jimin whispered. “To hold all of that in? You won’t be able to do all of this stuff when you leave TRACK. They won’t let you.”

“Unless I defect.”

“Don’t.” Jimin’s voice was firm, but it cracked in what had to be fear. Jeongguk could tell. Jimin’s pulse quickened, and there was a shift in his eyes. Jeongguk desperately wanted to insert himself right into Jimin’s beautiful mind, figure out what was going on and what Jimin was thinking, but he had made a promise that he intended to keep until the day he died.

“I’ll always end up breaking the rules,” Jeongguk whispered. “I don’t think I can control myself like you can.”

“I only have one ability to worry about,” Jimin said, and Jeongguk clenched his jaw. Jimin had confessed to Jeongguk as a child that he liked fire and was drawn to fire and heat, which had led to Jeongguk guiltily peering into a few staff members’ minds until he found out that Jimin was an anomaly, one they had successfully groomed and brainwashed.

“Exactly. You have to focus on you. You’re going to pass the exit examination in October. You don’t have a choice,” Jeongguk reminded Jimin. “Just promise me that you won’t worry about me. I’m not worried about myself. Just… Just keep focusing on what you need to do. Swear to me.”

“You’ll take the exam with me, right?” Jimin asked, his eyes round with hopeful innocence that suffocated Jeongguk. Jimin was older than him, but Jeongguk was far more jaded. 

“Yeah,” Jeongguk lied, and Jimin immediately smiled. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good.” Jimin was pleased. He held up the rose to his nose and inhaled slowly, his eyes closed. “I love the way that flowers smell. I wish I could keep this one alive forever.”

Jeongguk reached forward and pinched the stem of the rose firmly. You only die if I break my promise to Jimin. If I ever touch his mind, you die. “It will. I made sure of it.”

“Oh? Is this another magic trick?” Jimin teased. “Is it going to die next week, but when I look at it, it’ll be alive?”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. It’s a forever flower,” Jeongguk invented, and Jimin smiled.

“Was this—” He held up the rose— “and the fireworks your way of saying ‘thank you’ for the journal?”

“Mhm. That's all I could do, though. I’m sorry. I’m really exhausted,” Jeongguk murmured, sinking further into the mattress as he spoke.

“Tell them to go easy on you next session,” Jimin said in a playful tone, his socked foot nudging Jeongguk’s ankle. “Or just do some of your fancy mind control so that they shorten the sessions.”

“You think I should?”

“Absolutely.”

“You don’t think that’s breaking the rules and not listening to authority?”

“Well.” Jimin clicked his tongue, eyes searching the ceiling for a moment, still propped up on one elbow. “I think that maybe it’s just… using your talents to your advantage. Flexible rules.”

“You’re being naughty.”

Jimin giggled, and Jeongguk grinned sleepily, expecting that very reaction from Jimin.

“Well, it’s you. To anyone else, I’d scold them,” Jimin said good-naturedly. “But I think you can bend a few of the rules.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Jeongguk replied, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment, because it felt so good to just relax. There was a moment of silence, and then he felt lips pressing to his cheek in a soft kiss. Jeongguk’s eyes shot open, but Jimin was already rolling off the bed and heading towards the door. He pulled his hood up, and then he turned to glance at Jeongguk with his hand on the doorknob.

“Can you make sure I get back to my room safely?” he asked. “It’s after curfew now.”

“I’ll make sure,” Jeongguk whispered. Jimin quietly held the rose up with the petals to his nose, twirling it by the stem as he smiled, and then he opened the door and disappeared into the hallway, closing Jeongguk’s door behind him without touching it. The moment he was gone, Jeongguk’s hand flew to his cheek, and suddenly, he ached all over. 

He was in too deep. He had to pull himself out of the spiral and stop living in a fantasy world. Jimin being his only friend was making Jeongguk delusional. Jimin’s friendship made Jeongguk think that he had a shot at being normal, that he was going to be able to take the exit examination and pass and go out into the world as a regular guy with kinesis. TRACK was never going to let that happen. Ever.

Jimin’s reaction when Jeongguk had mentioned defecting had been like a punch to the gut. But Jeongguk certainly wouldn’t be the first one to defect from TRACK and work without restrictions and limitations as an outlaw. Even though TRACK kept it a secret, Jeongguk was the only trainee who knew their names—Min Yoongi, the boy obsessed with fire, who had defected a little over two years ago in a blaze of glory after failing the exit exam (surely on purpose). Kim Taehyung, the brooding but handsome loner who had cut the power to the entire facility and escaped in the middle of the night right after Yoongi after electrocuting his tattletale roommate to death. Kim Namjoon, the guy who had passed the exit examination last year with flying colors but had then shattered the windows of his testing room and escaped in a flash flood, killing his examiner and the guard.

They had all been marked and deemed “dangerous.” But none of them had ever been treated the way Jeongguk was treated. They had never been consistently tortured and abused, though they had endured enough abuse to leave scars. The difference was that the three of them had never had a friend to protect. Jeongguk had Jimin. And that made him vulnerable. Jimin was his one weakness.

Now there was no doubt that Jeongguk was going to have to let Jimin go.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
18:45 PM

present day

“Can we talk?”

“Hmm?” Jimin glanced up from his report that he was attempting to finalize. Seokjin and Hoseok were both standing in the doorway, and it didn’t look as though they had been sent to Jimin for a specific reason. Perplexed, Jimin beckoned, so his friends stepped into his office, and Jimin closed the door behind them. Hoseok unbuttoned his suit jacket and plopped down in one chair, and Seokjin perched on the armrest of the other chair.

“Is this an interrogation?” Jimin wondered, sliding his chair to the side and away from his monitor, running his fingers through his red hair. Hoseok and Seokjin glanced at each other first.

“You said something to me,” Hoseok carefully began. “I didn’t think much about it at the time, but now I can’t get it out of my head. I don’t know if you slipped up or if there’s just something you’re not telling us, but I have to ask you.”

“What is it?” Jimin bridged his fingertips together, trying not to show the instant and swooping fear that immediately consumed him at the thought of being questioned by his closest friends. They can’t know. They can’t know about Jeongguk. Not now. I don’t know if I can trust them yet.

“It’s about Phantom.”

Fuck.

“When you were on your way to Han Hwijong’s apartment, you called me,” Hoseok said as Seokjin picked at his fingernails, watching Jimin closely. “And I said that there’s something about you that Phantom likes. That he’s trying to get into our heads for something. And you said something weird.”

“What did I say?” Jimin held his breath, because he couldn’t remember.

“You said that he’s already been in both of our heads.” Hoseok gestured to himself first, and then Seokjin. “But you didn’t include yourself. Why is that?”

“Well, he hasn’t—don’t look at me like that,” Jimin interrupted himself when Seokjin leaned forward with his eyebrows raised.

“Is he not fucking with your head?” Seokjin asked. 

“He is, it’s just—he hasn’t been recently,” Jimin said, mixing the truth with a lie. “He’s—He’s been talking to me instead. Giving me choices. You know he’s just doing it on purpose, come on. He’s doing it to fuck with my head in a different way. Maybe he gives you guys commands or suggestions or controls you, but—well, he doesn’t do that to me when I go to confront him.”

“Why?” Hoseok asked, elbows on the armrests. “Why is that? Why wouldn’t he?”

“Well, maybe he wants something from me,” Jimin lied.

“Jimin-ah, you’re playing right into his strategy,” Seokjin insisted. “He’s drawing you in because he’s going to make you a target one day. You’re the face of TRACK and the DKR. You’re the poster child. He’s going to annihilate you if you keep this up.”

“We think you’re in danger,” Hoseok quietly said, tilting his head in Seokjin’s direction. “He’s too interested in you. Too invested. Something’s not right.”

“Listen.” Jimin glanced at the door, and then he scooted his chair closer so he didn’t have to raise his voice. “Have you ever known me to fall victim to a fellow kinetic’s bullshit?”

“No. But this is different,” Hoseok declared.

“It’s not. He’s just like the rest of them,” Jimin argued. “And don’t even say it.” He pointed accusingly at Seokjin. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me not to humanize him, but that’s the only way we can get through to any of these guys and you know it. If he’s trying to play me and his plan is to annihilate me, I’ll figure it out. Phantom is just another criminal.”

“You believe that?” Seokjin said as Jimin leaned back.

No. He’s not just another criminal. He’s Jeongguk. I hate him, but I can’t stop thinking about him. Is that dangerous, too?

“Look.” Jimin folded his hands. “These four guys, they’re… they’re not like the other kinetics we chase after. They’re not motivated by money or sex or power. I mean, I guess you could argue against power, but it’s not the kind of power we’re used to seeing. They have… it’s like… it’s a limited agenda. They’ve only become more active recently.”

“Yeah, because Phantom’s got the band back together,” Hoseok pointed out. “He showed up and suddenly, the other three are out in full force.”

“Because they’re working together,” Jimin emphasized, frantically pulling the focus of the conversation away from him. “They have a common enemy and a common goal. I don’t even know if the four of them knew each other before this.” He paused. “I bet I could ask.”

“You could ask? What, you’ve built rapport with Phantom?” Seokjin asked, amused. Jimin pursed his lips and shrugged. 

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he murmured. “He’s not just on a murder spree. He has an agenda. There’s more to it than we know. But it’s definitely about TRACK. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“But my original question still stands,” Hoseok persisted. “Has he been in your head? At the prison? Anywhere?”

“Yes.” Jimin lied right to Hoseok’s face. “But not for long. He was too busy fighting me.”

“I don’t like this,” Seokjin said honestly. “I don’t like that you’re volunteering yourself to go face him one-on-one. It just makes you vulnerable. We’re not there to back you up.”

“I’ve been able to handle it so far,” Jimin said. “If I feel like I can’t, you know I’ll ask you both to come as back-up.”

“I don’t like that we’re being separated for this shit,” Hoseok chimed in, echoing Seokjin’s sentiments. “We always do things together. I mean, sometimes we go off on our own to deal with smaller problems, petty criminals, that sort of thing. But going solo on this kind of thing?”

“Everything’s been weird since Phantom showed up,” Seokjin said, and Jimin was about to open his mouth and speak, but then the office door burst open.

“Excuse me, sorry.” An agent teetered on the spot with a hasty bow, breathless. “You have to see the news. All of you.”

Jimin instantly turned his monitor so that Hoseok and Seokjin could see, and the screen flickered as Seokjin gripped the frame of the monitor to feed the broadcast to Jimin’s computer. Jimin could hear chaos mounting outside in the bullpen, voices, the sound of a news broadcast. The broadcast appeared on the screen, and the headline was ominous: BREAKING NEWS: TRANSPACIFIC AIRLINE FLIGHT T613 STRUCK BY LIGHTNING - POSSIBLE HIJACKING.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Seokjin breathed as Jimin covered his mouth with one hand while watching the broadcast. One hundred and seventeen passengers onboard. No contact with the pilot or copilot. Flight attendants not responding. Plane losing altitude. An aerial live shot of the plane careening through the sky.

“Get the manifest,” Jimin barked at Seokjin, and Seokjin sprinted out of the room and towards his office, knowing that he could hack into the system to grab a manifest for the flight, or otherwise contact the aviation agency and get the names of the passengers.

“You think this is deliberate?” Hoseok whispered.

“Struck by lightning?” Jimin emphasized. “If there aren’t people involved in TRACK onboard that plane, I’ll be fucking shocked. Pun fully intended.”

“You don’t really think…” Hoseok trailed off, but Jimin knew exactly what he was thinking. This had to be Kim Taehyung’s doing. And how far was Taehyung willing to go to get what he wanted, to accomplish his goal, whatever it was?

“I wouldn’t put it past him. I don’t know. That’s what makes him dangerous,” Jimin darkly replied. “Suit up. I know we haven’t been told to, but there’s no way we won’t be sent out there.”

“Got it.” Hoseok ran out of the office while loosening his tie, and he brushed shoulders with Seokjin on his way out as Seokjin appeared in the doorway, face pale.

“There are ten members of the TRACK board of trustees on that flight. They’re coming back from a conference in Tokyo,” Seokjin announced. “We need to go.”

“Do we have clearance?” Jimin asked, already pulling his tie off over his head, his suit jacket on the floor.

“Fuck clearance.”

Jimin let out a humorless laugh as Seokjin disappeared, closing the door. Jimin locked it with a flick of his fingers as he yanked open his closet door and grabbed his suit, changing with haste, his adrenaline already pumping. He had the bare minimum of information, but the newscast was still playing as he got dressed. There was nothing new being shared besides the number of passengers, the inability for air traffic control to get in touch with the pilot and copilot, and the absolute radio silence as the plane descended in slow motion, nearing Seoul with each passing minute. There was already talk of the military shooting down the plane as a last resort.

“PARK JIMIN.”

“I’m going!” Jimin called out when he heard Director Nam’s voice on the other side of the door, followed by a heavy fist pounding. He pulled his face mask on, and then he unlocked the door. Director Nam burst in.

“This is a 737 aircraft with over one hundred passengers onboard,” he barked at Jimin. “I told Seokjin and Hoseok, and I’m telling you the same—I’m not authorizing this. We don’t have enough information or intel to send you three out there to chase a moving aircraft. The president hasn’t authorized your involvement, either.”

“With all due respect, we have plenty of intel, and Seokjin is a hell of a lot more capable than you think he is,” Jimin snapped, shoving his earpiece in. “You don’t have to authorize it. Take us off payroll for this. Look away. I don’t care. If we do nothing, that plane is going to crash. This is clearly Shock trying to get our attention.”

“Jimin-ssi, I cannot—”

“There are ten members of the TRACK board of trustees onboard that plane,” Jimin said loudly as he stepped into the hallway. Seokjin and Hoseok were already rounding the bullpen, headed for the garage. All eyes were on them. “Do you want us to try to do something or not?”

“If you make things worse, then on your head be it,” Director Nam replied, shaking his head. But he rubbed his brow with a heavy sigh, knowing he had an audience that was eager to watch three kinetic agents leave the building to attempt something akin to heroics. Jimin saw Director’s Nam’s expression soften slightly as he added, “If there’s nothing you can do, then you pull back. That’s an order. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Director.” Jimin bowed, and then he ran to the elevator that Hoseok was holding for him, and the three of them descended into the garage.

“We have to track the plane,” Seokjin declared as the doors opened to the garage. “First and foremost. We need to know its trajectory, its altitude, and its potential crash site.”

“Phoenix to Leo.” Jimin grabbed his motorcycle helmet. “Get me everything you can on T613. Flight trajectory, altitude, potential crash site. Give me directions. Show me where I can go to try to do something. Feed this to Flare and Prism, as well.”

“Do you want me to throw in a backrub?” Lia asked, but Jimin could hear her typing. “Flight T613 from Haneda to Incheon. It’s about two hundred miles off-course. Lighting struck it somewhere over Yangpyeong about twenty-three minutes ago, and since then, no contact from the pilot or copilot, and no communication from anyone onboard. In-flight WiFi has been knocked out entirely. Altitude is seven thousand meters and dropping fast. It’s headed directly for Seoul. There’s no way in hell it’ll make it to Incheon before dropping too low in altitude and crashing.”

“So our goal is to somehow redirect the plane to a place where it can land safely and away from civilians,” Jimin loudly said, Seokjin and Hoseok driving alongside him as they sped along the freeway.

“Listen, since the three of you are out trying to do something, I took it upon myself to make a hacking attempt,” Lia shamelessly admitted. “But I’m being blocked out hard. You should see the lines of coding that I’m getting. The wall that someone’s put up to keep me out is insane. And they’re onto me, too.”

“Onto you? Onto you how?” Jimin sharply asked.

“The first pop-up alert I got said, ‘not you.’ The second one said, ‘stop trying, Choi Jisu.’ So they know my name,” Lia casually said. “Which doesn’t surprise me, before you start yelling. This is clearly a fellow electrokinetic fucking with me. We know each other.”

“You shouldn’t,” Seokjin intervened. “He’s taunting you, but fine. Take his advice. Stop trying. Let me do it. If this is Kim Taehyung, he’ll let me in.”

“And you know that how?” Hoseok asked, his voice fuzzy and filled with wind in Jimin’s earpiece.

“I just have a feeling.”

“Okay, we need a destination!” Jimin requested, glancing up to the sky. “Leo! Give us something! Where’s the plane?”

“Currently flying over Gwangjin-gu and losing altitude fast.”

“Then why the hell are we going west?” Hoseok exclaimed.

“Because that’s where it’s headed,” Jimin replied, careening around a bend in the road as several cars honked at him. “Hyung! Seokjin hyung! Hack into their communication system. Do something. Anything.”

“Flare, I sent you the information,” Lia said vaguely in Jimin’s ear. “Use that.”

“Pull over,” Hoseok insisted. “He can’t do this while we’re driving. It’s too much of a distraction. Pull over! Just a few minutes.”

Jimin pulled over first, since he was in the lead, and Seokjin and Hoseok pulled over as well. Seokjin immediately ripped his helmet off and threw it at Jimin, who caught it without hesitation. Seokjin then pulled out his phone and leaned his elbows on the handlebars of his motorcycle, clutching the phone tightly, head dropping. Jimin watched with bated breath as Hoseok stood by with his hands on his hips, helmet still on, waiting.

“Come on, let me in,” Seokjin muttered. “Come on. Let me in.”

Jimin heard a flicker of feedback in his ear, and Seokjin sat up straighter.

“This is Flare with the Department of Kinesis Regulation. Can anyone hear me?” he asked. “I repeat—this is Flare with the Department of Kinesis Regulation in Seoul. Is there anyone onboard who can hear me? Who can pick up the phone for the PA system? Come on. Someone. Anyone.”

“H-Hello?”

“Hello? Hello, who is this? Who am I speaking to?” Seokjin asked as Jimin’s heart leapt.

“M-My name is Seohee. I’m a flight attendant,” the woman stammered.

“Seohee, what’s going on right now? Are the passengers all okay?’

“We’re fine, we’re fine, but the—the captain, the door is just—we can’t access the cockpit. We have no control,” Seohee sobbed. “They’re unconscious. They—We think—We think they were struck by lightning.”

“Okay. Okay, listen to me. I’m going to try to control the plane remotely. We’re going to do everything we can. You need to prepare the passengers, Seohee. Tell them to brace for impact and stay there. Can you do that?” Seokjin said, pinching the bridge of his nose despite his calm voice.

“Yes.”

“Good. Come back and tell me when you’ve done that.” Seokjin lowered his phone, and Jimin could see the faint sparks of electricity cracking between Seokjin’s fingers as he kept communication lines open. “That was too easy. I just sailed right through. No one else has been able to make contact yet but me.”

“Which tells you everything you need to know,” Jimin replied. “Okay. The plane is approaching fast, because it hasn’t decelerated. We need to get to a good point where we can attempt to control the plane. Phoenix to Leo—where’s a good place for us to crash this plane, hypothetically?”

“I’m sorry, what? To crash it? You’re not seriously suggesting—”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jimin interrupted snappishly. “Unless Flare can hack the controls and guide the plane to Incheon for a safe landing, we’re going to have to crash it somewhere and try to minimize injuries and casualties. Get Flare access to the cockpit controls.”

“Jesus Christ. Do any of you know how to fly a plane?” Lia said nervously, typing regardless.

“Just do a search for it on the web for me,” Seokjin dryly joked, and Lia let out a bark of laughter that sounded tinged with mild despair.

“Okay, you asked for a good place to crash the plane,” Lia said. “You’re right outside of Cheongam-dong right now. There’s no way you can make it to Incheon or anywhere near the Yellow Sea before the plane does. It’s about four minutes from your immediate location. If you can get control of it and land it in the river near Mapo-gu, you might have a chance. A water landing would be the safest bet at this point. But that’s given you figure out how to take control of the plane.”

“And if we don’t?” Jimin asked.

“Then you’re fucked and the plane is going to crash in Bucheon near Jung-dong, by my current trajectory,” Lia estimated. “Flare, check your phone. I’ve updated you with a code for the cockpit controls that I siphoned from air traffic control. They don’t know I hacked them, so be quick so I don’t get thrown into jail.”

“Shit,” Seokjin cursed. “Let’s go!”

Jimin leapt back onto his motorcycle and sped off along Gangbyeonbuk-ro as fast as possible, breaking every speed limit law with Hoseok and Seokjin in tow. He continually glanced up at the sky as if he was going to see a plane soaring overhead, his heart racing, adrenaline pumping.

[way up] :: jaden

“Drive faster!” Lia called out in Jimin’s ear, so Jimin sped up, going double the speed limit as he weaved through traffic with little to no concern for other drivers.

“If we can’t get this plane into the water, the best I could do is soften the blow with trees and nature!” Hoseok hollered as they hugged the shoulder of the road to bypass traffic. “I’ll follow the plane and do whatever the hell I can to slow it down before it crashes! But a water landing is ideal!”

“We’re talking about controlling a fucking 737 aircraft, here!” Seokjin yelled.

“Alright, just pull off here!” Jimin called out, so they sped off the freeway and off to a quieter road with a roundabout near the Seongsan Bridge. Jimin careened through the construction barriers and into the abandoned parking lot right near the edge of the water, and he leapt off his motorcycle and threw his helmet aside, looking to the evening sky as he ran towards the grassy shoreline of the river.

Mangwon il-dong, Mapo-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
19:29 PM

“LEO!”

“Flare, you’re within range!” Lia declared, so Seokjin crouched down and gripped the phone, his eyes closed, panting as he murmured to himself.

“Fuck, fuck, stop fighting me!” he yelled as Hoseok crouched down beside him, and Jimin paced in a small radius, eyes fixed on the sky as he searched for a plane flying too low. “Let me in, damn it!”

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok frantically asked, also peering to the sky, the dark tips of his hair trapped in his eyelashes.

“I’m in the right place. I could control the plane, but he’s not fucking letting me,” Seokjin snapped. “He’s blocking my access to autopilot. I can’t switch it off. If I could switch off the autopilot and take control manually, I could—”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your interim captain, Shock, speaking.”

“Oh, you fucking bastard,” Jimin cursed the moment he heard Taehyung’s voice coming through Seokjin’s phone.

“We’re careening towards Bucheon at a shockingly low altitude full speed ahead. I do hope that the prior lightning strike to quiet your pilot and co-pilot didn’t dampen your spirits,” Taehyung casually said, and Jimin watched as the phone Seokjin was holding practically began to glow from the amount of energy Seokjin was exerting trying to cut Taehyung off. “There are ten passengers onboard tonight who are the reason for your untimely demise, shall we meet them? I’ll provide seat numbers, too. If you lovely people can kill these ten vermin before this plane goes down, then perhaps I can guide you to Incheon safely. Your choice. In seat seven B—Lee Seojun!”

Jimin could hear the chaos ensuing within the cabin as it was broadcasted directly into his ear against his will. He heard Seohee, the flight attendant, calling out for Flare, asking what they should do and screaming that she couldn’t make Taehyung stop. Taehyung continued to rattle off seat numbers and names, and he reached the fifth name when finally, silence reigned.

“Hyung,” Jimin gasped, lunging to catch Seokjin as Seokjin toppled sideways into the grass.

“I can’t do this,” he said breathlessly. “I can’t hold him off for long. He’s too powerful. You have a minute at most.”

“The plane is in your airspace, heads up,” Lia said in a panic.

“Fucking hell,” Hoseok cursed.

“Leo! Is the plane anywhere near our location? Close enough and in range for me to get eyes on it!” Jimin asked, running to the edge of the river.

“Check the sky to your right,” Lia insisted. “You’ve got incoming.”

“I see it.” Jimin’s eyes locked on the flashing lights coming from the wings of the plane. “Hyung, keep him out of communications as long as possible!”

“What are you doing?” Hoseok hollered, still trying to keep Seokjin focused on the task at hand. Jimin jogged backwards, head tilted to the sky, and then he planted his feet firmly, his knees nearly knocking weakly before he locked them and took a deep breath.

“No one’s controlling the plane, which means that a water landing could be catastrophic at their current speed, especially with the bridge right there. I’m going to try to give the plane a soft landing,” Jimin said.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Hoseok said, frenzied. “You want to try to control a fucking plane?”

“Give me another option!” Jimin yelled. “I’m all ears! If I can get it into the water, you need to build them a path to shore, can you do that?”

“Yeah, if!”

“Leo! The bridge!”

“On it, contacting local law enforcement now to cut off immediate access to it!” Lia answered Jimin. “Less than two minutes for that!”

“I’m losing them,” Seokjin gasped out, doubled over, and when he opened his eyes while gritting his teeth, Jimin could see flashes of electricity flaring through his eyes, and Hoseok slipped one hand underneath Seokjin’s hands for support, his other hand pressed to the grass for grounding purposes. The plane was dangerously low now, far too close for comfort, and Jimin was running out of time. 

“Okay, come on,” he breathed, and then he lifted both hands and channeled all of his concentration, focus, energy, everything he had into that airplane. “Leo, talk to me. Speed, altitude, anything.”

Manipulating vehicles on the road was a feat. Manipulating a multi-ton aircraft with over one hundred passengers onboard was another feat entirely, something that Jimin had never come close to accomplishing in his lifetime. He had never practiced, never dreamed that he would have to use his abilities to control an aircraft hurtling towards danger.

“BRACE FOR IMPACT!”

The flight attendant’s voice cut harshly through Jimin’s fragile concentration, but the very fact that the sentiment was even being spoken was the first sign that something was happening. Jimin could hear screams and cries over the phone. He could hear Seokjin struggling and grunting and panting. But he could also see the plane clearer now, closer, and Lia was in his ear.

“Altitude three thousand meters and dropping fast. Speed is decreasing by force. Autopilot system override. This is fucking dangerous, Phoenix,” Lia rambled, her voice pitched higher in a panic. Jimin clenched his jaw and shook his head, because he wasn’t going to stop now. The plane wasn’t careening towards him at an alarming speed like before, and Jimin’s head felt like it was splitting into two, his teeth chattering from the sheer amount of willpower he was attempting to use. Slow, slow, slow. The command was like a shrieking alarm in his head. Less thrust. Less lift. Less speed. Descend slowly. Slowly. Slowly.

Telekinesis, at its core, was all about having total control of objects or physical systems without physically interacting with it. That was the bare bones definition. And perhaps Jimin was breaking a thousand rules that had been laid before him by the DKR. Perhaps the three of them weren’t even supposed to be within miles of this plane. Their presence wasn’t authorized.

But Jimin had control.

“I can’t,” he heard Seokjin gasp, and Hoseok cursed loudly.

“JIMIN-AH!”

“Shut up!” Jimin shouted, his voice cracking. “Just shut up!”

The screams and cries from the plane grew louder. Hoseok was the one talking to everyone onboard now, commanding that they just brace for impact and remain calm, that they cover their ears if they could in case Taehyung came back to terrorize them. But Taehyung’s voice never cut through the pandemonium. Jimin’s vision began to split and blur, his hands trembling, body weakening as the plane descended lower and lower in the sky at a slower speed. The turbines were furious. The landing gear wasn’t deployed. Nothing about this crash landing was going to be smooth.

But Jimin had control.

“Autopilot’s been disengaged,” he heard Lia saying in his ear, but it was all background noise. “Altitude is only a thousand meters. Flare? Flare!”

“He’s down!”

“Phoenix!”

Jimin couldn’t respond. The entire aircraft was now hovering low enough over the river, its nose just short of the bridge, and Jimin had tears streaming down his face, his knees nearly giving out on him. He let out a strangled cry, watching the plane teeter like a toy, like it didn’t weigh two hundred tons, like there weren’t dozens upon dozens of frightened passengers onboard predicting their imminent death.

“Jimin!”

Jimin let out another noise as he struggled, the plane’s engine roaring at him, the aircraft hovering over the water now as it inched forward, ripples forming in the water, the blue and red of emergency sirens and vehicles surrounding the water, a helicopter somewhere overhead. It was all background noise. It had to be. 

Jimin felt something wrap around his ankles and shins to stabilize him, surely Hoseok’s doing. He couldn’t glance down to see what it was. Instead, he swayed on the spot, gritting his teeth, his fingers twitching uncontrollably, his lungs on fire from the exertion. He could hear Lia shouting in his ear, could hear Hoseok’s voice begging him to let go, could hear Seokjin’s voice weakly calling out to him that he could cut the engines, that he had access again. With every ounce of his fading strength, Jimin slowly dragged his hands in a downward motion, and when the belly of the plane hit the water, it created another ripple effect in the water immediately. 

Whatever was holding Jimin in place around his ankles and shins dissipated. Hoseok started shouting. But Jimin collapsed, hitting the ground hard as darkness consumed his vision.

City of Seoul General Hospital: Kinetic Abilities Unit
Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
00:52 AM

“Jimin? Are you awake? Hey. Open your eyes. Jimin-ah.”

Jimin’s entire body felt as if it was weighed down by cannonballs, like he was a criminal sinking to the depths of the ocean. But he opened his tired eyes, vision blurred for a moment until a face swam into view.

“Hey. Thank God.” Hoseok was still in his uniform, his face pale as he hovered over Jimin by his bedside. Jimin swallowed the dry lump in his throat, licking his chapped lips, and then he took a slow, deep breath, taking in his surroundings—a hospital. He was in the hospital.

“How long…?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s almost one in the morning. You’ve been out for a couple of hours,” Hoseok said with haste, and the way he shifted his footing told Jimin that something was wrong, an immediate red flag. “You passed out after you landed the plane.”

“I…”

“Yeah. You did it. Zero casualties. Passengers and crew are all safe, albeit traumatized for life and probably never going to fly again,” Hoseok breathed, shaking his head. “I don’t know how the hell you did it. You collapsed right after. Seokjin could barely move. I had to build a path to shore from the exit doors of the plane. Pretty sure every emergency service in the country was there.”

“No one died,” Jimin whispered.

“No one died. You controlled a fucking plane.” Hoseok chuckled, crossing his arms and shaking his head. But when he pursed his lips, Jimin grunted and pressed his palms into the mattress, sitting up against his pillows.

“What’s wrong?” he croaked. “Why are you here right now? You wouldn’t be here asking me if I’m awake if nothing was wrong.”

Hoseok drew in a shaky breath, running both hands over his face and pulling at his cheekbones with his fingertips. Then he dropped both hands and pressed them to the railings of Jimin’s hospital bed, his head hanging for a moment. When he lifted his eyes to make eye contact with Jimin, Jimin could see the harrowing distress plaguing his friend’s eyes.

“When you passed out,” he quietly began, “emergency services were still a few minutes away. And… And he just… showed up. He was there. He was right there the whole time. He watched the entire disaster and didn’t do a goddamn thing about it.”

“Who?” Jimin whispered.

“He just—He let himself get caught. He didn’t even fight it. He walked right up to Seokjin, large as life, and just… he just… he just offered himself up, I couldn’t…”

“Who?” Jimin emphasized, and Hoseok took a deep breath.

“Kim Taehyung,” he said, and Jimin’s heart screeched to a halt. “He’s in custody at Yongsan Police Station right now. The station where he massacred the entire police force. And he’s demanding that Seokjin interrogate him.”

Chapter Text

:: :: ::

PART V :: MADNESS

Yongsan Police Station
Namyeong-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
01:25 AM

The only sound in the room was the loud humming of the fluorescent lights, and Seokjin wasn’t even in the room, but the temptation to cover his ears was overwhelming. He was standing outside with his arms crossed, staring through the one-way mirror, still wearing his uniform, his body drained and spent from the exertion of the last few hours. It was Hoseok who was bringing Seokjin a change of clothes, because everyone in the police station was blissfully ignorant of Seokjin’s presence.

Phantom’s doing. 

About twenty minutes had passed, and still, Seokjin hadn’t budged from his spot, paralyzed with… what was it? Fear? It didn’t feel like fear, but it wasn’t rage, either. It was a strange emotion that Seokjin couldn’t quite define, because it was something he had never felt before. He stared into the interrogation room, his jaw clenched. Kim Taehyung was sitting in one of two chairs in the room, his hands folded politely on the surface of the table. He had kinesis dampening handcuffs around his wrists, the same handcuffs he had worn day in and day out while in prison. His wild, dark hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, but half of it was hanging in his eyes. He was wearing a white t-shirt underneath a black jumpsuit, and he was completely calm.

An officer walked right by Seokjin without sparing him a passing glance. No one in the police station gave a damn that Seokjin was present, that the man who was in the interrogation room was the man who had massacred a third of the police force a few years ago. And Seokjin knew that the only reason the entire force was inattentive was because of Phantom. Somehow, Phantom had managed to coerce or hypnotize everyone in the building, trick them into seeing only an illusion.

“Hyung.”

Seokjin flinched and turned away from the mirror, exhaling when he saw Hoseok rushing towards him with a garment bag that surely had a suit inside it. Jimin was trailing behind, walking slowly and close to the wall, wearing a black NIS hoodie and sweatpants, his face still pale.

“Why the hell are you here?” Seokjin hissed at Jimin, grabbing the suit from Hoseok’s hands.

“Because we walked in here and no one even looked at us,” Jimin replied, hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt. “Which means that Phantom is doing something to control the environment, and this is a trap.”

“He let himself get caught,” Seokjin whispered, glancing left and eyeing Taehyung again. Still cool and collected. “He walked right up to me. Said that I should arrest him. Didn’t even care that there was an entire plane of people in the river that Hoseok was trying to save.”

“Director Nam knows,” Hoseok said specifically to Jimin. “That Taehyung has been arrested. He authorized this.”

“He what?” Jimin’s voice cracked as he raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. While you were unconscious,” Hoseok dryly quipped. “He showed up to the scene and directed the squad car with Taehyung in it right to this precinct. Barely even reacted. Thought he’d want to tell everyone, you know? Give Jo Chansung a call and celebrate. Bring him right to the NIS and book him in, throw him back into his old prison cell.”

“You don’t think…”

“Oh, I think,” Jimin interrupted Seokjin. “We have dozens of NIS agents trained to interrogate people like Kim Taehyung. If what you’re saying actually happened, hyung, then all protocol for arrests like this has basically been ignored. They brought him here from Mapo-gu, for Christ’s sake. And no one in this station right now even knows that we’re here. We’re invisible. Put the puzzle pieces together.”

“That’s…” Seokjin rubbed his forehead. “Whatever. I didn’t need to sleep tonight, anyways. Will you both stay here? Supervise the interrogation?”

“Get me a chair and I’ll stay and watch,” Jimin agreed, and Hoseok nodded. Seokjin nodded in return and tucked the garment back underneath one arm, ducking into the bathroom right down the hall. He quickly peeled his moonlighter suit off, changed into the formal suit that Hoseok had provided (sans tie, because Hoseok knew Seokjin well), and then splashed some cold water onto his face several times before bracing both hands on the edge of the sink and taking a few deep breaths.

It’s fine. He’s just playing you. Don’t let him get into your head. He’s just another criminal. It doesn’t matter that he spared your life like child’s play in the main atrium of this building all those years ago. Just get him to talk. Figure out what he’s doing.

Seokjin ran his fingers through his hair a few times, pushing it off his forehead with the water and brushing his knuckles over the white streaks that were becoming more prominent in his hair. Every time he used too much power, every time he overexerted himself, something changed. It happened to Hoseok, too. Seokjin hadn’t seen any changes in Jimin yet, though, which struck him as odd—not even after landing a plane on his own. His hair was just relentlessly red.

Resolutely, Seokjin straightened up and adjusted the sleeves of his suit jacket, but not before he rotated his wrist back and forth, looking at the scar on his wrist from where Taehyung, at sixteen years of age, had burned his skin in an attempt to spare Seokjin from death. He had pulled Seokjin back and away from several victims, and why? The electricity had been so all-consuming that Seokjin, typically immune to it, had been burned. If that didn’t speak volumes, Seokjin wasn’t sure what did.

“Here.”

The moment Seokjin approached the interrogation room, Hoseok handed over an NIS file with the DKR seal stamped on it—Taehyung’s file.

“In case you need anything,” he said. “A record of all his offenses. Nothing about his childhood or teenage years beyond the crimes he committed, though.”

“Hyung.”

“Yeah.” Seokjin glanced up at Jimin, who looked utterly exhausted. Saving one hundred and thirty lives will do that to a man. 

“Ask him how he met Phantom,” Jimin croaked, already slouching in his provided chair. “I want to know.”

Seokjin pursed his lips and nodded, clutching the file, and then he turned and gripped the door handle while exhaling slowly, rolling his neck. Never mind that he had been nearly unconscious a few hours ago from fighting Taehyung off with nothing but electricity. It had taken everything Seokjin had, and now he had to give more.

[madness] :: ruelle

The humming of the lights was like a shockwave directly through Seokjin’s system. He always channeled electricity, absorbed electromagnetic fields, felt tingling sensations in his head and fingertips whenever he walked into any given room. He had learned to live with it. But being in the room with Kim Taehyung was damn near torture. The man was living, breathing electricity. Seokjin almost doubled over in pain; not even the dampening handcuffs were doing much to diminish Taehyung’s presence.

“Kim Taehyung.” Seokjin slapped the manila folder file onto the table and dragged out the chair.

“Kim Seokjin,” Taehyung replied in his deep voice, sounding pleased, and Seokjin paused halfway to his chair. It was a rookie mistake, that of an absolute amateur, but Seokjin glanced over to the one-way mirror, knowing Jimin and Hoseok were watching. He knows my full name. Taehyung grinned as Seokjin slowly sat down without a response from his teammates. “Kim Seokjin, twenty-eight-years-old, originally from Gwacheon. Parents happily married, one older brother, and you are the only one in the family with kinetic abilities. We have that in common.”

Seokjin rested both elbows on the table, his heart racing, resting one hand over his mouth for a moment as he narrowed his eyes in Taehyung’s direction. He was calm, far too calm for a man who had just hijacked an airplane and volunteered to be arrested after breaking out of prison only a month or so ago.

“Did Phantom tell you all of that?” Seokjin quietly asked, watching as Taehyung tilted his head a little to the right. Seokjin was only human—there was no denying that Kim Taehyung was incredibly handsome, and if Seokjin stripped away all of his sins, Taehyung was beautiful. His eyelids were different. He had a tiny mole under one eye. There was just something about him. But his crimes tainted his image. Seokjin couldn’t shake it.

“The internet exists,” Taehyung flippantly replied, but that was information that wasn’t on the internet. Seokjin’s real name was not one that was released to the general public. Anyone who had known him at TRACK was obligated to address him only as Flare while he worked for the government. 

“You’ve been active for…” Seokjin peered into the file quickly. “Eight years, give or take. You didn’t even make it to eighteen at TRACK. And we don’t interact with other kinetics outside of our own at TRACK. Hell, we barely interact with each other. So why, pray tell, did Phantom break you out of prison?”

“Why not? That’s the better question,” Taehyung replied, still grinning as he crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in his chair.

“How long have you known Phantom? Who is he to you?”

“He’s my friend. Love him,” Taehyung answered like it was a game.

“Just a friend? Is that what you call someone you commit murder with? A friend?” Seokjin raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Taehyung clicked his tongue and glanced up at the ceiling, squinting slightly with a small frown.

“These lights are a little harsh, don’t you think? Or is that to add to the ambiance? Very threatening.” He righted his head and stared at Seokjin, and Seokjin’s heart leapt into his throat, because now he was sure he was hallucinating. He swore he had just seen a spark sizzle through Taehyung’s left eye, but that couldn’t be. He was handcuffed.

“So you won’t talk to me about Phantom.”

“Negative.”

“Even though he’s controlling everyone in this precinct right now.”

“Neat party trick, huh?”

“What will you talk about? Hmm? You’ve been out of prison for almost two months now as a fugitive. But you walked right up to me and held out your hands and said you’d been a bad boy.”

Taehyung snickered, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, his shoulders shaking. “Did I lie?” he asked through his laughter. But Seokjin didn’t have that kind of self-control. He shoved his chair back and slammed his fist into the table, enraged at Taehyung’s nonchalance in the face of a plane full of passengers and crew who weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight without hearing Taehyung’s voice in their nightmares.

“Do you even care about what you did to those innocent people?” he said loudly, leaning in. Taehyung didn’t lean back. He didn’t flinch. He only blinked, his body language just as ambiguous as when Seokjin had walked in. “They’re traumatized for life! They would have died without Phoenix intervening, and for what? So you could have a little laugh? Play ‘get arrested by Flare’ for fun?”

“Why do you assume that I was going to let them all die?” Taehyung eyed Seokjin up and down. “I gave the passengers those names and seat allocations. There were ten people onboard who I wanted. All the other passengers had to do was subdue or kill those ten people. Problem solved.”

“That’s fucking lunacy,” Seokjin whispered, slowly sitting back down.

“It was interesting, actually.” Taehyung swiftly tilted his head to the right as his neck cracked. “Listening to them all panic and decide what to do. They didn’t even know why those ten people were being targeted. But mothers and businessmen alike were volunteering to strangle them to death. Kill a few, save many.”

“We call that sadism,” Seokjin said in an even voice, and Taehyung rolled his eyes.

“Everyone likes to label things around here, don’t they? Labels give things meaning. Labels make sense of things. Sadist, psychopath, sociopath, narcissist. I’ve heard them all. Sadism is the only one that might actually apply to me, but even then, I’d argue against it.”

“And how about serial killer? Because that’s what you are.”

“Am I?” Taehyung raised one eyebrow. “Serial killers tend to have a type or preference. A signature. A specific and usually internalized motivation. I prefer ‘mass murderer.’ Even ‘homicidal maniac.’ That one is fun.”

“You really don’t care, do you?” Seokjin asked, quietly gobsmacked. Taehyung had control of this entire interrogation, and Seokjin wasn’t even going to pretend that it wasn’t true. He knew that Interrogation 101 was to make sure to have control of the conversation, but that had died the moment Seokjin had stepped into the room. Protocol be damned.

“Are you asking me if I care about the people I’ve killed? No. You want to know if I feel any kind of guilt. Also no. Why is it that you people demand remorse for this kind of thing? Am I supposed to feel bad for killing people who don’t deserve to live a full life? Am I supposed to ask you to forgive me? How does your forgiveness benefit me?”

“You’re targeting and killing innocent men and women for sport,” Seokjin emphasized, trying to shake Taehyung’s flippant comments. “All for some crusade you seem to be on.”

“The men and women I kill are by no means innocent, so don’t play dumb,” Taehyung said with a hint of venom in his voice. “I’m allergic to altruism. Makes me feel sick.”

“You killed…” Seokjin leaned in further, and then he pointed his thumb over one shoulder. “An entire police station full of law enforcement officers.”

Taehyung tilted his chin up and opened his mouth a little like he had just had a revelation, a small smirk on his face. “Ah-h-h, so that’s what this is about. You think that I killed all those people in front of you just because, huh? Is that it?”

“There’s no reason to massacre a building full of people like that.”

“Says you,” Taehyung pointed out, raising his eyebrows. “Says you and the sanctimonious morals that you had instilled into you from day one. You were given a chance. You were given everything you needed. All the tools, all the support. You were taught what society thinks is right and wrong. You were taught that every life is precious and to see the best in people. ‘Children are the future.’ Isn’t that what they say? Do you think that’s what I was taught, too? Can I have some water?”

“Can you—?” Seokjin let out a bark of laughter, running one hand over his mouth. “Why, because your throat’s a little dry? Are you talking too much?”

“Well, I’m not going to talk to anyone but you, so I might as well get it all out,” Taehyung replied with a casual shrug.

“And why’s that? Why me?” Seokjin wondered.

“Because I like you. I’ve always liked you. You just never knew I existed,” Taehyung replied with the same impish grin that had been plastered on his face nearly the entire interrogation. “Water, please?”

Seokjin didn’t even have to leave the room. The door opened, and an arm appeared through the crack with a bottle of water in one hand.  Seokjin was going to get up, but the water bottle floated over to the table and landed right in front of Taehyung as the door closed. Amused, Taehyung grabbed the water bottle and cracked the cap off, handcuffs still on.

“Thanks, Phoenix,” he said, tilting the water bottle towards the one-way mirror as he leaned to the right to acknowledge Jimin. He tipped his head back and poured water into his mouth as Seokjin stared, trying to reason with his situation. This wasn’t an interrogation. Taehyung had every intention of walking out of this precinct, and Seokjin knew it. But he didn’t want Taehyung to know that he knew. Taehyung capped the water bottle and nudged it to the side.

“I want to know why you’re targeting TRACK,” Seokjin demanded. “And why now. I want answers. Is your mission to just kill anyone from TRACK that the four of you don’t like?”

Taehyung smirked. “Read between the lines, Seokjin-ssi. You’re smarter than that. Better than that. Come on. I know you’re on a tight leash, but the least you could do is not pretend that TRACK is a safe haven for kids like us.”

“You know, I never even knew you existed until the night you defected,” Seokjin said, trying to strike Taehyung where it hurt most. But Taehyung was hardly flummoxed.

“Of course you didn’t. Why would you? You were three years ahead of me,” Taehyung replied. “And you were their golden boy. They knew they could turn you into a hero. You were untouchable at TRACK. The star of the show. I looked up to you. Admired you, even. Should I have?”

“I don’t know. You tell me,” Seokjin said in a hushed voice, his mind racing. Never once did I hear about Kim Taehyung. Never. How could he have known me? How?

“Never meet your heroes. That’s what they say. But I’ve never had much self-control. You’re good at what you do. Imagine if you weren’t working on restrictions. You could be great.”

“Or I could turn into a monster like you.”

“I want to tell you a story,” Taehyung said, leaning forward as the handcuffs clattered against the metal table. “About me. My sob story. I hate sob stories. But I do think they add a little touch of drama to a relationship. At the very least, maybe you’ll understand me a little more. I know that makes your skin crawl, but hear me out.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Seokjin whispered.

“Oh? So you want to understand me?”

“Not particularly.” Seokjin licked his lips slowly, watching the way Taehyung’s fingers fluttered playfully as he stared Seokjin down. “But go on.”

“I’m the oldest of three kids,” Taehyung began, leaning back in his chair. “My brother is twenty-three. My sister is twenty. My parents are happily married. And I’m the only kinetic in the family. Sounds normal, right?”

“Nothing about you is normal,” Seokjin pointed out, and Taehyung smirked, but it wasn’t full of bravado like before, so Seokjin pressed his tongue into his cheek, unable to believe that he was willingly entertaining a life story from Kim Taehyung. Perhaps no one had ever bothered to listen to Taehyung before, but why was he choosing to confide in Seokjin, knowing that Jimin and Hoseok were watching and listening?

“My sister was a newborn when I got shipped off to TRACK. They flagged me in my entrance exam. I was five. Five. And they told my mother that I was a danger to myself and society because I had no control over my abilities. I was too strong. I used to shock anyone who touched me, and not on purpose. It just happened.”

“You know full goddamn well that unintentional electric shocking in kids is a warning sign of too much raw power,” Seokjin quietly said, and Taehyung snickered.

“So what would you have done? You see a five-year-old innocent child crying for his mother and shocking people by mistake. What do you do?”

“Train him. Teach him how to control it so he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Would you make him wear kinetic dampening cuffs?” Taehyung leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Hmm? Would you make him wear those? Would you tell him that he can’t participate in the practical class sessions until he learns to control himself? Which is impossible, because he can’t even practice?”

“They made you wear cuffs? At age five?”

“Theory. That’s all they let me learn.” Taehyung’s eyes flicked down to his hands, to the handcuffs he was wearing. “And I put up with it for years. But when I was nine, I went home for the summer and cried to my parents. Told them that I just wanted to come home and go to a regular school. I begged them. And my parents, they loved me. They cared about my well-being. They listened to me. I told them I wasn’t learning anything at TRACK. That I would just… pretend I wasn’t electrokinetic. I was desperate. So they agreed.”

“There’s no way in hell that worked,” Seokjin whispered, and the corners of Taehyung’s mouth turned upward for a fleeting moment.

“My mother sent a message to TRACK announcing my withdrawal. She never heard back, so we figured it was just a done deal. She enrolled me in the same school as my brother. I was so fucking excited. She even got me a new bike to ride to school, a backpack, my uniform. I forgot I was electrokinetic that summer. I thought that was it. That was happiness.”

This isn’t a sob story. This is a horror story. I never saw any of this happen at TRACK. They were nothing but nice to me. How do I know this is true? How can I trust him? Seokjin’s mind was running a mile per minute, a dull headache forming over his eyes. It wasn’t as though Seokjin was completely oblivious. He knew that some kids didn’t fare well at TRACK, that many had to use TRACK Plus after age eighteen to fine-tune their abilities so they could rejoin society. But to cuff a five-year-old? Withhold instruction? Label a child before ever giving him a chance? 

“It was the weekend before school started back up. My mom had made pasta for dinner, so I was excited. But I never got to eat it. Because at the beginning of dinner, the entire Yongsan police force broke down our door and invaded our home. There must’ve been two dozen of them, and they all had weapons. They grabbed me. Cuffed me just like this.” Taehyung held up his hands, and then he dropped them back on the table with a thud. “They had guns pointed at my four-year-old sister. They were restraining my seven-year-old brother. They had my mother… face down… handcuffed… on the kitchen table. They had my father on his knees. Everyone was shouting and crying and screaming. ‘Your son is dangerous!’ That’s all they could say. And they dragged me right out of my own home and away from my family. Strapped me into a van. Drove me right to TRACK and dumped me there.”

“There’s no way,” Seokjin breathed, and Taehyung smirked.

“Oh, it gets better. They refused to give me my weekly phone call home. When every other child went home for Christmas, they held me there. Laughed at me. Said my right to visit home had been revoked. I never left the TRACK facility. Not for seven years.”

Taehyung’s voice was losing its edge as he spoke. There was palpable sadness and bitter anger weaved into every sentence, and Seokjin couldn’t believe that each word Taehyung spoke was humanizing him more and more. He was supposed to be an unfeeling monster, a villain without a family, a psychopath without emotional capacity. That was, after all, what Seokjin had been spoonfed based on Taehyung’s rap sheet, based on his crimes. But the man seated before Seokjin telling his story right now was human. Startlingly human, flawed, angry at the world. And if his story was true, then rightfully so. And that was what Seokjin feared most.

“I held out as long as I could,” Taehyung continued, his voice hushed as he spoke, his eyes burning a hole into Seokjin. “But I defected at sixteen. And when I left that night, I went straight home. I didn’t even hesitate. I took a taxi and faked the payment. Used my abilities to get into the building. Went right up to my family’s apartment and knocked on the door. And you know who answered?”

“Who?”

“Not my family.” Taehyung dropped his voice to a whisper for a moment. “It was some stranger I didn’t recognize. I told her who I was. She said she’d never heard of the Kim family and that I had the wrong house. I asked to use her phone. I called my mother. The number was disconnected. I was sixteen with no family and nowhere to go. All that power. All that anger.”

“So you went to the source,” Seokjin quietly said.

“See? Now you’re catching on,” Taehyung commended, shifting in his chair. “I laid low for a little. Stole food, broke into hotel rooms and slept there, used the showers, stole a few credit cards and identities in my spare time. But then I heard on the news that the Yongsan Police Department was celebrating fifty fantastic years, and one of their biggest partnerships was with TRACK. And they were bragging. Bragging about how well they worked with TRACK to identify and secure kinetic children all around Seoul. Like it was a game. And I was just part of it. And I got angry. As you can imagine.”

“So you came here.”

“Exactly. I came here and channeled that anger. The night most of the force was here, when they weren’t doing their rounds, I showed up. And I killed every last one of them. I made sure to give special attention to anyone who had been in my living room that night. And then you showed up.”

“Yeah. I did show up.” Seokjin shoved his sleeve up and showed Taehyung the scar on his wrist, and Taehyung licked his lips before pressing them together in a firm line. There was a moment of stillness, and then he reached forward and snatched Seokjin’s wrist in his hands, pulling it closer. Seokjin had half a mind to hit the panic button under the table, but he froze when Taehyung ran his thumbs over the top of Seokjin’s wrist, right over the worst of the burn.

“I told you that night that you would always lose.” He kept his hold tight on Seokjin as he looked up, their eyes meeting. In nothing more than a whisper, he added, “I meant it. As long as you work for the DKR, you’ll never be as good as you could be. You’re better than them. I’m sorry I left a scar.” Taehyung released Seokjin’s wrist slowly. “It was all I could do to keep from killing you.”

“So that’s it?” Seokjin asked, his head spinning relentlessly as he clutched his wrist in his hand, drawing his arms closer to his body. “That’s your sob story?”

“Actually, I like to call it my villain origin story,” Taehyung said with a ghost of a grin. “Look, if that doesn’t do it for you, then fine. If that doesn’t at least marginally justify what I do on a daily basis, then okay. Fine. I don’t need to prove anything to you. I’m going to keep doing what I do no matter what. But maybe now you’ll understand me.”

“You’re asking me to understand the motives of a sadistic psychopath?”

“Do your research. Sadistic, sure. Psychopath? Nah. Angry? Yeah. Always. I don’t play by your rules. Society would be thrilled if this genetic mutation had never fucking happened. Kinetics threaten the power balance. Non-kinetic humans don’t want to believe or be confronted with the idea that someone might be more powerful than them. That’s why you work for the DKR. They’d never let you be a regular NIS agent. Or a regular person. You’ll always be—” Taehyung used air quotes as best as he could with the cuffs on— “‘unique.’ And they’ll always make sure that they have total and complete control over you. As long as you allow it, they’ll do it.  That goes for your friends, too.”

“Keep them out of this.”

“Seeing as Phantom won’t let us kill you three, there’s no way I can actually keep you out of this,” Taehyung said with a smirk. “We have a job to get done. The people who have gotten off easy for the last decade or so will get what they deserve. There’s nothing you can do to stop that. You’d be better off asking why we’re doing it in the first place. There’s more to it than you think. Get your head out of your ass, Kim Seokjin.”

“You and your little crew love to play that card, don’t you?” Seokjin said with a touch of venom in his voice. “That you know something we don’t know. That we’re all weak and stupid and useless. That being a murderer out terrorizing innocent people is the only way to get things done.”

“Not exactly.” Taehyung flicked his eyebrows up once in amusement. “Maybe we do know something you don’t know, but you can’t say that we’re not at least trying to pull you into it, whether you like it or not.  We’re two extremes, you and me. You want justice by the law. I want justice my way. There’s a grey area where no one is currently operating.”

“So what, this whole bullshit interrogation is just your way of trying to find some middle ground?” Seokjin questioned. “Like that’s a possibility?”

“You’d be surprised.” Taehyung laced his fingers together. “This is just the beginning. I’m looking forward to what’s to come. This interrogation has been a barrel of laughs, good fun.”

“This hasn’t been an interrogation at all, and you know it.” Seokjin shifted in his chair, trying to shrug off the heaviness he was feeling. He typically liked to approach everything in life with a smile, with positivity and a few jokes and a good sense of humor. But being confronted with darkness every single day was taking its toll. He couldn’t smile the same way he used to. Was that karma? Was this the universe’s way of retaliating for turning a blind eye to injustice as a child, injustice that he had never even witnessed, injustice from which he had been shielded? What if they had done to him what they did to Taehyung? Would it be easier to empathize?

“It was never meant to be an interrogation. It was all a ruse,” Taehyung admitted freely. “I knew I could never talk to you or get you to listen unless we were on your playing field. And like I said…” 

“You bastard,” Seokjin cursed quietly when Taehyung wiggled his wrists, the handcuffs slipping right off him and falling onto the table with a dull thump. Taehyung laced his fingers together and pushed his palms towards Seokjin, arms extended, and then he cracked his knuckles a few times and stood up, pushing his chair back.

“Like I said,” he repeated, looking rather proud. “I’ve always liked you. Even if I was allowed to, I don’t think I could kill you. Would you kill me?”

“I don’t kill people,” Seokjin whispered as Taehyung slowly walked around the table and pressed his palms into the edge adjacent to Seokjin.

“You’ll be tempted one day.”

 Seokjin rose to his feet and turned sharply, jaw clenched. “You’re really just going to walk right out of here? Like you haven’t committed crimes? Like you shouldn’t rot in a prison cell for the rest of your life?”

Taehyung paused just short of the door, and then he pivoted in slow motion. Seokjin froze and held his breath as Taehyung took three steps to stand right in front of Seokjin, nearly toe-to-toe; It both enraged and stunned Seokjin, being up close and personal with Kim Taehyung. He was a man without physical flaws but so emotionally scarred that Seokjin could feel it.

“You can’t deny it,” he whispered. “This spark between us.” On cue, Taehyung lifted his hand and gently gripped Seokjin’s chin, and a spark of electricity soared through his fingers, a buzz that Seokjin could feel. Taehyung winked with a grin and dropped his hand. “Stick around for more puns. I’m full of them. Hours of endless entertainment,” he said as he headed towards the door of the interrogation room. “You knew, though.”

“Knew what?” Seokjin kept his back turned.

“That I was just going to walk out of here.”

Seokjin didn’t move. He stood rooted to the spot as the door opened, and Taehyung strolled out without so much as a departing sentiment, though Seokjin did hear him say “see you later, bro,” to Jimin and Hoseok in English. Before the door fell shut, Hoseok lunged into the room and grabbed Seokjin by the arm, yanking, and Seokjin stumbled, turning to face Hoseok, knowing his face was pale. Jimin was in the doorway, hood up, leaning against the open door.

“Don’t even say it,” Seokjin snapped quietly when he saw Hoseok’s face. “There was nothing I could do.”

“Hyung. Hyung. Hyung!”

Seokjin shoved past Hoseok and bypassed Jimin without so much as a glance, and then he marched down the hallway of the bustling police station, his hands trembling in rage, his heart twisted in a knot, his eyes burning.

Would you kill me?

Seokjin shoved the back exit door open with his elbow and stumbled outside into the cold night air, gulping it down and bracing himself with one hand on the brick wall. His hand on the wall turned into a fist, and then he pushed away and spun, falling with his back against the wall, face in his hands.

The answer was no. He wouldn’t kill Taehyung. Not even if the opportunity presented itself. And Seokjin had no idea why.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
08:37 AM

Jimin opened his eyes and stared at his blurry computer screen, his fingertips still pressed to his temples, corners of his eyes slightly pulled, elbows on his desk. He had been in his office for all of seven minutes, and already, he wanted to rush home and into bed. The paperwork for flight T613 and Jimin’s involvement was a nightmare. He had taken all of two days off to recover, and he was regretting it. The director of the NIS wanted to be briefed. The fucking president was demanding an explanation. Director Nam was in warm water, though not scalding. And Jimin was just waiting to get a slap on the wrist.

Authorized mission or not, Jimin had saved countless lives that night. He had minimized direct and collateral damage, and the city and its surrounding neighborhoods had not a scratch on them. But the government, specifically the DKR and TRACK, were not satisfied. In fact, they were outraged that Jimin had used his telekinesis on an aircraft, skating on thin ice when it came to what he was restricted from doing and what was allowed.

It is the opinion of the collective members of the board of trustees that while Phoenix’s actions were instrumental in minimizing loss of life, the means used to achieve this feat were both dangerous and unauthorized. A vote will be implemented to determine whether Phoenix shall be disciplined for working outside of his set restrictions… 

Disciplinary action. For saving lives. For saving their lives. 

Jimin picked up his coffee and took a sip, paying no mind to the fact that it was too hot for the average human to drink without burning their tongue. He set the cup down and stared at the email again, trying not to laugh. Seokjin and Hoseok hadn’t gotten this email. They had both received a slap of the wrist like Jimin had been anticipating. But they weren’t in danger of being reprimanded.

“Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin glanced up, and his brow furrowed immediately. Director Nam was at the door, and he looked far too frazzled for quarter to nine in the morning. The dark circles under his eyes indicated that he hadn’t slept much. His eyes searched Jimin’s office in a skittish fashion, so Jimin beckoned quickly, and Director Nam stepped into the office, letting Jimin close and lock the door. Jimin stood up and buttoned his suit jacket, bowing, and then he gestured to the chairs he had. Director Nam shook his head.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Jimin asked, and then he tilted his head towards his computer. “Is this about the board of trustees trying to discipline me?”

“This isn’t—no. This isn’t about that at all,” Director Nam said, glancing over his shoulder, a nervous gesture that set Jimin on edge. “I need you to tell me… exactly what it feels like when Phantom is in your head. In detail.”

“Why?” Jimin’s heart skipped as Director Nam set his hands on his hips and bowed his head, blowing out a breath.

“The night of the plane crash,” he said, his voice quiet as if curious ears were pressed to Jimin’s office door. He hesitated, visibly searching for words as Jimin slipped his hands into his pockets, waiting impatiently. “I need you… to just—You need to tell me.”

“I don’t know.” Jimin’s response was just as timid.

“You don’t know? This man has been in your head before, damn it, so you need to tell me right now if—”

“Director,” Jimin interrupted sharply, and Director Nam cleared his throat and turned away from Jimin, likely embarrassed by his uncharacteristic outburst.

“I apologize,” Director Nam said, though it did nothing to alleviate the tension. Jimin stepped back and leaned against the front edge of his desk, staring. His boss was always cool, calm, and collected. He oversaw the DKR for a good reason. He was, indeed, the best man Jimin knew for the job. But this kind of behavior was novel to Jimin, and startling.

“He’s never been in my head for long. I can’t tell you how it feels,” Jimin lied. “I’m sorry. If you want to know, ask Seokjin and Hoseok. Phantom has been in both of their heads longer than he’s been in mine.”

Jimin knew that the reports written about the night of the plane crash were oddly fabricated. In skimming through them, it had been immediately obvious that Jeongguk had done his best work; he had removed the aftermath involving Taehyung entirely from the scenario. As far as the government knew, Taehyung had been responsible for the lightning strike and the remote hijacking and nothing else. His arrest had never happened. His interrogation with Seokjin had never happened. The way that Director Nam had nonchalantly directed the squad car to the Yongsan Police had never happened.

But that didn’t mean that there were no lingering effects.

“What I am about to say, then…” Director Nam checked Jimin’s office door again, so Jimin took control. He waved his hand, and then he beckoned for Director Nam to follow him. Jimin walked quietly down the aisle above the bullpen, bypassing one agent in a hurry, and he walked right into Director Nam’s office, knowing that there was soundproof paneling installed and the chance for complete privacy. Jimin flipped the switch on the wall and closed the door, sealing them inside.

“What is it?” he demanded quietly, and Director Nam slowly sat down in his desk chair.

“I’ve been compromised,” he said. “I don’t know how it happened, but I—I believe that Phantom is in my head. And he’s been busy. My thoughts have been… I keep—I’ve noticed things recently that I haven’t noticed before. I’m thinking about things that I shouldn’t be. And I’m afraid that I’ve been coerced into doing things of which I’m unaware.”

Like sending a murderous electrokinetic straight back to the scene of his first massacre for a fun gossip session.

“Okay. Okay, who else knows this?” Jimin asked, falling into the chair across from Director Nam. “Who else knows besides me?”

“No one.”

“No one?” Jimin raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean? You’ve been compromised and you’ve told no one?”

“Agent Jang,” Director Nam said carefully. “That was the agent that was assigned to compile the lists that you, Seokjin, and Hoseok created with individuals who were involved with TRACK in any capacity. The list got into Phantom’s hands. I followed protocol and informed the correct people. Agent Jang was released from duty two days later, a command that came from far above my pay grade. But as the director, it’s in my nature to show concern for my agents. So I contacted her to wish her well. But her mother is the one who responded. Agent Jang is dead.”

“She’s what?”

“Dead,” Director Nam repeated. “Her death was ruled a suicide. But her mother informed me that she died the very night that she was relieved of her duties here. She hadn’t even unpacked her belongings that were at her desk.”

“And you suspect foul play,” Jimin whispered. “That’s why you’re telling me and not your boss. You… You don’t think Phantom told her to commit suicide. You don’t think she killed herself willingly. You think it was…”

“It’s the timeline, Jimin-ssi, that concerns me the most,” Director Nam said gravely. “The agent who had that list and fell prey to Phantom’s tricks is dead. What do you suppose will happen to the director of the DKR who has been compromised?”

“You really think you’ll wind up dead?” Jimin asked, staring in disbelief.

“It is not death that concerns me,” Director Nam said with selfless confidence. “I’m quite content. It’s my family. My wife and my daughters. My girls are too young to live without their father.”

“Director Nam.” Jimin folded his hands in his lap, his pulse quickening as he leaned forward. 

I just need to figure out how to get to Jo Chansung without him knowing.

“I need you to be transparent with me,” Jimin requested. “Completely honest. Because if I have any chance of helping you and making sure that your daughters grow up with their father present, then you have to tell me the truth.”

“Yes, anything.” Director Nam’s eyes were shining with fear for what felt like the first time in years, possibly since Jimin had known him. But if it was true that Jeongguk was inside the director’s head, then there was no doubt in Jimin’s mind that Jeongguk was finally playing his best hand. He was immersed in the game now. He had found the one mind that he needed to get some kind of access to his target.

“Have you had contact with Jo Chansung lately?” Jimin asked, and a flicker of dread flashed through Director Nam’s eyes.

“Of course I have. We meet every two weeks for a quick briefing,” he responded. “Rarely in person. He prefers contact via phone conference these days, never longer than ten or fifteen minutes. But I have contact with him, yes.”

“That’s why,” Jimin quietly stated, locking eyes with Director Nam. “You’re just a pawn. It’s not your mind that he needs or wants. It’s Jo Chansung’s.”

“You can’t possibly know that for certain,” Director Nam argued. Jimin could sense the denial and delusion morphing together in the director’s mind to create a monster. He didn’t believe his own words.

“I can say with almost full certainty that that’s why,” Jimin retorted. “Why are you telling me all of this? What do you want me to do about it? Because with all due respect, Director, I think the only reason you’re confiding in me is because you think I can fix this for you.”

“Yes.” Director Nam swallowed heavily. “Yes, I admit that. You… have spoken with him before. He’s not just an opponent that you fight. You’ve mentioned having conversations with him during your encounters. If he hasn’t been in your head or controlling your movements or thoughts, then perhaps you’d have better luck speaking to him.”

“You realize that you’re asking for a miracle.”

“I want to live long enough to see my grandchildren,” Director Nam said, his voice wavering. “That’s all. I know that I’m neck-deep in TRACK. I’m sure that Phantom himself has seen that. I’m sure that I’m being judged for my sins, if there are any that stand out. And maybe it’s a selfish request, but if he’s—if he’s only using me as a proxy to reach Director Jo, then perhaps… Jimin-ssi, I need not remind you how dangerous it is that I’m compromised. The entire Department of Kinesis Regulation is in danger. The National Intelligence Service itself is in danger.”

“I understand that. You need to limit your contact with anyone at TRACK, Jo Chansung specifically. I don’t care if you have to take leave or fake being sick. Minimize your correspondences with everyone as much as possible. That includes the president.”

“The president,” Director Nam repeated, rubbing his forehead. “My God. This could be disastrous.”

“If I can’t talk him down or get him out of your head, then you’ll have no choice but to take action,” Jimin reminded him. “You’ll need to resign, effective immediately. You can cite health or family. But if I can’t fix this for you or ensure your safety or the DKR’s safety, then you need to step down.”

“I understand.” Director Nam nodded. “Any attempt at all, Jimin-ssi, would be greatly appreciated. Even if it doesn’t work out. The most we can do is try.”

“I’ll do my best.” Jimin bowed.

“It’s a waiting game, then, isn’t it?” Director Nam took a deep breath. “We’ll need to wait for him to come out into the open. There’s no telling how long that could take.”

“I might know where to find him,” Jimin ambiguously replied, and then he held up a gentle hand in Director Nam’s direction. “It’s better that you don’t ask questions. Just know that I’m taking my assignment seriously. I’ve been… working hard. Tracking him. Studying his movements.”

The lies rolled off Jimin’s tongue sweet like honey, easily, effortlessly. He, too, had a great hand to play in this game, despite the chaos that Jeongguk and his motley crew were inflicting upon the masses, and specifically on the DKR and TRACK. They were preying on a vulnerable animal, and Jimin knew it. TRACK and the DKR liked to parade their invincibility to the world, but their fortress was built on sand. That was exactly why Director Nam was desperate for an alternative solution and could afford to be. It was why Jimin could lie about tracking Phantom without talking about how he used to give Jeongguk birthday gifts.

“Then I’ll wait to hear the results of your conversation,” Director Nam said rather breathlessly, nodding. “How quickly…?”

“You should take a day or two off. For your health,” Jimin advised, rising to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket again. “I’ll get in touch with you if and when I speak with him. If he even lets me state my case. Don’t expect him to be understanding or forgiving, though. This is a long shot.”

“I’ll… be sure to draft up a letter of resignation,” Director Nam said, his eyes plagued with worry. Nevertheless, he stood up while clearing his throat and offered his hand to Jimin, buttoning his own suit jacket with his other hand. “Thank you. I do appreciate this. If there’s anything that I can do…”

“You can tell the TRACK board of trustees to back off.” Jimin shook Director Nam’s hand briskly. “Manipulating one airplane doesn’t suddenly make me a villain. If they want to throw the book at me, you can put in a good word.”

“To repay this debt, yes. I will. Thank you,” Director Nam said again with a bow of his head. Jimin nodded as he unlocked and opened the office door with his hands in his pockets, and then he kept his head down as he walked around the edge of the bullpen and bypassed several colleagues before making a beeline for Lia’s office. 

“Jisu-yah.”

“I hate when you use my real name. That means you want something.” Lia complained as she spun in her chair, and Jimin almost laughed. Lia tried to dress professionally, but she always flirted with noncompliance. Today, she was wearing baggy black high-waisted dress pants and a black cropped tank top with a black suit jacket that was far too big for her, and her feet were bare. Her black hair was in a lopsided high ponytail (she, too, had several glaring white streaks in her hair), and she was wearing round wire-framed glasses. 

“Do you remember…” Jimin stepped in and closed the door behind him. “When I messaged you at three in the morning and asked you to trace a call for me?”

“Yes. Very normal, not sketchy at all,” Lia innocently replied. “But I’m paid to not ask you questions, aren’t I?”

“You could think of it that way,” Jimin said in amusement. “I, uh… I just need to know how reliable that address is. How certain you are that the call came from that location.”

“Very certain,” Lia said as she crossed one leg over the other, elbows on the armrests of her swivel chair. “The call, however, came from a burner phone. So if you ever want me to trace that number again, you’re shit out of luck.”

“I won’t need to. Thank you.”

“Jimin-ssi.”

“Yes?” Jimin turned back around. Lia pressed her tongue into her cheek with her eyes narrowed, and then she clicked her tongue and sighed, sitting up straighter in her chair.

“This isn’t a government-approved adventure you’re going on, is it?” she asked, keeping her voice down. 

“No. And you know nothing about it.”

“What adventure?” Lia replied right on cue, and then she grinned and turned back around, nonchalant as ever as if she didn’t keep Jimin sane out in the field on a daily basis. “Enjoy your day!”

Jimin didn’t enjoy his day as a normal government employee should. He ate lunch with Hoseok and Seokjin, but all three of them were noticeably tense. Seokjin acknowledged it and apologized, saying that he feared it was his fault, but Jimin just comforted him with a hand on his arm, saying that he wasn’t at fault for anything.

“I haven’t talked about it,” Seokjin murmured, plucking up a piece of sausage from his little lunchbox. “Because I’m not thinking straight. I just… I don’t understand what’s going on. A few months ago, we all had normal jobs. Now look.”

“It has to be happening for a reason,” Jimin figured, staring at his rice without eating it. “Phantom didn’t just wake up one day and decide to wreak havoc. You heard Taehyung. They have a goal in mind.”

“Yeah, and they’re dragging us into it,” Hoseok complained. “When none of us asked.”

“Maybe we’re just… not asking enough questions,” Jimin carefully said, noticing the way that Seokjin’s chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth. “Is that it? Are we really turning a blind eye? Is there any truth to what—to what Taehyung said?”

“That’s the problem.” Seokjin lowered his chopsticks. “That’s what scares me. He wasn’t talking out of his ass. He’s fucking crazy. But he’s… not entirely invalid.”

“Yeah. It’s dangerous when the bad guy makes a valid point,” Hoseok muttered, shaking his head as he stared down at his own food. “Is it cliché to say that there’s a storm brewing?”

The conversation tapered off after that. Jimin went back to his office on a full stomach, and only an hour later, there was an email in his inbox from the board of trustees stating that no disciplinary action would be taken, though the board was hesitant to make such a call. Jimin snorted loudly and shook his head, but he carried on through his day as if the very ten people whose lives he had saved weren’t trying to reprimand him like a naughty child.

Jimin wasn’t sure why he felt the need to treat the entirety of the NIS with suspicion, but he felt it wasn’t misplaced. He chose to stop by at home first before venturing out, because he didn’t want to run the risk of being followed from Naegok-dong. He changed out of his suit and dressed in all black, and then he threw on a face mask for good measure, not keen on being instantly recognizable. He then messaged Lia and asked if she could suspend the GPS tracking system on his motorcycle for the night. Lia didn’t even ask questions before doing exactly what Jimin asked. Jimin then plugged the address in and headed north to Myeong-dong, his heart racing.

Jeongguk’s residence
Toegye-ro 50na-gil, Myeong-dong, Jung-gu 
SEOUL, South Korea
21:55 PM

The quiet side streets were abandoned for the night as Jimin slowly cruised up a narrow laneway hill, and he pulled his motorcycle over to the side of the street and parked it in a safe space near a utility pole. The address Lia had provided wasn’t exact—it was just a street, albeit a small cul-de-sac. Jimin hopped off his motorcycle and stood in the street, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, because he could only follow the energy of another kinetic individual if he was completely at peace and focused. When he opened his eyes, his gaze immediately fell upon the brick building on the right with the fire escape leading up to the top floor.

He’s up there.

Jimin didn’t hesitate. He walked up the incline and approached the fire escape, and then he ducked under a bar and began to climb as quietly as possible, glad that the windows to other apartment units were closed with the curtains drawn. Jimin climbed all the way to the fourth and final floor, pausing just short of the landing outside the window. The curtains to that unit were also drawn. But Jimin’s heart was in his throat, a telltale sign to him that he had found the right place.

Jimin crouched down outside the window and took a good look. There were locks on the window, but no screen. With all his control and as quietly as possible, Jimin slowly flicked the locks inside the window, his gaze fixed on them, until they were in an unlocked position. Then he swiped his hand, and the window flew up as the curtains swayed from the outside breeze. Jimin held his breath and waited as if he was expecting to be attacked, but he heard nothing. Heart still pounding, he ducked and climbed over the windowsill, brushing past the curtains.

“You could have just knocked on my door, you know.”

Jimin allowed the window to shut and lock behind him as he stood and stared. It was a studio apartment, nothing large. The walls were exposed brick, and the smooth floors were dark wood with an area rug. The tiny kitchen was to the left of the window through which Jimin had entered, as was a small table. In the corner was the door to a bathroom, and directly in front of Jimin was the couch and a television. On the right was a large unmade bed with a mess of blankets and white sheets. And sitting in a kitchen chair with a drink in one hand was Jeongguk.

“You knew I was coming,” Jimin whispered, and Jeongguk smirked, using his thumb to twirl the tumbler of alcohol in his loose hold while it was perched on the armrest of the chair. He was wearing baggy black pants and a dark red and green plaid button-up that was too large, nearly drowning him. His long black hair was tucked behind one ear, the rest hanging in one eye, and he was staring Jimin down intently.

“I did. Sorry I forgot to make the bed,” Jeongguk quipped, lifting the glass to take a sip. “Hope you’ll forgive me. But you did scale the fire escape and break into my home, so this must be important.”

“Broke into your home. That you afford how? With all the money you make?” Jimin sarcastically asked. Jeongguk smirked again.

“I move around freely. No one knows that I’m Phantom, you know. I can roam the streets of Seoul without a problem. And I have investments. Why does it matter to you?” he asked casually, crossing one leg over the other.

“It doesn’t.”

“Glad you found the place okay.”

“I had help.”

“Yeah, because your little lion friend was tracing our call that night just like I expected her to,” Jeongguk replied, and Jimin’s heart lurched. “Because trust me, if I didn’t want to be found, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

“I won’t. She’s sweet. And I know she’s your friend,” Jeongguk replied, still twirling his glass. His eyes flicked up to Jimin again, and for a fleeting moment, Jimin saw flashes of sixteen-year-old Jeongguk. But it was no use to long for the past. That Jeongguk was long gone, it seemed.

“I’m here for a reason.”

“Which is what?”

“To tell you to stay out of my boss’s head.”

“No.”

“No?” Jimin raised his eyebrows, and Jeongguk chuckled before taking another sip.

“No. Nam Sanghun is giving me everything I’ve been looking for thus far. Granted, I can’t directly access Jo Chansung through Nam’s mind, but he has some great memories stored in that brilliant head of his just waiting for me to take. Little tidbits of gossip, information about whereabouts and movements. It was a gift, him showing up to the scene of that plane crash. So no. I won’t get out of his head. I’m mad I didn’t think about him weeks ago. Would’ve made my life a lot easier,” Jeongguk lamented, and Jimin clenched his jaw, swallowing heavily.

“You’ve compromised him,” he said in a low voice.

“And?”

“And he’s scared out of his mind. He knows you’re in his head. He can’t do his job because he knows that he’s giving you access to just about fucking everything involving TRACK and the government and the DKR.”

“Boo-hoo,” Jeongguk said with no sympathy, tilting his head to crack his neck. “Don’t you want to know?” He locked eyes with Jimin. Jimin hadn’t moved from his spot by the window,

“Know what?”

“If he’s a good man or not.”

“By whose standards?” Jimin asked, finally shifting his footing to face Jeongguk more directly, with more confidence. “Yours? Because your standards are the only ones that matter, right?”

“It’s a simple question.” Jeongguk disregarded Jimin’s semi-insults. “I don’t fuck with people who don’t deserve it unless I have a reason. So do you want to know or not? Do you want to know if the man you work for is decent, or if he’s a scumbag disguised in a suit who earns double your salary?”

“I have a feeling you’ll tell me no matter what.”

“No.” Jeongguk shrugged. “I won’t tell you if you don’t want to know.”

“No, you’ll just keep fucking with his mind until he can’t take it anymore.”

“The only reason he’s even concerned is because it compromises his job and the people around him. I’ll take what I need from him and kill him. Save all of us the trouble.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jimin snapped. “He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Do you want to know or not?”

“Just tell me,” Jimin loudly said, throwing one hand up halfway. “Since you don’t give a fuck about what I’m asking.”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” Jeongguk set his glass on the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his shirt tenting as he did. Jimin could immediately see that he had some kind of tattoo on his chest, but he tried his damnedest to focus directly on Jeongguk’s face, where his scar was visible. “Nam Sanghun has a wife and two daughters. And his brain is full of thoughts about work and all kinds of great things for me to enjoy. But do you want to know what he thinks about the most?”

“What?”

“His wife. He worries constantly that he’s not doing enough for her. That he works too much. He has dozens of ideas of how to make her happy when he comes up every night. And when he’s not worrying about her, he’s thinking about his daughters’ education. Do you want to know what he thinks about you?”

Jimin crossed his arms, running his tongue across his top teeth with his lips pursed.

“You’re his favorite. Out of the three of you at the DKR, he likes you best. Thinks about how you could be his son. He’s quite sentimental, actually. It’s a little overbearing, but I can look past that.” Jeongguk cracked his knuckles before cradling one hand in the other. “He’s a good man. The problem is that he knows things.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem if you stayed out of his head,” Jimin persisted, his voice wavering. “He’s a father. Don’t make him guilty by association. Don’t kill him.”

“You know what? Since you asked so nicely.” Jeongguk sat back in his chair again and grabbed his drink, tilting it towards Jimin. “I won’t kill him. I won’t manipulate him or give him any hypnotic suggestions or controls. You have my word. But I’m not done with him. I’ll still need to be in his mind when it’s convenient for me, or when I need something. But he won’t feel a thing. Won’t even notice it. So you tell him to just go about his business and pretend I’m not even there.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Not good enough?” Jeongguk snorted with laughter. “You know what, Jimin-ssi? Here I am. I’ve come to the table. I’ve compromised. I’ve given you a damn good offer that brings no harm to your precious boss. But that’s not good enough for you? How about you fucking come to the table, too? Or are you just used to getting whatever you want?”

Jimin took a deep breath, but he said nothing. He didn’t want to admit out loud that Jeongguk had a point, and that Jimin’s responses were just a result of his own panic at not being in control of a situation, of not hearing the perfect solution. But Jeongguk was right—his offer was tempting. It was more than enough. It was, indeed, a compromise that Jimin hadn’t been anticipating. 

“Fine.” Jimin took a deep breath. “As long as he’s none the wiser and you don’t burn the entire organization down out of spite, then I can accept that.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Jeongguk said with a short laugh. “I told you that I’m playing the long game. No one’s burning anything down. Yet.”

“Promise me you won’t kill him or drive him to kill himself.”

“I promise. Don’t give me that look,” Jeongguk immediately said, surveying Jimin’s face. “I don’t break my promises to you. You should know that by now.”

“So what, that makes you a hero?”

“Why are you so angry with me?” Jeongguk asked. “Besides the fact that I’m… me.”

Jimin blinked once and cast his eyes down towards the floor, arms still crossed. “Because I don’t understand you, Jeongguk.”

“Do you wonder if you ever did?” Jeongguk rhetorically asked as he stood up with a little grunt, snatching his empty glass from the tabletop and strolling over into the kitchen. He set the tumbler down and then leaned his elbows on the countertop, eyes trained on Jimin as the bottle of single malt whiskey began to move on its own, the cap twisting off. “Drink?” he asked as the whiskey poured itself.

“I drove here.” Jimin quickly licked his lips. “So no, thank you.”

Jeongguk set the bottle down without touching it and picked up his glass, and as he took a sip, he turned and rested an elbow on his countertop, and Jimin didn’t miss the little smirk on his face.

“Do you drive a Prius?” he asked.

“I drive a motorcycle, you asshole,” Jimin fired back as Jeongguk raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue.

“That’s bad for the environment,” he said as he bent his full glass in Jimin’s direction. Jimin narrowed his eyes as he added, “A good boy like you on a motorcycle? Seems a bit hypocritical, but live your life, I guess.”

The amused sarcasm was so thick in his voice that Jimin had half a mind to lunge for him, or to just lift the glass out of his hand and shatter it against his head, or maybe to shatter the glass on the floor and use the bedsheets to light everything on fire. But he resisted, because even though Jimin knew well that mind control was part of Jeongguk’s repertoire, he had very little idea of what else Jeongguk could truly do, given that he had just demonstrated his clear capability to use telekinesis.

“Why didn’t you do it to me?”

[scars] :: boy epic

With the tumbler set on the countertop, Jeongguk began to turn it in slow circles using a few fingers, lifting his eyes to stare at Jimin.

“That night,” Jimin clarified. “The night you escaped.”

“Why didn’t I do what?”

“You were only sixteen,” Jimin said in a hushed tone, not daring to raise his voice any higher because he could see the white-knuckle grip Jeongguk had on his glass now. “And you had… hundreds… of people under your control. Hundreds, Jeongguk. I had no idea you could do that. That you had that much power. But you had them all in the palm of your hand. Why did you kill them?”

“That’s two questions. Which one do you want an answer to?” Jeongguk asked, his voice even. But Jimin plowed on.

“You could have made a clean getaway. You could’ve left without shedding any blood or murdering anyone. Why did you?” Jimin wondered, his hands clammy. Jeongguk leaned both elbows on the countertop now, eyes fixed on his drink as he smirked. But it wasn’t arrogant. There was a flicker of sadness to it that Jimin identified immediately.

“Mind control doesn’t blind you,” he stated, speaking to his drink. “Even if you’re under my control, you’re still able to see what’s going on. The torture of it is not being able to do anything about it. No free will.” He blinked and looked up at Jimin. “I wasn’t about to leave any witnesses to tell the tale.”

“And what if they had families?”

“I had a family.” Jeongguk’s expression was hardened, eyes plagued with quiet rage. “They didn’t care. Those staff members in the hallway watched me scream. They strapped me to a chair and put a ruler between my teeth so I didn’t bite myself when they were electrocuting me to fix me. They watched me cry. Suffer. I was a child. I was lost. Confused. And they laughed at me when I couldn’t speak after they tortured and abused me. Repeatedly. For years.”

“Jeongguk, that d—”

“That doesn’t mean what?” Jeongguk interrupted, eyes flashing. “That I had any right to kill them? I really must protest. Don’t give me your sanctimonious hero bullshit. Those staff members deserved to die. I don’t care if you agree with me or not. I killed them because they hurt me, and you don’t even know the half of it.”

“Because you never told me. I didn’t know,” Jimin admitted, pushing his shoulders back as he tried to maintain his composure. Jeongguk was speaking clearly, evenly, with intent. There was very little fear to detect, but if any existed, it was likely masked by anger. 

“Of course you didn’t know,” Jeongguk snapped, taking another sip of his drink until the glass was drained and then pouring himself more by hand. He set the bottle down with a thud, and then he looked back to Jimin. “You were too much of a goody-goody to know.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not. But which one of us is endorsed by the NIS?” Jeongguk rhetorically asked, tipping his glass towards Jimin again as if toasting him before taking a sip. He set the glass down in silence, because Jimin was rooted to the spot without a clue as to what he should say. Jeongguk filled the void. “You asked a second question.”

“I did. Why didn’t you do it to me?” Jimin repeated. “That night. Everyone in the building was under your control except me.”

“Because I made you a promise. Did you suddenly forget?” Jeongguk asked, resentful. Jimin remembered, but Jeongguk continued. “You were ten. I was eight. We were in the same damn music class and you wanted to play the drums like me. But you were assigned to the xylophone. So I made our teacher change her mind.”

“And we played the drums together for weeks,” Jimin added, the memory flooding his brain again.

“But you were never an idiot, so you asked me why the teacher suddenly changed her mind,” Jeongguk recalled. “And I told you that I was one who did it. That I could make her do whatever I wanted. That I could control her thoughts. And I begged you.”

“To believe you.”

“To believe me,” Jeongguk confirmed. “And you did. You believed me, but you made me promise you something.”

“That you would never do it to me,” Jimin whispered, and Jeongguk nodded, still slowly spinning the glass on the countertop.

“I promised you that day in that stupid classroom that I would never invade your mind. Or control it. Or manipulate it. Or place thoughts into it. That I would always leave you untouched.” Jeongguk ran his pointer finger around the rim of the glass once before straightening up with a fleeting flair of indignation. “I kept my promise. No matter what. Including that night. Everyone but you.”

“Which means you left a witness.”

“Which means that I left the one person I knew wouldn’t tattle on me,” Jeongguk corrected, and Jimin pursed his lips, eyes focused on the floor because he knew it was true. He hadn’t said a single word to the staff at TRACK about Jeongguk’s escape. Not a word. And to this day, nobody knew that Jimin had been Jeongguk’s only friend. “But there was another reason. Minor. Very minor. But still. I didn’t touch you because I wanted you to wake up and find me. So I could ask you to come with me.”

“You knew I’d never go with you,” Jimin said, raising his voice unintentionally. “You knew. We’d been fighting for months before that. You barely talked to me.”

“But I still asked,” Jeongguk interrupted, matching his tone to Jimin’s. “I knew you wouldn’t come. You were only still at TRACK because I was holding you back by failing all the time. I knew you’d pass that fucking test in a heartbeat and be Seoul’s shining hero. But I still asked.”

“Why?”

“Just in case.”

“You could have forced me to come with you.”

“I made you a promise, Jimin hyung.”

Jimin’s next inhale caught in his throat, but he said nothing. Jeongguk only drank. Hearing “Jimin hyung” fall from Jeongguk’s lips in person, face-to-face, was something Jimin hadn’t expected to affect him. He had assumed that his visceral response would be to shoot it down like he had over the phone. But here they were. Old habits.

“So what, you’ll never crack?” Jimin finally put one foot in front of the other to walk towards Jeongguk. “You’ll never do it? Even if we’re in the middle of a fight and controlling my mind would give you everything you needed?”

“Even then.” Jeongguk drank the rest of the whiskey and shoved the empty glass aside, turning to face Jimin. “Don’t push it, though.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jimin confessed, because what kind of trust was established between the two of them? None. It had all been lost years ago. Jimin slowly approached until they were nearly toe-to-toe, and even then, Jeongguk didn’t back away or flinch. He stood firm, even though he was as tense as Jimin was. 

Jeongguk was not the same anymore. He wasn’t the sixteen-year-old boy that Jimin had last seen at the other end of the hallway seven years ago. He was a man with calloused hands, fire in his eyes, and scars on his face. One little scar on his left cheek, but the large scar running diagonally from his nose to near his earlobe on his right cheek was the most prominent. Jimin lifted his hand to use careful fingers to trace the scar, ready to test his theory despite the risk.

“Don’t touch my face. This isn’t a cheesy superhero movie. Hands off.” Jeongguk’s command was firm, but Jimin wasn’t swayed. He continued to move his hand forward, but Jeongguk didn’t stop him. Didn’t grab him. Didn’t rip into his mind to make him back off. Jimin stopped barely a centimeter from Jeongguk’s cheek, seeing that Jeongguk had clenched his jaw in anticipation, and then he lowered his hand.

“You should stop me,” he whispered, staring into Jeongguk’s eyes for any sign of retaliation. “You told me not to, but you’re not stopping me.”

“That would be breaking my promise.”

“Smacking me isn’t breaking your promise.” Jimin lowered his hand.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeongguk whispered. “But consider that maybe I just want you to believe me.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because I’m really good at doing terrible things to people who deserve it. I enjoy doing terrible things to them because of the way they treated me or how they looked away while I was being abused. I don’t care about any of them. But I did care about you.”

“So what, that makes everything okay?” Jimin wondered. “You caring about me makes what you’re doing okay?”

“You know what kills me?” Jeongguk asked, still almost toe-to-toe with Jimin. “Is that even after all these years, you still haven’t told anyone that you know me. The entire government is looking for me. They want my head on a silver platter, and you work for them. And you haven’t said a word. Why is that? Why are you protecting me?”

“Maybe because I knew you before you turned into a monster,” Jimin whispered. “So in some sick and twisted way, yeah. I’m still protecting you.”

“Or is it just to save your own ass?” Jeongguk flicked his eyebrows up in interest. “Is it because you know that if you rat me out, that’ll be the end of your life as you know it?”

“You know what, Jeongguk?” Jimin blinked, locked onto Jeongguk’s dark brown eyes. If Jimin looked closely enough, he could see past the scars and trauma. He could still see Jeon Jeongguk somewhere in there, or maybe Jimin was just desperate to find the old Jeongguk instead of accepting Jeongguk as he was now. Maybe, in the end, it was Jimin who was at fault. Maybe he was too angry. But it didn’t matter now. “Maybe I should rat you out. Turn you in. Force you to do something other than torture people.”

“Why do you want me to be the good boy so badly?” Jeongguk asked, his voice hushed. Jimin was paralyzed from the close proximity. “Give it up. Stop trying to make me fuck with your head. I won’t do it. Get over yourself.”

“You not doing anything to me is fucking with my head,” Jimin snapped quietly, his voice cracking. “Everyone else is your puppet, but you just let me do whatever I want, even though you have total control over everything.”

“Well, I’m not really sure what you want me to do about that,” Jeongguk whispered. “Because I’m not stopping. This is in your hands.”

“I don’t want it to be.” Jimin’s heart plummeted. No one ever dared to give Jimin total control over a situation. He had limitations. That was how his life was meant to be. That was what had been laid out for him.

“Too bad.” Jeongguk’s voice was still nothing more than a chilling whisper. Was he getting closer? Was that why Jimin suddenly felt like he was struggling to breathe? “Everything you do pisses me off. Listening to you talk makes my skin crawl. You have no idea what they’ve done to you.”

“Well, I have no idea what they did to you, either,” Jimin whispered back resentfully. “Because you chose to keep that from me.”

“Exactly. I made a choice.” Jeongguk quickly licked his lips, his eyes still trained on Jimin, and Jimin swore that he could feel a burning sensation heating up his skin. “So now it’s your turn. Take control of something for once in your life. Do what you want to do.”

What Jimin wanted to do most was push the limit. He had come to Jeongguk’s apartment with only one goal in mind, but he suddenly found himself with an unscratchable itch and a heart beating relentlessly in his throat as he considered doing something he wanted to do. Was he toying with his own sanity? Was he out of character? Was this a stark departure from his usual composure?

[slip] :: elliot moss

Jimin lifted his left hand again, slowly. Jeongguk only blinked. Holding his breath, Jimin moved to set his hand on Jeongguk’s right cheek, exactly where the scar was, but Jeongguk’s hand flew up and slapped around Jimin’s wrist, gripping tightly to stop him. Jimin inhaled in surprise through his nose, but he didn’t waver. Instead, he drowned himself in Jeongguk’s eyes and continued to move forward until his hand cupped Jeongguk’s cheek, and Jeongguk let him. When Jimin’s thumb began to trace the scar, Jeongguk turned his head into Jimin’s hand, eyes still fixed on Jimin, until his lips were against the heel of Jimin’s palm.

“Why did you keep secrets from me?” Jimin whispered, his heart clenching. “Why?”

Jeongguk’s bottom lip caught momentarily on Jimin’s palm before he turned his head to stare directly at Jimin again with dark eyes. “Get over it.”

“You’re ruining—” Jimin was cut off by a strong arm around his waist, and suddenly, he was pressed to Jeongguk’s chest, Jeongguk’s arm wrapped around him like a dare, a taunt, a direct challenge to the control Jimin was seeking. “…Everything,” he finished in nothing more than a passing breath. 

“Consider that maybe you need to be ruined,” Jeongguk whispered, and Jimin had to close his eyes to put a stop to the shiver that was threatening to ravage his body. 

Take control of something for once in your life.

Against all odds, and with a sudden unspoken gag order on anything from the last seven years, Jimin leaned in. He leaned in and shoved his desperate and helpless rage to the background, instead thinking only of the boy who had given him a red rose and a firework show. He leaned in and remembered that only a minute ago, Jeongguk had admitted that Jimin pissed him off. He leaned in to capture what he had wanted as a teenager but had refused to ever consider, now fueled only by hatred.

Then they were kissing. Jimin had no idea what had driven him forward, but if he had been expecting something soft and gentle and tentative, he didn’t get it. The moment Jeongguk’s fingertips pressed indentations into Jimin’s waist, Jimin’s reaction was visceral. One hand flew up to grip the hair at the back of Jeongguk’s head, his other hand fisting the shirt on his shoulder, and Jeongguk kissed him like he was starving. There was very little finesse, because Jimin was gulping down air, falling forward.

“Yes,” Jimin gasped between open-mouthed kisses, giving Jeongguk permission with one word when Jeongguk started to pull. They stumbled, Jimin’s bottom lip between Jeongguk’s teeth, Jeongguk’s hands already working at Jimin’s belt. There was absolutely no mistaking what Jimin was asking for, what he had initiated, what Jeongguk was ready to reciprocate. If this was Jimin taking control, then perhaps he had lost all sense of control by showing up to Jeongguk’s apartment.

The back of Jimin’s knees hit the edge of the unmade bed, but he didn’t fall back. Instead, he grabbed the front of Jeongguk’s shirt and tugged, and the shirt unbuttoned easily. With rough hands, Jimin shoved Jeongguk’s shirt off his shoulders and to the floor, and Jeongguk threw Jimin’s belt aside. With little cognition to take in the details, all Jimin noticed before his shirt was halfway over his head was that Jeongguk had two full sleeves of tattoos, and one of the tattoos bled onto his chest, something like a flower pattern. It didn’t matter. Not now.

Jimin finally fell back onto the bed, and the moment he did, Jeongguk was everywhere. He crawled on and caged Jimin in, bending and leaving bruising kisses down the column of Jimin’s neck as Jimin’s eyes rolled back, body arching up towards the source of pleasure. His idea of control was being out of his mind and enjoying it.

There seemed to be no need to talk. The energy for a conversation about what was right or wrong had depleted long ago. In one swift motion, Jeongguk pulled Jimin’s pants off and let them fall to the floor, leaving Jimin nearly bare, and he decisively kicked out of his own pants before returning to the bed. Jimin grabbed him around the neck and rolled roughly, straddling Jeongguk and gripping his jaw tightly with one hand to turn his head. Jeongguk let out a little breath as Jimin’s lips pulled at the sensitive skin of his neck, Jimin intent on leaving his mark, feeling an adrenaline rush at the mere thought of Jeongguk’s posse of friends asking who Jeongguk had fucked.

Because it was going to be Jimin. 

“Hurry up,” Jimin whispered breathily, and Jeongguk understood. He shoved Jimin up further onto the bed near the pillows with two hands and little effort, and Jimin caught something flying out of a bedside table drawer in the corner of his eye. Jimin scrambled upright, grabbed Jeongguk by the shoulders, and switched their positions, forcing Jeongguk against the pillows and kneeling over him, straddling his hips. With one hand tangled in his hair, Jimin kissed Jeongguk again, fiercely as if with the intent to bruise, and Jeongguk pressed his tongue into Jimin’s mouth in return.

Jimin’s right hand remained outstretched as they kissed, and he felt the cold of the lube as it drizzled onto his fingers. He didn’t even bother to warm it. He took Jeongguk’s hand and motioned, and Jeongguk understood, hastily removing Jimin’s underwear as Jimin situated himself accordingly, reaching one hand down. Surely Jeongguk’s long fingers would do a better job, but right now, Jimin didn’t have the patience. Even if it hurt, all the better. 

Jeongguk’s hands seemed to know no boundaries, roaming Jimin’s back and chest, fingernails scratching down Jimin’s shoulder blades and around his hips as Jimin worked two fingers into himself with a small gasp into Jeongguk’s mouth. There was no room for shame. They were grown men now, no longer timid teenagers wondering what life held for them. As it turned out, life held nothing but failed chances that neither of them had taken.

There was a silent shuffle and agreement that happened when Jimin removed his fingers. Jeongguk shed his last stitch of clothing, now completely bare, and Jimin didn’t hesitate to drink him in from head to toe, just as Jeongguk seemed to be openly devouring Jimin visually. Jimin leaned in, resting his forehead against Jeongguk’s as he reached his lubed hand between them and wrapped it around Jeongguk’s cock, stroking with a firm grip, relishing the sharp intake of breath. Jimin then felt something nudging at the top of his hand, so he grabbed the condom and ripped the packet open, quickly rolling it onto Jeongguk and stroking him deftly again, his hand shaking in a mixture of raw fear and anticipation.

“Slow,” Jeongguk whispered, but Jimin shook his head with his eyes closed, positioning himself with one hand still around Jeongguk. He opened his eyes as he sank down onto Jeongguk’s length, the air knocked out of his lungs at the sheer fullness he felt once he forced Jeongguk to bottom out. Jimin gasped and grabbed Jeongguk’s shoulders, fingernails digging into warm skin, head bowed, knees pressed into the mattress.

Do what you want to do.

Jimin rolled his hips, his breath coming out staccato, but Jeongguk gripped Jimin’s waist and lifted his hips a little. Jimin’s head fell back as he let out a soft cry, his body tensing, but then he inhaled deeply and focused on the pleasure only. Because that, after all, was all he wanted from Jeongguk. He wanted to lose himself in it entirely, to get off on pretending that he was in control. So he draped one arm around Jeongguk’s neck and pressed the other hand to Jeongguk’s outer thigh, and he began to move. 

His body knew what to search for, how to seek out the pleasure he so desperately wanted. And Jeongguk, not to Jimin’s surprise, was receptive and attentive. He followed the way Jimin’s hips moved, used one large hand to stroke Jimin’s cock in time with the rhythm Jimin set. In place of words that were unspoken, they exchanged small gasps before remembering that the other’s lips were waiting, and then they exchanged messy kisses that did nothing to quell the overwhelming buildup that Jimin was feeling. Every time Jimin’s legs began to tremble in anticipation, every time he clenched or choked on his own breath, Jeongguk was right there, responsive, thumb swiping over the head of Jimin’s cock, pretty lips dragging along Jimin’s neck and chest. 

Sex had never been a solution to any of Jimin’s problems. It had never been so unplanned or messy, so easy despite the impossibility of it all. It took a lot to satisfy Jimin on a normal day, whenever he had time to spare to get laid. But now, with Jeongguk thrusting up into him and finding every pleasurably sensitive spot with ease, Jimin was moaning without inhibition, panting, leaving streaks of red across Jeongguk’s skin like sown fields in which to plant seeds that would fester and turn into weeds. And Jeongguk was silent but focused, his eyes dark but fiery, his movement intentional, as if he had thought about taking Jimin like this before. Maybe he had.

“I can’t,” Jimin gasped out breathily, and the sentiment hung in the air as his own moans wrapped around it. Jeongguk was relentless, and Jimin’s hands were starting to slip from the sweat, but neither of them could stop. It was Jeongguk who came first, head falling back onto the pillow, eyes closed as he exhaled sharply, hips lifting up, hands dragging down Jimin’s thighs. Desperate, Jimin grabbed one of Jeongguk’s hands, and Jeongguk immediately began to stroke Jimin’s cock again, knowing how close Jimin was. It took only a handful of strokes and a twist of his wrist. Jimin pressed his palms into Jeongguk’s chest with his head bowed as he spilled onto Jeongguk’s abdomen, body trembling.

There was a moment of instant regret that swallowed Jimin whole as Jeongguk sat up with Jimin in his lap without pulling out. Jimin couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, still panting, a trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck. But then he considered that Jeongguk hadn’t stopped it from happening. He had consented in a heartbeat. His orgasm had happened first. And now he had Jimin in his lap, and neither of them were making the first move, trapped in a post-sex embrace as they came down from the high together. To Jimin’s surprise, it was Jeongguk who spoke up first.

“Just because we had sex doesn’t mean that we’re suddenly on the same team,” Jeongguk whispered, and a chill fluttered down Jimin’s spine.

“I didn’t expect it to mean that.”

“Nor does it mean that we’re suddenly star-crossed lovers and I won’t fight you,” Jeongguk continued, but his hands were still roaming the expanse of Jimin’s back. “Or that I’ll call off my crusade for you. Don’t be delusional.”

“If you called off your crusade just because we fucked, I’d be worried.”

“Good.” Jeongguk’s lips were right by Jimin’s ear now. “Because if you keep getting in my way or meddling in my affairs or ruining my plan to destroy TRACK and everyone involved, I’ll kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first.”

Jeongguk’s hands settled on Jimin’s hips, his lips brushing along Jimin’s shoulder briefly as if their moment could be suspended in time. As if threats of murder were a love language. Maybe for them, death was a kinder outcome, made sweeter with the prospect of it coming from a former friend.

“I’m leaving,” Jimin whispered, and he felt Jeongguk nod. Like they had orchestrated it, Jeongguk pulled out as Jimin winced, and Jimin rolled to the edge of the bed, catching his clothes as they flew towards him so that he could dress and depart as quickly as possible before the shame set in. He dressed with his back to Jeongguk, not even bothering to wipe himself down much even though he could hear Jeongguk doing the very same behind him. When Jimin stood up to shimmy into his pants, he finally turned around.

“Sure you don’t want a drink?” Jeongguk was lying against the pillows with one arm bent behind his head, a sheet halfway draped over his hips and thighs, his eyes sleepy. Jimin pulled his shirt on with haste.

“No. I’m driving.” He pivoted and found his shoes where he had kicked them off, jamming his feet into them and hoping that Jeongguk couldn’t see that he was visibly shaken.

“Goodnight.”

Jimin unlocked the window by hand, shoving it up as the cool evening breeze floated through the apartment. He turned one final time to look at Jeongguk, who still hadn’t moved from the bed, though his eyes were fixed on Jimin’s every move. What had Jimin accomplished in this visit? What kind of control had he achieved? And why had Jeongguk so willingly put everything into Jimin’s hands?

“Goodbye.” Jimin stared at Jeongguk, at the man who had just pulled the easiest and greatest orgasm out of Jimin in his life. At the man who threatened Jimin’s life like it was a game. At the man who was so beautiful, so effortlessly beautiful, but a poison that Jimin was sure that he never should have touched. But he was tainted now.

Jimin ducked beneath the window and stepped onto the fire escape, and he rushed down the stairs, not bothering to close the window behind him or lock it. But when he was halfway down, he looked up to Jeongguk’s apartment.

The window was closed with the curtains drawn already.

Chapter Text

PART VI :: FLICKERS

:: :: ::

TRACK Facility: Pyrokinesis Wing
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
09:49 AM

18 years ago

“Min Yoongi.”

“Hmm.”

“Pick your head up and answer the question.”

“It’s too bright.”

“No other student in this classroom seems to have an issue with the lighting. Now pick your head up and answer. We’re waiting.”

Yoongi slowly lifted his head from the cradle of his arms, his eyes still closed, because the sunlight streaming into the warm classroom was giving him a migraine. Only a few months shy of his tenth birthday and he had already been pummeled a dozen times with migraines so severe that he went blind for several hours. And that was in addition to the fevers. This was par for the course and nothing new, yet the adults around him responded as if Yoongi’s pain was just petulance. 

“Open your eyes and answer the question,” the instructor demanded in her shrill voice that made the headaches worse. “And stop the theatrics. Open your eyes.”

Yoongi opened his eyes, squinting immediately in pain from the light that seemed to render him helpless. Everything was a white blur for a moment, the ringing in his ears so loud that he couldn’t hear. He tried to focus on the board, knowing that his classmates were watching him in interest and confusion, but Yoongi couldn’t see anything.

“Seven,” he blurted out, and the entire class burst into giggles, because they were in science class, not math. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Faking a headache is not the way to get out of participating in class,” the instructor said sternly, and instantly, the giggles ceased. “I’m tired of this behavior. Ah… yes, Heejin-ah. Perhaps you can give us the answer.”

They always thought Yoongi was faking it. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he cried and screamed and clutched his head in pain, they always scolded him for overreacting or playing tricks on the staff. The fevers made him hallucinate sometimes, though Yoongi tried not to say anything. Only his older brother knew what Yoongi experienced, but that was in the rare instance that Yoongi was at home.

No other pyrokinetic acts the way that you do. This is all for attention. It won’t work.

Yoongi didn’t want attention. He wanted the pain to stop. Everything had been normal until last year around his ninth birthday. That was when the fevers had started. That was when his body had started burning up to temperatures far beyond the normal threshold of thirty-seven Celsius. Once five months ago, in the middle of a fitful hallucination, Yoongi had had a moment of clarity where he had heard the medical staff read his temperature out as forty-six degrees before walking away and doing nothing.

Yoongi’s head fell back down onto his arms as he buried himself there, because he didn’t want any light to seep through. He was awake and trying to listen, but the constant accusations of being a burden or a distraction to the class were keeping him from engaging. He could hear his teacher talking, and he could hear his classmates participating sporadically, but the longer the class carried on, the worse it became. 

“Min Yoongi. Go work with your group,” the instructor said sharply, coming up to Yoongi’s desk and smacking the surface several times. Yoongi cringed, because the tapping sounded like bombs and the reverberation felt like an earthquake.

“I need to go to the medical wing,” Yoongi croaked, lifting his head and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Please. My head really hurts. I think I have a fever.”

“You have a group assignment to complete. I won’t deal with any more of this,” the instructor said in exasperation. “Acting like this is not the way to get out of doing an assignment.”

“I’ll do it, I swear,” Yoongi whispered. “After I get help. Please. Please.”

“You can go to the medical wing in your free time after class,” his teacher responded. “Now go work with your group.”

“No.”

“Up. Get up. If you won’t do the assignment—” 

Yoongi let out a noise of displeasure when a hand grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet, and he stumbled, eyes squeezed shut. Was he sweating? He wanted to peel his skin off and douse himself in ice.

“Then you’ll see the principal.”

“No, no, no,” Yoongi gasped out, but his teacher ushered him towards the classroom door and between the desks as he staggered. “No, please just let me go to the medical wing. Please, please, I don’t feel well. My head, my head hurts—”

“Take him to see the principal, please. He’s causing a scene again to get out of doing his work,” the teacher said, speaking right over Yoongi and dismissing every word he was saying without hesitation. Yoongi was doubled over at the waist, clutching his head in one hand, but then he heard that voice. That voice, the one he hated more than anything.

“Of course he is. I’ll take care of it.”

The classroom door closed, and Bang Hyunjun, Yoongi’s least favorite guard in the pyrokinetic wing, grabbed Yoongi by the scruff of his neck and encouraged him to walk down the hallway. Yoongi stumbled and stopped dead in his tracks, trying not to collapse. His head felt like it was splitting in half now.

“Medical wing. Medical wing, please,” he begged. “Please let me go. It hurts, I can’t see. I can’t see, I— ah!”

Hyunjun took a handful of Yoongi’s hair in his firm grip and pulled, and Yoongi flailed, trying to stay on his feet so that the tugging sensation on his scalp wasn’t so painful. But it was adding insult to injury. As if Yoongi’s head wasn’t already threatening to explode, now he had to deal with five grubby fingers tangled in his hair.

“Let’s go. Keep walking. You don’t need the medical wing when you’re faking it,” Hyunjun said. “Maybe you’d get the medical wing if this wasn’t the fifteenth time you’ve disrupted your class this semester. The first time, we believed it. The second time, we believed it. Now you’re just playing.”

“I’m not playing, I’m not,” Yoongi slurred. “Please, I—I can’t see. I need help. Something’s wrong.”

“Keep walking. You—”

Hyunjun didn’t get another word in. Yoongi collapsed onto his knees on the tile floor, and Hyunjun tried to lunge for him, but Yoongi doubled at the waist and screamed. It was a strangled scream that made everything hurt even more. Yoongi’s hands were in fists, but then his fingers seized, and the burning he was feeling reached its apex. Tears streamed from his eyes as the world tilted on its axis, and fire licked his palms before engulfing both of his hands, threatening to crawl up his arms. He clutched his shirt and pulled, but the fabric caught fire. Still, his skin didn’t burn.

The fire alarm began to sound. Shouts echoed off the walls. Yoongi fell forward with his palms pressed to the floor, still crying out, and flames poured from his hands and scattered across the tile, creating small trails of fire that kept passersby away from him, that kept help out of reach.

No one was going to help him. No one was going to help him. No one—

Yoongi and Namjoon’s apartment
Itaewon-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
04:52 AM

present day

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop, it’s just me. Hyung. Hyung.”

[flickers] :: son lux

Yoongi thrashed and flailed, drowning in blankets, kicking until he rocketed upright, doubled over, clutching his shirt like it was still on fire. The shirt stuck to his skin, drenched in sweat, and when he blinked, he realized that he could still see. He wasn’t blinded, and his head wasn’t threatening to split open, but he was burning up.

“Another one?”

Yoongi flopped back onto his pillows, his breathing still uneven, and immediately, he felt a hand brushing back the damp hair on his forehead.

“It’s always the same,” Yoongi whispered, and then he felt gloriously cool water on his forehead as the covers pulled back. He opened his eyes and rolled his head a little, watching as Namjoon’s fingers fluttered to keep the makeshift cold compress of water pressed to his forehead, his other hand gently scooting Yoongi’s shirt up. Yoongi flinched when he felt the cool water cover his stomach like a blanket, but he had to bring his core temperature down.

“Hey, you’re fine. Stop,” Namjoon whispered in a raspy morning voice, bringing one hand up to rub a gentle circle on Yoongi’s chest in a soothing fashion, the water still doing its job. Yoongi blew out a breath, trying to calm his racing heart, his bunched up shirt already feeling cold and making him shiver from the sweat and from the fever simultaneously.

“Please. I need help,” Yoongi said breathily like he was still in a nightmare, but this time, help was immediate. The water disappeared from Yoongi’s skin, morphing into a misshapen ball hovering over their shared bed, and Namjoon grunted and sat up against the pillows. Then he pulled Yoongi right into his lap between his legs, pressing Yoongi’s back to his chest, and he peeled Yoongi’s shirt off and threw it to the floor. The ball of water hovering patiently then descended, engulfing Yoongi’s torso and trickling across his forehead, and Namjoon wrapped both arms around Yoongi’s waist protectively.

“Thank you,” Yoongi whispered, his head lolling to the side on Namjoon’s shoulder. Typically, gratitude was an unspoken sentiment between the two of them. They bickered constantly. When they had first met, they had gotten into more physical fights and shouting matches than Yoongi could count on two hands, and Taehyung had just watched with a shit-eating grin. But somewhere along the way, they had fallen into bed with one another to fuck it out, and now they shared that same bed willingly. Namjoon was very much like the water he manipulated—coolheaded, often detached from his opponent’s emotions, sometimes callous but always changeable. Yoongi was fire in all its forms—full of rage, full of fear, full of a bitter need for revenge. Somehow, they balanced each other out.

“That’s the second nightmare this month,” Namjoon muttered, dropping his head and pressing his lips to Yoongi’s neck sleepily.

“Shh.” Yoongi closed his eyes, slumping into Namjoon, and for a moment, they just cocooned in each other’s arms, the room only illuminated in a blue haze from the streetlights outside their apartment.

“Open your mouth.”

Yoongi didn’t even open his eyes. He just opened his mouth like instructed, and he felt a slow but steady trickle of lukewarm water that he gulped down. He patted Namjoon’s thigh when he had had enough, and then he opened his eyes, his heart rate finally resembling normalcy. Namjoon’s hands continued to grip Yoongi’s waist, the water receding slightly but still keeping Yoongi cool, and then Namjoon’s right hand slowly wandered, cupping Yoongi over his pajama pants as Yoongi let out a soft sigh.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”

More often than not, because Yoongi had so much pent-up anger and rage that manifested as fevers and fire, he had to find a way to expel it. One of the quickest ways was a handjob or sex in any form, and Namjoon was masterful. He knew Yoongi’s body like his own, treated Yoongi like gold, fucked him until Yoongi forgot why he was enraged in the first place. But tonight, Yoongi was too exhausted to even think about participating, though the idea of Namjoon’s large hand wrapped around his cock was tempting.

“Can you fall back asleep? Should we check your temperature?” Namjoon muttered, lifting the water from Yoongi’s body entirely. Yoongi’s tired eyes watched as the water sailed across their bedroom and through the open bathroom door, and it splashed into the sink and drained quickly. Yoongi was dry, not a drop of water on him.

“Mm-mm. I feel better,” Yoongi said truthfully. “I’m not burning up anymore.”

Namjoon took both of Yoongi’s hands in his, turning them over and examining them carefully for any signs of irritated skin, redness, blistering. It was rare that Yoongi’s skin was ever affected by the fire he created anymore, but a few months ago, during one particularly terrible nightmare, Yoongi had woken up to see their bedsheets on fire, and it was because he had lit them up unintentionally in a traumatized panic.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Namjoon asked, and Yoongi nodded. “Can I hold you?”

“Mhm.”

With his shirt still off, Yoongi slid back underneath the blankets and curled up in Namjoon’s arms, happy to make himself small and vulnerable to feel safe. Yoongi knew that he talked a big game and that he was stubborn, always playing the “I’m older” card. But in the privacy of their own bed, he gave Namjoon control, and Namjoon never made a big deal of it.

“I hate it,” Yoongi murmured, his head on Namjoon’s shoulder, one hand on Namjoon’s chest. “I fucking hate what they did to me. Every time I have a nightmare, it just makes me think that… fuck, I hate it.”

“I know. I hate it, too.” Namjoon drew Yoongi closer to him. He understood. Namjoon hadn’t gone through the same bullshit as Yoongi had; in fact, Namjoon had been highly recommended from a young age. But then he had failed his exit examination at age twelve. And then at thirteen. And fourteen. And fifteen. Despite acing the examination in every possible way, TRACK had failed Namjoon time and time again without explanation. Namjoon had then found out that it was because they feared he was “too powerful’ and too difficult to groom. They wanted to knock him down a few pegs. So Namjoon had passed the exam and then raised hell on them before defecting.

“I’m tired of the nightmares,” Yoongi whispered.

“You know that he could take them all away,” Namjoon whispered, his lips brushing Yoongi’s forehead. “He’s offered it to you a thousand times.”

“I know. But I just… don’t want it,” Yoongi whispered back, thinking of Jeongguk’s constant offer to help ease Yoongi’s mind. “I don’t want to forget. Even if it hurts.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll just stick around to cool down your dumb ass every time you have a nightmare,” Namjoon muttered, and Yoongi snickered tiredly, using his fingertips to lightly smack Namjoon’s chest.

“They never really gave me a chance.”

“Mm. I know.”

“They never taught me. They only punished me. I never got the chance to control it. To learn. To do anything.” Yoongi blinked with heavy eyelids. He knew that he was beating a dead horse. This was a conversation he and Namjoon had had countless times before. But this time, Yoongi was feeling a twinge of something a bit different.

“That’s why we’re doing what we’re doing, hyung,” Namjoon murmured. “The government is going to turn a blind eye and continue to allow it because no one is speaking up. They’re all too afraid. What Jeongguk’s doing is working.”

“I don’t get him,” Yoongi mumbled. “It’s working, but he’s—the way he acts sometimes is just… when it comes to that trio of fucking bullshit heroes, he just…”

“I know. I don’t get it, either. But then again, Taehyung is openly willing to take it up the ass for one of them, so what do we know?” Namjoon murmured, and Yoongi’s shoulders shook as he laughed quietly.

“One day,” Yoongi murmured, closing his eyes, “I want to teach.”

“Hmm?”

“Yeah. I want to find another pyrokinetic and teach them how to control their abilities. Teach them the right way. Make my own success story out of those kids. After I’m done killing everyone involved.” Yoongi knew he was rambling in sheer exhaustion now, but it was an unscratchable itch that he had had for a while now.

“You will one day,” Namjoon muttered, and he chuckled. “Stick to the plan for now. And get some rest. We can sleep in today.”

Yoongi threw one leg over Namjoon’s legs to melt into him as much as possible, knowing that when they were not in bed together, they hardly ever showed physical affection to one another. They usually spent their time pressing each other’s buttons, finding each other’s limits and stepping on them. But in this moment, coming down from a fever with thoughts running rampant in his busy but exhausted mind, Yoongi didn’t need to feel that kind of fire.

For now.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
08:12 AM

From Jimin’s office window, all he could see were trees. Trees as far as the eye could see, a sporadic power line or two. The DKR was in one of the NIS building’s wings on the very top floor. Out of sight, out of mind. Easy to forget. It was a department of the NIS that the government wanted to pretend didn’t exist.

Jimin had one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his coffee as he stared blankly. He was sure that he had some work to do, but it was early. He had barely slept the past few days, and Director Nam was supposed to be returning from a two-day vacation that had bled into the weekend, which he had also taken off. And Jimin knew that his boss would make a beeline for him upon arrival. So it was just a waiting game.

He wasn’t using make-up anymore to cover up the bruises on his neck. Jimin had covered any trace of Jeongguk on his body for days, but the marks were starting to fade. The memories, however, were strong, overbearingly so. With his eyes closed, Jimin could still feel Jeongguk’s lips on his. He could still feel the grip Jeongguk had had on his hips, could hear the small gasps of pleasure in his ear, could feel Jeongguk inside of him if he thought about it long enough. It had all happened so fast, but the way Jeongguk’s eyes had rolled back before he came was burned into Jimin’s brain forever.

Jimin had spent a decade being Jeongguk’s only friend before finally admitting to himself that it felt like more than a friendship. His fierce loyalty to Jeongguk, the electrifying spark between the two of them even as brooding teenagers… Jimin had never really learned how to socialize in a normal setting thanks to TRACK, nor had he learned (incidentally or not) how to form proper relationships, but he was certain that as a seventeen-year-old, he had harbored a crush on Jeongguk. A crush that had led him to failing the exit examination purposely year after year. A crush that Jimin had buried after that fateful night bathed in red seven years ago. A crush that had reared its ugly head a few nights ago. 

Jimin had quite literally fallen into bed with the enemy in a snap decision. What irked Jimin (and what secretly pleased him) was how mindblowing the sex had been. Jimin had never really paid much attention to his sexuality, preferring to just go with his gut feeling. He had slept with men and women alike over the years, but it had never felt like it had with Jeongguk. Maybe there was some truth behind the idea that “hate” sex was hotter.

“Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin guiltily snapped out of his inappropriate daydreams and turned away from the window, clutching his coffee cup and trying not to crush it as the regret from sleeping with Jeongguk lingered. There was Director Nam, dressed impeccably and right on time, his eyes hardened, mouth set in a firm line.

“Shall we speak in my office?” he offered curtly, so Jimin nodded and followed, sipping his coffee as he rounded the corner of his door into the hallway. Hoseok’s office was along the way, so Jimin slowed down and paused at the doorway, glancing in. Hoseok was on the phone with his chair turned to the side, and he was holding his hand palm-up, the chunk of black tourmaline floating just above his hand as his fingers twitched so he could turn it in circles. He saw Jimin out of his peripheral vision, raised his eyebrows, and then continued talking. Jimin quietly sighed out his morning blues, and then he followed Director Nam.

“So.” The office door closed, and Jimin flicked on the soundproofing panels, enveloping the two of them in silence. Director Nam sat down in his desk chair and set his bag down as Jimin unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat as well. “Were you able to…? I know there weren’t any assignments over the last few days with—well, what have you found out?”

“I found him. And we had a conversation,” Jimin started with caution, because he could see how pale Director Nam’s face was. “We… came to an agreement. A compromise. His plan was to use you in whatever way he could and then kill you when you became useless to him.”

“Ah.” Director Nam nodded once, clutching one fist in the palm of his hand. “I see.”

“And I asked him to leave you alone altogether,” Jimin continued. “He refused. So the compromise… is that he’s made a promise not to use mind control on you. He won’t manipulate you in any way, and he won’t broadcast hypnotic suggestions or anything of the sort to you. You have your free will. But… he’s still going to be in your head. He wants access to your memories. The conversations you have or have had in the past. But, in his words, he wants you to carry on, business as usual. Said that you won’t even know he’s there.”

Director Nam quietly removed his glasses, holding them between his fingers as he bowed his head and rubbed his forehead and eyes.

“You have a choice,” Jimin quietly said, unable to believe the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “You can resign and walk away from it all. Or you can remain in your current position and continue your work, and this stays between us.”

“Remaining in this position is a betrayal of country,” Director Nam said, his voice a thousand miles away.

“Maybe it is. But we’re also dealing with something that we’ve never had to deal with before. Mind control is brand new to the DKR. To the government. To everyone. I don’t know exactly what Phantom is after. I just know that he’s looking to take TRACK down piece by piece until there’s nothing left,” Jimin explained with as much ambiguity as possible. “Systematically. He’s playing the long game. And I can tell you that even if you do resign, he’ll still be in your head looking at old memories.”

“And if I stay, he’ll be in my head to take note of all the classified conversations that I have,” Director Nam quietly snapped.

“True. I can’t deny that. But between you and me…” Jimin scraped his thumbnail across his bottom lip pensively, knowing that he was about to regret what he said. But he also knew, in a shameful way, that he could erase whatever he said from Director Nam’s mind with one word to Jeongguk. “He’s not just on a murderous rampage, Director. He’s been hurt and abused by a system that was afraid of him when he was a child. They all have. All four of them. Maybe I don’t know the half of it, but there’s a bigger picture here that I think we’re missing. And Phantom has given me his word that he won’t kill you. In fact, he called you a good man.”

“I don’t need the approval of a murderer,” Director Nam said, but his voice broke, which meant that Jimin’s words were making the right kind of impact. “And you’d do well to watch your words, Jimin-ssi.”

“Why? Do I sound like I’m sympathizing?” Jimin asked, and Director Nam put his glasses on, his expression stern but troubled. 

“You sound like a man who made an out-of-character deal with me to avoid disciplinary action for telekinesis outside of your restrictions,” he replied, and Jimin’s lips twitched in a sad smile.

“Do you not find it sad?” he wondered. “That using my abilities outside of my restrictions helped save over one hundred lives, including theirs, but they still tried to discipline me? Make martyrs of themselves? Cut off their noses to spite their faces?”

“Jimin-ssi—”

“This is the problem I’m facing, Director,” Jimin interrupted. “I’ve done everything right for years. But if I bend or break one little rule that they’ve given me, all of my years of loyalty and service are erased and forgotten. Phantom is trying to take down a system that he says tortured him as a child, the same system that treated me like royalty. So forgive me if I’m too bold this morning. But there are a few things that just aren’t adding up.”

“I’m beginning to think that maybe you shouldn’t be having conversations with Phantom,” Director Nam stated, his eyes focused on the floor. Jimin rubbed his lips together.

“Maybe not. But you confided in me, so I’m confiding in you. You have my respect, Director. The decision is yours. What you do with this deal I’ve made with Phantom is up to you.”

Jimin rose to his feet and buttoned his suit jacket, his pulse quickening when Director Nam didn’t make a move to stand up at first. Jimin bowed in slow motion, and when he straightened up, Director Nam was on his feet.

“I think it would be remiss of me not to mention,” he began, as if he was tasting the words on his tongue before speaking, “that this is precisely why you work with limitations and restrictions, Jimin-ssi. You and I have a positive working relationship. But your recent actions and what you’ve just said to me… were it anyone but me, there would be a conversation happening.”

“I’m aware of that. But someone told me that I should start asking more questions,” Jimin admitted vaguely. “And it’s strange. Every string I’ve pulled on so far…” He trailed off with a tilt of his head, which spoke far louder than his words could. “I’m here to support you, Director. Let me know what you need me to do.”

Director Nam nodded. “Dismissed.”

Jimin flicked off the soundproof paneling as he left, but just before he got to his office, he stumbled and paused, nearly smacked in the face with the familiar chunk of black tourmaline that was just hovering in the air in front of him. The crystal then skated around Jimin and began to detour back to Hoseok’s office, so Jimin turned and followed it, entering Hoseok’s office as requested.

“You summoned me?” he asked dryly, and Hoseok grinned, the crystal settling back down onto his desk. Jimin sat down in one of the chairs as the door closed and locked on its own.

“Yeah. What’s going on with you and Director Nam? You two have been whispering and having secret meetings lately. Anything I should know about?” Hoseok’s question was both shameless and valid. 

“Nothing I can tell you,” Jimin said, crossing one leg over the other and pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger momentarily. “I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“Phantom’s been in your head. Our heads,” Jimin corrected himself with haste. “Which means that he could do it remotely. Do you ever feel… compromised? Like—Like your job is in jeopardy? Like you could be a target?”

“Sometimes. But I don’t have control over that. No one does. Phantom doesn’t work on restrictions, Jimin-ah. He can access any mind at any time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh?” Hoseok raised his eyebrows, and Jimin almost got up to bang his head against the wall. “Something you want to share with the class?”

“He can’t get to Jo Chansung.”

Hoseok clicked his tongue and let the sound hover in the air for a moment, and then he pitched forward with his elbows on his desk, brow furrowed. With his hands folded, his eyes searched the surface of his desk before landing on Jimin.

“I thought he was capable of remote mind control.”

“He is. But there are some people… who are difficult to reach. That he would have to see face-to-face. And Jo Chansung is one of them.”

“Director Jo is his endgame. Am I right?” Hoseok quietly asked.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” Jimin replied. Then, embellishing his lie, he added, “And I don’t have all the facts or details. It’s not like we sit down and have coffee together to talk about it.” But we did have sex. Great sex. And I can’t stop thinking about it.

“But he’s at the top of the pile.” Hoseok held one hand above his head briefly. “If Phantom can get to Director Jo, then he can control everything. Pick apart TRACK piece by piece.”

“He could.”

“But he’s not.” The lightbulb seemed to flick on in Hoseok’s head. “He’s patient. He’s… What is he even doing? Why did they burn down the research center? Why the plane? It’s… messy.”

“I think the goal is to inflict as much pain as possible,” Jimin said in a low voice. “To make sure that the people who need to pay are the ones who pay. That no one gets away with it. Because I do think that if this was just about killing Jo Chansung, it would have happened already.”

“That’s even more terrifying,” Hoseok emphasized, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t keep up. Honestly. This is the problem with rogues. You and I, we’re government-based. We do what we’re told and that’s the job. But these guys… they just do whatever they want to do. The rules don’t apply.”

“You said it yourself.” Jimin stood up. “When the bad guys start making sense, that’s when you know there’s a problem.”

Hoseok shook his head, and then he beckoned to his computer. “I’m finishing up the paperwork on that case from two days ago. Are we having lunch together today?”

“As always.” Jimin patted the doorframe, and then he departed, thinking about two days ago when Hoseok had quite literally formed a new lake in a park area during an attempted robbery, where he had lured the hydrokinetic suspect into open space before changing the lay of the land in the process of apprehending the man.

Jimin liked those cases. The simple cases. The ones that were easy, cut-and-dry, that didn’t make him question his sanity. That didn’t make him burn with desire to have sex with the enemy. Jeongguk suddenly reappearing like the very phantom he was only emphasized the profound effect he’d always had on Jimin’s life, and it was maddening.

Jimin spent his lunch with Hoseok and Seokjin. He spent his dinnertime with Lia, and all Jimin could think about was how Jeongguk knew that Lia was a friend, and that he had purposely let Lia trace the call. It was a bizarre kind of trust that Jimin had never anticipated.

“Oh, shit, what’s that?” Lia said as she dropped her chopsticks into her container of food and jumped up from her cross-legged position, since she and Jimin had been sitting on the floor of her office together to eat. Her computer was making the telltale alert sound, so Jimin wiped his mouth and waited, closing his eyes.

“Damn it.” Lia spun around to face Jimin. “Because of everything that’s been happening lately, all TRACK employees past and present are being monitored in their homes. Two scientists from TRACK Labs missed their eight o’clock check-in.”

“Names?” Jimin rose to his feet.

“Uh… Song Seokhoon and Lee Taesuk.”

“Fuck. Fuck,” Jimin cursed, already halfway to the door. “Can you get me a location? Do they have their phones on them? Get me something. Anything.”

“Okay, uh…” Lia typed frantically. “Got it. Song Seokhoon’s phone pinged a tower two minutes ago, and he’s still at that location. Sending you the address now.”

“You’ll clean up, right?” Jimin called out over his shoulder, but he didn’t stick around to hear Lia’s answer. He jogged around the bullpen and towards his office, where the same alert alarm was sounding.

“Yah, Jimin-ah!”

“What?” Jimin snapped as he grabbed for his uniform, seeing that Seokjin was standing in the doorway.

“Hang on, where are you going?” he asked, bewildered. “Are you going to the nightclub in Itaewon?”

“What nightclub?” Jimin frantically asked as he tossed his suit jacket aside.

“Hoseok and I got an alert to report to a nightclub in Itaewon about ten minutes ago,” Seokjin elaborated. “Some kind of illegal trade is happening between non-kinetics in the VIP section. They’re literally selling kinetic women to the highest bidder. We’re leaving in a minute.”

“Huh? No. I just got a different alert,” Jimin said, brow furrowed as he gestured to the alert on his screen. Seokjin leaned in and squinted, and his face registered both surprise and suspicion.

“You didn’t get the nightclub alert?” he asked. Jimin paused, fingers on the buttons of his shirt, and then he pursed his lips and glanced up at Seokjin.

“Three guesses why,” he quietly said, and Seokjin’s exhale was heavy.

“Shit. We could use you. Okay, well, just—yeah. Jesus. Be safe,” he said, admitting defeat as he turned and left Jimin’s office, and Jimin closed the door and locked it, now moving with lithe frustration as he changed into his uniform. Now that Jeongguk had access to Director Nam’s mind, he had access to all sorts of DKR-related secrets, and one of them was the system that filtered through alerts to push to Jimin, Hoseok, and Seokjin for crimes in progress or suspicious behaviors or movements in the greater Seoul area.

Jimin dressed and pulled his face mask on, and then he laced up his boots and clipped on his utility belt, running his fingers through his red hair a few times to loosen it up. He then shoved his earpiece in and rushed towards the elevator by himself, wondering why the hell Jeongguk had Song Seokhoon and Lee Taesuk.

You know why. It’s not a long stretch. He’s just been waiting. He’s a patient man.

Jimin waited for the garage door to open, hearing an agent call out that “the Phoenix has taken flight.” Jimin revved his engine and sped out into the night, checking his visor for the directions that Lia had sent to him.

“Phoenix to Leo. Are they still there?” Jimin asked. “Update me.”

“Song Seokhoon’s phone is still pinging off that tower. I narrowed it down to an exact location. Based on current altitude, I’m placing him on the fifth and top floor of an abandoned apartment building that’s been marked for demolition in three months,” Lia rattled off.

“Let me know if anything changes. ETA is five minutes.”

“You know how many speeding tickets the NIS has probably had to pay for you?”

“As they should.”

Garak il-dong, Songpa-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
16:48 PM

The apartment building was the color of salmon, stained with water and evidence of transient life, cracks running through the exterior walls like vines and river deltas, doors to stairwells propped open with concrete blocks. Jimin pulled up to a small motorcycle parking spot with grass growing through cracks in the pavement and glanced behind him at the other apartment building that was teeming with residents, albeit silent.  He removed his helmet, and then he hopped off his motorcycle and made an executive decision.

“Phoenix to Leo.”

“You want me to go dark again, don’t you?” The exasperation in Lia’s voice was thick.

“Listen, it’s not personal. It’s for your safety,” Jimin emphasized. “I can’t take chances. He’s omnikinetic, okay? That means he can get to you through my earpiece and you know it. I’m not willing to take that risk.”

“I get it,” Lia said, though she sounded disappointed. “Alright, fine. I can still track you and monitor your vitals, right?”

“Always.”

“And I don’t care if he can get to me—if you’re in trouble or dying or injured, you have to talk to me, okay?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Fifth floor. That’s where Song Seokhoon is. Going dark.”

Lia disappeared from Jimin’s ear, and Jimin walked on the balls of his feet for silent footsteps, stepping through the open glass door. He jogged up the staircase in the dark, moving on instinct, hand gliding along the railing so he didn’t lose his orientation. He climbed until he started to hear the grunts and struggles of two separate voices, and that was when he started taking the stairs two at a time.

“Shit,” he cursed when he saw that the window of the fifth floor landing of the stairwell was knocked out completely, and there were two chairs facing the window, right at the edge. Song Seokhoon was seated in one chair, and Lee Taesuk in the other; they both had their hands tied behind their backs, and they were gagged and blindfolded, writhing helplessly and grunting as if someone was going to come and save them.

Why was it that Jimin couldn’t save anyone anymore?

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t touch them.”

The door to the hallway was open, and Jeongguk was standing there in all his glory, hands in his pockets. As if he had just happened upon the scene without orchestrating it. He was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt, his long hair pulled back halfway, and he was empty-handed. Surely it hadn’t taken much to subdue these two, given Jeongguk’s prowess for abducting grown men.

“You fucking bastard,” Jimin swore, and then he lunged at Jeongguk and shoved him by the shoulders. “Let them go! What the fuck good is this going to do?”

“You know exactly what this is going to do, and I want you to hear it,” Jeongguk said with a laugh, staggering backwards when Jimin shoved him again. He raised his eyebrows. “What are you—?”

Jimin shoved Jeongguk repeatedly, and about the fifth time, he aimed for Jeongguk’s face. Jeongguk immediately grabbed Jimin’s wrist and twisted his arm down low, but Jimin used his other hand to land his fist right in the center of Jeongguk’s stomach, targeting his solar plexus. 

“Fight back, you coward,” he said through gritted teeth, because Jeongguk wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop Jimin, only posturing defensively. “Stop acting like I’m some fragile flower you have to protect, like—”

Jeongguk interrupted by grabbing Jimin at the back of his neck. He then lifted his knee to connect with Jimin’s face, but Jimin turned his head in time, Jeongguk’s knee only hitting his ear with a hollow thud. Jimin grabbed Jeongguk by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall messily, but Jeongguk ducked out of Jimin’s grip, wrapping both arms around Jimin’s waist and lifting his feet off the ground. Jimin braced for impact as he hovered in the air for a moment, and then he hit the ground on his back, using his arms to break the fall and save himself the pain, though it still made him wince. He immediately lifted his legs to jab Jeongguk right in the chest with both feet, aiming for his neck. Jeongguk grabbed Jimin’s right ankle, and Jimin twisted his entire body until he was on his stomach, enough of a change in position to make Jeongguk release him.

“You’re wasting my fucking time,” Jeongguk snapped as Jimin leapt to his feet, but Jimin didn’t care. He swung at Jeongguk again, but Jeongguk lifted his arm to block the punch. In one swift motion, Jimin then suddenly found himself with his back to the wall, pinned with Jeongguk’s hand on his throat and Jeongguk’s other hand splayed across chest. Jimin reached out and grabbed at Jeongguk’s hair, pulling with one hand while trying to lift his knee, but Jeongguk slipped out of Jimin’s grasp, taking a step back so he was far enough away to avoid the assault. He then readjusted, slotting his knee between Jimin’s legs and pinned both of Jimin’s arms to the wall.

“Now what?” he whispered as Jimin grunted and struggled, helpless. Jeongguk stared Jimin down breathlessly, and then he blinked in slow motion. Because Jimin hadn’t forgotten about his utility belt, and now the gun he had holstered to it was hovering in mid-air, the barrel pressed to the left side of Jeongguk’s head.

“Go ahead,” Jeongguk whispered, and Jimin clenched his jaw, watching the way Jeongguk leaned his head into the barrel of the gun so that it slipped to his temple, taunting Jimin. “Do it. Pull the trigger.”

Jimin breathed heavily through his nose, staring, hatred bleeding into his gaze as he drowned in Jeongguk’s dark eyes, wondering what else he was feeling that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. His eyes flicked to the gun, to how Jeongguk was doing nothing to prevent the current situation, how he hadn’t flinched once and was entirely focused on Jimin. But when Jimin blinked, all he saw was red. Red, red, red. Blood, anger, passion—drenched in crimson.

Jimin shifted his eyes back to Jeongguk. Stared. Clenched his jaw. And then he pulled the trigger.

“Aw-w-w-w.” Jeongguk pouted purposely when the trigger clicked without a bullet being expelled. “Faulty weapon. So sad.”

“Fuck you,” Jimin breathed, his head against the wall as the gun fell to the carpeted hallway floor with a clatter, useless. “You tampered with it.”

“Of course I did. But you pulled the trigger. You wanted to put a bullet in my brain, hmm?” Jeongguk’s lips twitched in a smirk. “Or was it just the principle of the matter? Because you’re still angry with me?”

“Shut up,” Jimin breathed. “Let me go. Let them go.”

“No. You need to hear this,” Jeongguk whispered, and Jimin realized that his grip had loosened. But then he slowly leaned in and pressed his forehead to Jimin’s, and Jimin’s breath hitched as he closed his eyes, paralyzed in a hold that wasn’t confining at all. One finger hooked onto Jimin’s mask, and he didn’t even stop Jeongguk from pulling it down, his breathing now erratic without a thin barrier. When Jeongguk began to drift to the side, Jimin felt his head loll against his will, as if compelled, and when Jeongguk’s lips pressed hard to his carotid pulse, Jimin inhaled sharply through his nose, hating the way that a shiver rippled through his entire body. But he came to his senses, and his eyes flew open as he used both hands to shove Jeongguk away by his chest.

“Get away from me,” he gasped out, taking a few steps back towards the stairwell but hesitating. “You’re… You’re not… did you…?”

Jeongguk snickered. “You think that just because I had you like that, you were under mind control? That was all you.”

“Fuck off,” Jimin grumbled, shaking his head as he inched towards the threshold between the hallway and the stairwell. Infuriated by the boundary line that Jeongguk had just easily crossed with Jimin’s willing participation, Jimin pulled his face mask back up, frowning underneath.

Jeongguk approached from behind, only hinting at being out of breath still. “I’m going to interrogate these fools.” He brushed past Jimin. “You’d do well to listen. It promises to be a good show. Classic interrogation techniques.”

Jimin stood in the same spot as Jeongguk clapped his hands together and rounded on Seokhoon and Taesuk. With an unnecessary but appropriately theatrical flourish, he grabbed both men by their hair, and the frantic and bodily response was instantaneous—flailing legs, twisting torsos, muffled cries.

“Gentlemen!” Jeongguk exclaimed, releasing their hair and rounding the chairs so that his back was to the edge of the window. He then locked eyes with Jimin, and he used a pointer finger to name each man, dramatically mouthing “Taesuk” (the man on Jimin’s right) and “Seokhoon” (the man on Jimin’s left). As if proper introductions were required.

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here,” Jeongguk schmoozed, and Jimin crossed his arms, unable to believe that he was willingly bearing witness to this. “I have a few questions to ask each of you. The gag will be removed from your mouth when I want an answer. Don’t bullshit me. I’m giving you the opportunity to speak your mind before I invade it myself for the right answers. Let’s not let it get to that point.”

These were the men who had been asking Han Hwijong for test subjects. Whether he wanted to or not, Jimin was about to get answers that he had been subconsciously seeking for days, weeks.

“I have email chains,” Jeongguk began, crossing his arms. “Song Seokhoon. You were emailing researchers asking for appropriate test subjects. The researchers were in the dark about it all. Shed some light on it for me. What exactly are you testing?”

The gag dropped from Seokhoon’s mouth when Jeongguk eyed it briefly, and the moment his mouth was free, Seokhoon let out a blubbering sob that was both unbecoming and overwhelming.

“N-N-Nothing!” he wailed. “Just—Just good things!”

“Oh, God. Here we go again,” Jeongguk mumbled. “Honesty, Song Seokhoon, or I’ll rip your mind apart until you’re drooling for a different reason.”

To Jimin’s right, Taesuk was wiggling in his chair and grunting as if he had something to say. Jeongguk paid him no mind.

“It’s—It’s nothing! Nothing I’m going to tell you!” Seokhoon gasped, and the laugh that Jeongguk stifled sent a shiver down Jimin’s spine.

“You do realize that being noble is useless,” he reminded Seokhoon. “I’m giving you the chance to speak without me coercing it out of you against your will. I could also let your wife know that you’ve been having an affair for almost three years. Jesus, the money you’d lose in that custody battle.”

“I won’t tell!” Seokhoon shouted, and Jimin felt tempted to drop his face into his hands. Stupidity. Absolute stupidity paired with ignorance, the complete lack of understanding as to what Jeongguk could do.

“Okay.” Jeongguk blinked, and Seokhoon’s gag flew back up through his teeth and into his mouth. “That’s fine. Then on Lee Taesuk’s head be it. This is a five-story building. He won’t survive that fall. Shame. Tell me what the test subjects are for, Song Seokhoon, or Lee Taesuk will be roadkill.”

The gag fell from Seokhoon’s mouth once again as Jimin’s hands curled into fists. He wanted desperately to intervene, but to what triumph? There was no chance of intervening here. 

“Tell me-e-e-e,” Jeongguk sang out, but Seokhoon only panted, shaking his head, still blindfolded. Jimin then watched as Taesuk’s chair flew forward to the edge of the window, and the tumultuous panic that occurred was difficult to watch. Taesuk was leaning back as if he could fight it, sobbing. Seokhoon began to hoarsely shout nonsense at the sound of Taesuk’s chair scraping against the ground.

Jeongguk whistled. “Damn. That’s a long way down. Last chance!”

Seokhoon refused. He wailed but shook his head, thrashing around and swinging his head, but he said nothing. Jeongguk clicked his tongue.

“Sad.” 

Jimin instinctively teetered like he was going to lunge as Taesuk’s chair flew forward and out the window, and Jimin nearly cried out. But then Taesuk’s strangled shout faded, and the chair never plummeted. Jeongguk, with his back turned to the window, just stared at Seokhoon, Taesuk outside and hovering in mid-air, trapped in his chair and silent.

It was a trick.

“Ya-a-a-ah, Song Seok hoon!” Jeongguk said with emphasis and a grin. “You stone cold bastard. You just killed your own co-worker. Now will you talk to me? Or do I have to siphon it out of your brain myself?”

“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!” Seokhoon sobbed, shaking his head. “No!”

Jeongguk glanced up at Jimin. “Do you ever wonder how these men graduated from prestigious universities? Blows my mind.” And then Taesuk’s chair, Taesuk included, flew back into the stairwell, landing heavily beside Seokhoon. “Perhaps you’ll be a bit more talkative. He sold you out, can you believe that?”

“What… What…?” Seokhoon sounded faint, but then Jeongguk gagged him again as he removed Taesuk’s gag.

“Lee Taesuk,” Jeongguk said. “Tell me what the test subjects are for.”

“We’re making a serum,” Taesuk choked out instantly, and Seokhoon’s wail was muffled. “A s-s-serum. We’re in trial phases, just—please, please! Please.”

“No, no. We’re just starting to get somewhere. Keep cooperating,” Jeongguk coaxed as Jimin’s eyes widened. A serum? “Tell me what exactly it is that this serum does. And don’t bullshit me. It’s easy to send you back out that window and kill you for real.”

“It’s…” Taesuk gulped down air, his head tilted to the ceiling. Seokhoon was making grandiose noises as if trying to stop Taesuk from confessing, but what good was it? Jimin couldn’t believe the senseless show of nobility. 

“We don’t have all day.”

“It’s a serum,” Taesuk repeated, his voice overlapping Jeongguk’s. “M-Meant to… to… It’s to m-m-mutate the kinesis gene. A second mutation. T-To reverse the one that—whatever caused this, it’s—it’s to mutate the gene.”

“What do you mean, ‘mutate the gene’?” Jimin blurted out, losing his tongue-biting abilities as he took a large stride forward. The men both visibly flinched at the sound of Jimin’s voice. “Mutate it to what, make it dormant? Shut it off? What the hell do you mean?”

“To p-prevent—prevent breeding,” Taesuk gasped out. “A mutation strong—strong enough t-to make kinesis redundant in fifty to one hundred years. So that kinetics d-die out. I-It’s called the D-D-Darwin Project.”

“Natural selection. You sick fucking psychos,” Jeongguk muttered. “So you want to—” He used air quotes— “‘vaccinate’ the children at TRACK with this? So that what, they lose their kinesis?”

“J-Just the—the ones who—who aren’t…”

“Natural selection,” Jimin repeated, aghast. “They’re going to fucking pick and choose.”

“Most kids! Most kids will—will get it,” Taesuk insisted. “It’s safe! It’s—It’s almost safe. The trials—the test subjects—it doesn’t…”

“It doesn’t work on anomalies,” Jeongguk guessed, and Taesuk said nothing. “It only works on single kinesis mutations so far, doesn’t it? But you’re using test subjects from TRACK Plus, and some of them are anomalies, aren’t they? Tell me.”

“Yes,” Taesuk whispered sorrowfully. “It’s n-not… effective.”

“What happens when you give it to them?” Jeongguk pressed. “Do they die?”

“Some. Some do,” Taesuk admitted, his head hanging. “S-Some… don’t.”

“What happens when it doesn’t kill you?” Jimin asked, his heart pounding.

“Pain.”  Taesuk’s voice was a whisper. “Excruciating p-pain. A s-s-slow death if… if they aren’t provided with an antidote.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re messing with?” Jimin knew he sounded dazed, but he couldn’t ground himself. “This… This is…”

“There’s more,” Jeongguk interrupted, brows furrowed with a twist of his lips as he eyed Taesuk. “Something about… Phoenix.” His eyes flicked to Jimin in mild interest. The men were still blindfolded, so neither of them knew that Jimin was in the room. For all they knew, it was just an accomplice to the interrogation. “What is it that you’re not telling me? Shall we ask Seokhoon?”

The gag fell from Seokhoon’s mouth, and he didn’t sob this time. Jimin’s heart battered his ribcage as he held his breath in anticipation.

“Wh-What…?” Seokhoon whispered.

“Phoenix. There’s something about him that’s related to this serum,” Jeongguk goaded. “Tell me what it is. Are you going to use him as your poster child for it?”

“No, no, no,” Seokhoon blabbered, shaking his head. “No. it’s… no.”

“Tell me, or I’ll take the information myself,” Jeongguk insisted.

“W-W-We needed him,” Seokhoon breathily said, defeated, all sense of nobility evaporating. He was stripped naked of his bravado entirely now. “D-D-Director Jo said… he can… get us… something.”

“DNA.” Jimin’s vision blurred as he watched Seokhoon’s head loll in shame. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? He said that Phoenix can get Phantom’s DNA. Is that it? Is that what he can get?”

“Yes,” Taesuk chimed in as if it was a competition to see who could spill more beans. “They send him out all the time! All the time. But he hasn’t gotten Phantom’s DNA yet. He said he’d try. He promised he’d try. He—He promised, he promised…”

“What the hell do you need his DNA for?” Jimin whispered, knowing that both men could hear him. 

“H-He’s—You’re—He’s—He’s powerful,” Seokhoon stammered, unsure of how to address the two men who were a mystery to him still behind blindfold. “He can—You can do everything. We can use your DNA f-for… for…”

“A serum that induces kinesis,” Taesuk blurted out again, taking all the kudos. “A strong one! To give the right people that kind of power!”

Jimin pressed his palms together and set the edges of his pointer fingers against his mouth over the mask as he turned away, eyes closed. A kinesis-inducing serum using Jeongguk’s DNA. The government was unsuccessfully attempting to apprehend and subdue Jeongguk, put him down like a wild dog, but in the meantime, they wanted a piece of him so they could create duplicates, have more omnikinetics with untapped and raw power roaming Seoul without the parameters for control or regulation. They were going to pick and choose. Play God.

“You’ve been… most helpful.” Jeongguk stepped forward, and then he spared Jimin only a passing glance before he grabbed Song Seokhoon by the jaw in one hand and pulled down his blindfold in the other hand. Then he forced Seokhoon to hold his gaze as Seokhoon trembled and fidgeted, letting out whines of horror but unable to look away or blink. Jeongguk visibly winced, brow furrowed, and then Taesuk’s chair slid to the side and smacked Seokhoon’s chair. Still holding Seokhoon’s gaze, Jeongguk took his free hand and wrapped it around Taesuk’s forehead.

[love and war] :: fleurie

“What are you doing?” Jimin whispered, pressing his fingertips to his temples as he watched.

“Taking what I want,” Jeongguk replied as Jimin backed away. “Leave.”

“What?”

“Leave,” Jeongguk snapped. “I’m taking what I want and killing them. Now leave so that you don’t have to watch me do it. Go. Go.”

In a bizarre twist, Jimin listened. He didn’t stand and question what Jeongguk was doing, or why Jeongguk suddenly felt that the snarky interrogation with theatrical flair was over. Instead, he grabbed the railing of the staircase and swung around it, stumbling down the stairs to the fourth floor landing, and then the third floor. He paused by the window, already breathless, and slumped against the wall, exhaustion rolling over him in waves as he pulled his face mask off, shoving it into his pocket defeatedly. He was tempted to press a finger into his ear and bring Lia back for some solace, but his gut churned in a sign that this wasn’t over. Jimin wasn’t going to leave. How could he?

He had questions. A lot of questions.

And his plan was to slowly walk down each staircase to the ground floor, wait for Jeongguk to meet up with him to compare figurative notes. But just as Jimin caught his breath, there was a flash of movement from outside the window. On instinct, Jimin whipped his head up while peering out the window, and his heart lurched and halted when he saw two human bodies high in the sky, both flailing helplessly, neither of them screaming. 

And then Jeongguk let go. He released his telekinetic hold on them, and gravity did the work. From far higher than five stories, Seokhoon and Taesuk plummeted towards the concrete ground, and Jimin immediately turned his back to the window, eyes closed. He heard the sickening thud of bodies on the pavement. The departure of two souls vaguely registered in his mind. Death. A friend of Jeongguk’s, surely. But not to Jimin.

There was a ringing silence that filled the stairwell that seemed to consume Jimin to a point where he lost himself. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he flinched as fight-or-flight kicked in, and he turned with his hands in fists. Jeongguk’s hand carefully but intently gripped Jimin’s jaw, his other hand on Jimin’s waist as they backed into the corner of the stairwell.

“Don’t,” Jimin whispered as Jeongguk’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip. “Don’t, you didn’t have to kill them. You didn’t…”

“I did. Look at me.”

Jimin looked. He looked on his own free will, and he noticed.

“I did,” Jeongguk repeated. “And just like with every other person I kill, I have to leave a trace behind. A trace that tells anyone who touches the body to not look for my DNA. Now you know why.”

“Jeongguk, they’re using me. They’re using me, they’re using me, I…” Jimin’s rambling was met with a soft “shh” from Jeongguk and a pointer finger to his lips.

“I know that,” Jeongguk whispered. “I’ve always known that. You’re a pawn to them, hyung. I’m not just ranting or trying to fool you. They groomed you to be their hero. And now they’re lying to you to get to me so that they can use my DNA for harm and not good. You don’t mean anything to them. You don’t. I’m sorry. You make one wrong move and they’ll condemn you.”

“They can’t do this. The serum. The vaccine, the way they’re disguising it,” Jimin whispered back. “They can’t, Jeongguk. And I—I can’t say anything. No one will ever believe me. I’m supposed to support everything TRACK is doing. But they’re… Jeongguk, the serum is killing people. You heard him! A slow, agonizing death. Excruciating pain. But they want your DNA so they can…”

“Give the right people unlimited power. People who should never be teased with even the idea of unlimited power,” Jeongguk supplied, troubled. His eyes roamed Jimin’s face. “You have it, though.”

“What?”

“My DNA. You have my DNA all over you. You could easily walk into the DKR and give them everything they want, and I wouldn’t stop you.”

“No.” Jimin shook his head, Jeongguk’s hand still resting on his cheek, thumb caressing his skin every so often in a hypnotizing fashion. “I won’t let them create more of you. One person with omnikinesis is already too much.”

“I’m flattered,” Jeongguk replied, and Jimin almost cracked a smile despite the fact that Jeongguk had just body slammed him to the ground half an hour ago before throwing two men out the window to their imminent deaths.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all of this,” Jimin whispered. “With all of this information. What do I say when I go back to the DKR? That the mission failed? That I couldn’t save them?”

“You can say whatever you want,” Jeongguk offered. “It’s not my decision. But your safest bet would be to throw me under the bus. Say that I controlled you from the moment you arrived. That you had no choice and no say. That I made you watch. Just make it dramatic. They’ll buy right into it.”

“I hate lying,” Jimin breathed, dizzy from Jeongguk’s proximity.

“Well, you’re about to get really good at it,” Jeongguk whispered. “It’s time to stop interfering, Jimin hyung. You have to stop fighting me. You heard what I just heard.”

“How do I know you weren’t feeding them that bullshit?” Jimin asked.

“You don’t.” Jeongguk slowly licked his lips. “You’re working on blind trust. I get that. But everything they say was of their own free will. And it was the truth. I have the privilege of fact-checking people.”

Jimin blinked owlishly. “My job is to interfere with you.”

“Find another way,” Jeongguk replied. “It’s time to lie like your life depends on it. I think…” Jeongguk looked hesitant, but he visibly swallowed that down and added, “That you may need to consider being a double agent. Working for the DKR while learning the truth on your own time. Breaking the brainwashing.”

“You know that’s damn near impossible. There has to be another way,” Jimin pleaded, reluctance heavy in his chest.

“You’re right. Quitting your job and going rogue and living without restrictions as an anomaly would be your second option.” Jeongguk eyebrows raised expectantly. “But I don’t think that’s really your speed.”

Jimin shook his head. “None of this is my speed.”

“Of course it’s not. You’ve been lied to your entire life. Groomed and manipulated. It’s time for you to start realizing how easily expendable you are to them. They want nothing more than to get rid of you, Jimin hyung. That’s just the reality of it.” Jeongguk’s thumb swept over the apple of Jimin’s cheek. “And they’re creating a goddamn serum to make sure that people with kinesis die off. Because we upset their power balance too much. Our existence hurts their fragile human ego.”

“I can’t do this, Jeongguk,” Jimin whispered in fear. “I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“If there’s anyone who can, it’s you. There’s no other way to do this. Unless you want to ignore that it’s all happening, which I wouldn’t recommend.”

Jimin closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, the exhale slipping from his mouth quietly. Jeongguk was fixated on Jimin completely.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he whispered with a touch of ambiguity, but Jimin knew. The offer was back on the table. Jeongguk wanted Jimin to embrace the genetic mutations that made him who he was. He wanted Jimin to not only lead a double life, but to dabble with the idea of being an anomaly after twenty years of suppressing it. His way of breaking the supposed brainwashing was to turn Jimin into who he inherently was.

“I don’t know,” Jimin breathed, but that was all he managed to say. Jeongguk leaned in and pressed their lips together, and Jimin succumbed. He returned the kiss, parting his lips and giving Jeongguk full access, forgetting that the man kissing him like Jimin was his life source was the same man who had just murdered two people. Jimin gripped the front of Jeongguk’s shirt and deepened the kiss, his body a graceful arc in Jeongguk’s direction, mind racing. With one final, soft kiss to Jimin’s bottom lip, Jeongguk pulled away.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Jimin didn’t open his eyes. He heard Jeongguk’s footsteps descending, but until silence reigned, Jimin swayed on the spot, waiting. When he opened his eyes, Jeongguk was gone.

And Jimin was alone with two dead bodies and two thousand questions.

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
22:23 PM

Could a glass of wine solve the world’s problems?

In no way could Jimin be certain, but he was making an attempt, because it felt like he had failed at everything else. The television was on, but it was background noise, because he had no capacity to focus on a drama about cantankerous lawyers and a host of facetious side characters when right now, Jimin’s life was hanging in the balance.

The paperwork post-assignment had been a nightmare. But Jimin had done exactly what Jeongguk had suggested—he had lied. Lied like it was for his next breath’s sake, lied and said that he was under total mind control from the moment he arrived, that Phantom had been on a mission as if on orders from hell to murder Song Seokhoon and Lee Taesuk. That Jimin hadn’t stood a chance. That Phantom had finally stopped giving him leeway. 

He had thrown Jeongguk right under the bus as requested, adding two more murders to his nameless rap sheet. Director Nam had pursed his lips at the report, but he had accepted it without argument, quietly praising Jimin for his persistence despite the unfortunate circumstances. He had yet to resign from his role and was moving in silence, business as usual, a startling occurrence for Jimin. Jimin hadn’t expected Director Nam to scoot into ambiguous or grey territory as a government employee in a position of power, but there were only three people who knew that Jeongguk was in the director’s mind. And Jeongguk had promised.

“Shit,” Jimin cursed when his phone suddenly began to vibrate, startling him. He picked it up from its face-down position on the couch beside him, and his heart halted. IT’S ME. No number, just a phrase. Cautiously, Jimin answered, pressing the phone to his ear.

“It’s me.” Jeongguk’s voice was gentle. “Are you busy right now?”

“What do you want?” Jimin asked as he stared at his TV, vision blurring.

“I want to know if you’re busy or not,” Jeongguk reiterated. “If you’re not, I want you to meet me at TRACK Labs.”

“Right now?” Jimin sat forward. “You’re out of your mind. I’m not going to TRACK Labs. I have GPS monitoring on my motorcycle and my car and my phone. There’s no way in hell I can meet you there.”

Jeongguk hummed. “Then I’ll just come get you.”

“Bad idea.”

“If you don’t want to have physical proof, then fine.”

Jimin scoffed, falling back against the couch again with one hand tangled in his hair as he fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “You can’t just come get me. You’re not a taxi service.”

“I damn well can come get you, and no one will ever know you left your apartment,” Jeongguk replied. “Broadcast messages, remember? A good old hypnotic suggestion. It’s not difficult. And you leave your phone at home.”

Take a chance. The offer is staring you in the face. Do it. Try it. You won’t know unless you say yes. You heard the scientists. You heard them.

“Okay.” Jimin cringed at his own voice agreeing to it, but he stood firm. “Okay, fine. Fine, come get me.”

“I’m already outside.”

“You’re what?” Jimin leapt to his feet, stunned.

“I had a feeling you’d give me the old ‘I’m being tracked’ song and dance, so I’m waiting outside your building,” Jeongguk replied. “Come down whenever you’re ready.”

The line went dead, and Jimin pulled his phone away and stared at the screen.

No turning back now.

Jimin left his phone on the couch. He hurried into his bedroom and grabbed a dark grey beanie, because his red hair stood out in a crowd, and there was no telling who Jeongguk would trick and who he wouldn’t. Still wearing his black pants and black sweatshirt, Jimin shoved his feet into his shoes and pulled the beanie onto his head, and then he left his apartment, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

Jimin had no idea if Jeongguk was controlling the environment around the building, but Jimin managed to make it to the ground floor unscathed. It didn’t register until someone else walked into the lobby of the building and didn’t even spare Jimin a passing glance; perhaps Jimin was invisible to them, but he was still in total control with his free will intact.

“Here.”

No sooner had Jimin walked out the door than a motorcycle helmet was hurtling towards his face. The helmet stopped abruptly just short of breaking Jimin’s nose, and he used two hands to grab it.

“Just so we’re clear—” Jimin shoved the helmet onto his head— “I don’t agree with any of this.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said.” Jeongguk still had his helmet on, and he was wearing torn up jeans and a dark grey hoodless sweatshirt. “You don’t have to agree with anything. And you still drive me up a fucking wall, but you need to see this. Come on.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, but then he swung his leg over and hopped onto the back of the motorcycle, gripping Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“Before you start panicking,” Jeongguk began, rocking the motorcycle slightly as he began to inch forward, “I have complete control over the situation. I’ve spent the last three days rocking up to TRACK Labs and dropping hypnotic suggestions into the guards’ heads. I also have their security system down pat. They’ll let us in. Then all we have to do is find a good place to spy.”

“As long as I don’t get caught,” Jimin grumbled.

“You won’t. Now hold on.”

[edge of the dark] :: emmit fenn

Reluctantly, Jimin wrapped his arms around Jeongguk’s waist, and Jeongguk peeled out of the parking lot, the wind whipping around them. Jimin did indeed have to hold on tightly, because Jeongguk obeyed none of the rules of the road, weaving in and out of traffic and running red lights with ease, flirting with the speed limit.

TRACK Labs
Juam-dong, Gwacheon-si, Gyeonggi-do
SEOUL, South Korea
22:49 PM

When Jeongguk pulled up to TRACK Labs, Jimin didn’t miss the empty space where the research center once stood across the street and down the road. It was nothing but broken and charred beams, all Min Yoongi’s work. But TRACK Labs was grandiose, taxpayers’ money hard at work.

TRACK Labs was a large and spacious two-story white building in the shape of an L, surrounded by fencing and guarded heavily. Entrance required a government ID and justification for visit. But Jeongguk just pulled right up to the guard shack and flipped up the visor on his helmet like it was any other night.

“Open the gate,” he declared as Jimin’s heart pounded, his chest pressed to Jeongguk’s back. The guard just bowed to Jeongguk politely as if Jeongguk didn’t have a nefarious purpose, and he turned and opened the gates with the push of a button. Jimin caught a glimpse of the security footage on the screen within the guard shack, noticing that the camera fixed on the entrance where they were currently loitering showed absolutely nothing. They weren’t on the screen. 

“Have a lovely evening,” the guard said with another bow, and then he waved as Jeongguk drove through the open gate, choosing to park in the first available lot amongst TRACK Labs vans and fleet cars. Jimin hopped off the back of the motorcycle.

“Were you looping the security footage?” he asked.

“Kind of.” Jeongguk left his helmet on the seat. “Most people notice looped security footage. I do it in a way that isn’t noticeable.”

“Well, aren’t you clever,” Jimin grumbled, and then he began to follow Jeongguk on foot towards the TRACK Labs building.

“Around the back,” Jeongguk instructed. “There’s a fire escape walkway around the back of the building where you can get a look through the windows down into the main lab.”

Jeongguk broke into a jog and Jimin followed, pulling his beanie down further over his red hair. Jeongguk’s hair was pulled back messily, and Jimin realized that he had never asked how Jeongguk had gotten the scar on his face. A man so powerful surely never came close to losing or to a dangerous situation that could lead to injury.

“Shit,” Jimin cursed when they reached the back of the building. Likely against all regulations and protocol, there was no ladder or stairway leading up to the second floor fire escape walkway. “Is there anything we could use? We’re going to get caught.”

“No we’re not,” Jeongguk said in mild exasperation, peering up. “I’m using a generalized broadcast message right now to pay no mind to any noise or movement outside of the building. I can get you up there if you want.”

“How?”

“By doing what you’re not allowed to do.” Jeongguk bent his knees just a little, and then Jimin watched in a stupor as Jeongguk soared upward into the sky, hovered above the fire escape, and then landed on both feet softly. With a grin that Jimin could even see in the dark, Jeongguk pressed both hands against the thin railing. “Bet you didn’t think I could do something as horrifying as fly.”

“You’re not flying,” Jimin argued crossly. “You’re just levitating.”

“If anyone could learn how to fly as a human, though, it would definitely be me,” Jeongguk retorted.

“We don’t have time for this,” Jimin snapped, trying to keep his voice down.

“You’re right. Are you going to let me bring you up here?” Jeongguk asked. “Not manipulating your free will or anything. Not invading your mind. Not breaking my promise. I’ll manipulate you with your clothing, if that would make you feel better.”

“Fine.” Jimin momentarily chewed the inside of his bottom lip, displeased. “Just do it fast.”

And then he was rising into the air. Jimin could feel a tiny tug on his sweatshirt and inside his shoes, which meant that Jeongguk was using a dual approach, and then he was on the fire escape landing as well right beside Jeongguk.

“Absurd,” he complained in a grumble, but Jeongguk looked like a child on Christmas morning. Trying to keep from milking the moment, Jimin turned and pointed a few meters away to the first window, which was closer to the landing of the fire escape than the ceiling. They would have to crouch down to look, which was not the most thrilling prospect.

“Stay quiet,” Jeongguk advised, and then he crept towards the window and crouched down at the edge, just enough so he could peer inside. He beckoned over his shoulder, indicating that Jimin should follow his lead. So Jimin tiptoed over and crouched down even lower just beside Jeongguk, grabbing the back of Jeongguk’s sweatshirt to keep himself from tumbling. Jeongguk didn’t flinch.

“This is the main lab,” Jeongguk murmured. “Look. Are you seeing this?”

Jimin glanced past Jeongguk slowly, and then he looked through the window down onto the lab. The lab was spacious with high ceilings, the walls and floors white, the lighting a hazy blue color with spotlights on specific workstations that were spaced apart evenly and in the shape of hexagons. The perimeter of the lab was lined with countertops, where scientists in white lab coats were roaming about, pulling up chairs, referring to computer screens. At first glance, it looked like a scene out of a movie—nothing jarring.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whispered, sending a shiver down Jimin’s spine. But he looked when Jeongguk gestured, and his grip on the back of Jeongguk’s sweatshirt tightened, knuckles white. 

On the far side of the lab, surrounded by scientists and hooked up to one too many monitoring machines for Jimin’s liking, were three people—two boys, one girl,  arms strapped into the chair as if they were at the dentist. The two boys were unconscious, it seemed, but the girl was visibly in pain and writhing, even from a distance and through a window. Jimin could see her fighting the restraints, whether she was aware of her movements or not, and the reverberating message in Jimin’s head was one alluding back to what Seokhoon and Taesuk had said— excruciating pain.

“Test subjects,” Jimin whispered.

“The girl’s name is Hwang Sooyoung,” Jeongguk murmured. “Geokinesis. She’s only twenty-one. But she failed the exit examination. She’s from TRACK Plus.”

“And the other two?” Jimin prompted.

“Son Woosung, pyrokinetic, age nineteen. The other one is Jung Kangho, telekinetic, age twenty-five.”

“I know Kangho. I remember him. Don’t you?” Jimin asked, but Jeongguk shook his head.

“I don’t. But he’s at TRACK Plus now.” Jeongguk shifted slightly so he could glance at Jimin. “Seeing is believing, right?”

Jimin nodded. The lab was working overtime into the wee hours of the night, and for what? To create serums to genetically mutate children who were already mutated to begin with? To cause pain? To restore a power balance that had been fragile from the start?

“I know it’s crazy. But they’re not creating a harmless vaccine to protect kids. They’re trying to run the TRACK program into the ground and then rebuild it with their select few. I think that if it were up to them, TRACK wouldn’t exist.” Jeongguk rubbed his lips together, brow furrowed. 

“And they want your DNA,” Jimin whispered. “These scientists want to play God with your DNA and inject it into people who they think can handle it. And if they do that… mind control is a part of your mutation, Jeongguk. One DNA sample and it’s over.”

“One DNA sample and they can use mind control to fuel political agendas without ever telling our enemies or allies,” Jeongguk pointed out, and Jimin’s heart began to sink. “They want me locked up and dead because they think I’m going to do exactly what they want to do. But first, they want to cleanse the population.”

“You were right.” Jimin’s words were a whisper, and to his credit, Jeongguk didn’t even try to brag. He just listened. “This is bigger than… I hate what you’re doing. I hate your methods. Hate. But you… you were right all along. This is way bigger than just revenge. It’s helpful.” He looked at Jeongguk’s profile as Jeongguk continued to stare through the window. “To be fueled by that kind of need for vengeance, I guess. But what you’re unearthing…”

“The torture and abuse that I went through will be nothing compared to what it could be soon if we don’t fucking destroy all of this,” Jeongguk supplied. ‘And like I said—we have to play the long game. If we don’t tread carefully, nothing will ever change. These are gaslighting narcissists with fragile egos. This is a crusade to them, just like what I’m doing.”

“So find out more.” Jimin beckoned to the window with one hand. “Those scientists. Get more information. You figured out the test subjects, so give me more about the scientists.”

“I know all of them. I have a list, remember?” Jeongguk said with a smirk on his face and in his voice. Jimin fought the urge to roll his eyes as Jeongguk turned back to the window and gazed down onto the scene. 

“Anything?” Jimin whispered. Jeongguk was silent, and then he promptly rose to standing and backed up, moving away from the window. He slowly ran one hand over his mouth, and then he rubbed underneath his chin as he spoke.

“I’m blocked.”

“You’re what?”

“Blocked.” Jeongguk’s eyebrows were knitted together almost entirely in confusion. “Some of them…” He let out a breath that was heavy with bewilderment. “Some of them I could read. Pointless thoughts. They know nothing. They’re doing what they’re told to do, what they get paid to do. But there are three of them that I can’t even access. I looked right at them and I couldn’t…”

“How is that possible?” Jimin asked, voice hushed. Jeongguk dropped his hand.

“No idea. Maybe they have safeguards in place.” But Jeongguk didn’t sound convinced in the slightest. Something was throwing him off, and Jimin was sure that he had never seen Jeongguk this perplexed at the inability to use his mind control and manipulation to his advantage.

“Jeongguk?”

“Let’s just go,” Jeongguk decided when Jimin said his name. “Now you know I’m not lying to you. That I didn’t just coerce those two idiotic scientists into saying shit. This is really happening. Now you see it.”

Jimin gripped the railing as Jeongguk hopped over it willingly, and he watched as Jeongguk slowly sank to the ground, landing in the grass with a soft footing. He gestured, so Jimin took a literal leap of faith and jumped over the railing, Jeongguk immediately breaking the fall so that Jimin landed on his feet without a sound.

“Jeongguk, I don’t like this.” Jimin stood rooted to the spot. “At all. This is… the entire time I’ve been… the government that hired me is…”

“Using you. Yeah. Hard pill to swallow,” Jeongguk replied, still sounding detached. “But at least now, on the day that they decide they don’t need you anymore, it won’t be such a shock.”

The status quo Jimin had been enjoying continued to crumble before his very eyes. The structure, the peace, the day-to-day life Jimin experienced was quickly turning into an illusion. One quick cloak-and-dagger trip to TRACK Labs had been the final straw. Jeongguk had begged Jimin to ask questions from the get-go, and Jimin’s angry and vehement refusal suddenly seemed trivial, and now Jimin regretted it in the worst possible way. He didn’t want to ask questions anymore. But the worst part about it all was that he didn’t even have to ask—the quiet pandemonium that had been sewn up so tightly was now bursting at the seams.

There were kinetics in that lab likely being held against their will. Whether they were volunteering or not, Jimin had a sinking and sneaking suspicion that they had not consented to such pain. That being poked and prodded and strapped down surely couldn’t be a part of the training regimen at TRACK Plus. But that was the very crux of the problem—those in power had the ability to silence those who weren’t. Frenzied parents were easy to coerce. Kinetics over eighteen without a passing examination grade were easy to coerce. 

Vulnerable. They were all far too vulnerable.

Jimin didn’t say a single word on the walk back to Jeongguk’s motorcycle. He was silent on the ride back to his building. And when they arrived, he handed over the helmet and walked away without so much as a final glance at Jeongguk.

Jeongguk didn’t stop him.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
08:25 AM

“Good morning. Director Nam would like you in his briefing at half past eight.”

“That’s in five minutes.” Jimin gave the agent beside him in the elevator a look, but the agent shrugged, adjusting his suit jacket by the bottom hem.

“Apologies. That’s just what I was told.”

The elevator doors opened onto level eight, and from across the bullpen, Jimin immediately saw Hoseok walking out of his office and making a turn towards the conference room. He paused when he saw Jimin, backing up and rapping his knuckles on Seokjin’s office door while beckoning. Jimin abandoned the agent and walked around the bullpen to meet up with Hoseok.

“What’s this briefing about?” Jimin wondered, and Hoseok shrugged.

“No clue. Hyung?”

“No clue,” Seokjin agreed with a similar shrug. “It doesn’t seem super urgent, though. Maybe a new assignment or orders from higher up.”

Jimin pursed his lips and led the way into the conference room, where Director Nam was already seated and waiting, not a single file in front of him. That was the first red flag. The second red flag was when he motioned for Seokjin to activate the soundproof paneling.

Maybe he’s going to resign.

But Jimin’s theory was painfully wrong.

“Have a seat.” Director Nam gestured to the chairs. “There are two things you three need to be briefed on before you start your day.”

“Is something wrong?” Hoseok asked with a quick raise of his eyebrows, concerned.

“Today at the TRACK facility, the trainees will begin basic training and sessions to learn how to combat mind control,” Director Nam said, and Jimin’s hands clenched into fists under the table. “Director Jo feels he has a good grasp on it. The program will begin today. He’s expecting a positive result. Notices have already gone home to parents and families to advise them of the slight change in instruction.”

“What kind of training?” Seokjin wondered.

“Hard to say.” Director Nam drew his mouth into a firm line momentarily. “The DKR hasn’t been briefed yet on the structure of the program. I’m sure that in the coming days, we’ll all be well-informed. But for now…”

“Kind of seems like they threw that together with haste,” Hoseok said, voicing Jimin’s very thoughts. “And they didn’t even consult us, the people who are alive to tell the tale. Just feels kind of strange.”

“It’s not our place to question what TRACK is doing to protect the children,” Director Nam curtly responded, and Jimin abhorred the way that he called his boss a liar in his head. He hated that he wasn’t just nodding along and agreeing with everything now. It was confronting. “The second thing I need to mention is a protocol change for the three of you.”

“Meaning what?” Jimin bluntly asked, leaning forward.

“Meaning that the orders have come from above my head,” Director Nam admitted. “Jimin-ssi. You’ve been asked to do this. But it’s now mandatory that upon completion of any and every assignment you three undertake in which Phantom may be involved, you’re required to return to the DKR for a DNA swab and testing. It’s imperative that we get Phantom’s DNA on file now.”

“To what, build a profile? Learn about him?” Seokjin inquired, and Jimin almost let out a strangled scream. He was clenching his jaw so tightly that his temples were aching.

“That’s the idea. There’s an urgency now that he’s murdered two TRACK Labs scientists,” Director Nam replied. “Now that he’s not cooperating with Jimin anymore. They want his DNA. End of story. So if you’re assigned to the field and he’s involved, it’s mandatory that you return for testing. Any questions?”

“No, Director,” Jimin mumbled as Hoseok and Seokjin spoke in unison.

“Dismissed—”

Before Director Nam’s voice faded, Jimin was up and out of his chair. He didn’t look over his shoulder.

Chapter Text

PART VII :: WILD HORSES

:: :: ::

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
20:04 PM

“Hey, I’m leaving for the night.”

Jimin drummed his fingers against the doorframe of Seokjin’s office, and Seokjin glanced up from his computer with tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Seokjin kept his voice low as Jimin stepped into the office, hands in his pockets. “I know the reports were a little rough to read.”

“I’d rather not think about it,” Jimin replied, keeping his head turned to stare at the certification from the NIS that was hanging on Seokjin’s wall. His entire day at the office had been spent reading over the first-week reports from TRACK about the success of the mind control training program that had been implemented. After Director Nam had casually and politely informed Jo Chansung during a very swift phone call that his team of heroes was concerned about the haste of the program, reports had been sent for the trio to look over. 

The reports had been sent in the interest of full transparency, Jimin figured, but they were vague, and he could read between the lines. They were teaching meditation, thought patterns and thought processes to strong-arm someone like Jeongguk as if they had personal experience. Perhaps it would work, but that only kept Jeongguk from controlling an enemy’s mind. It didn’t keep him from using his other abilities. And even if he had none of that, Jeongguk was physically strong. He wasn’t stupid.

“Why does this all feel so wrong?” Seokjin asked. “Jimin, I’ve never questioned my government or my job. But this whole mess with Phantom and his gang has just—it’s fucked with my head.”

“I think it’s fucked with all of our heads. Director Nam’s included,” Jimin vaguely threw out into the air, seeking Seokjin’s reaction. Seokjin only pursed his lips and nodded grimly, which was a good sign to Jimin. 

There was a small part of Jimin that desperately wanted to blurt out to Seokjin and Hoseok everything that he had been experiencing over the last few months. He wanted to come clean to his friends, admit to everything. But he was in the stages now of testing their loyalty in a warped way—were they ride-or-die for the government and their jobs, or did they have the capacity to teeter into an independent mindset? Because Jimin was tipping over the edge, and though it terrified him to an uncertain extent, there was something about it that felt right for the first time in his life.

“Honestly, I don’t know how Director Nam is dealing with all of this,” Seokjin said. “I’m surprised Phantom hasn’t hijacked him.”

“Maybe he has and we just don’t know.” Jimin offered up the bait, and Seokjin’s response stunned him.

“Well, if he’s been compromised, he’s doing a damn good job of not showing it. Either that, or Phantom is moving in silence.”

“What, you’d be okay with that?” Jimin arched one eyebrow. “If Director Nam was compromised because of Phantom but was just continuing on, business as usual?”

“Someone has to be the ringleader of this circus,” Seokjin replied darkly. “He’s done a bang-up job so far, and honestly, I don’t think anyone else could step in and be the glue to hold it all together. So yeah. Between you and me, I’d be okay with it. Don’t know if that makes me a traitor to the South Korean government or just insane.”

Jimin smiled weakly. “Goodnight, hyung.”

“Goodnight, Jimin-ah. Get some rest.”

Jimin left Seokjin’s office and packed up his belongings, and then he bade goodbye to Lia on his way out. He had taken his car to the office as usual, and traffic was a mild nightmare, but Jimin was lucky to not live too far.

It wasn’t until Jimin was just outside his apartment door that he paused and dragged his bottom lip between his teeth. In slow motion, he opened his door, and then he tossed his bag aside and immediately loosened his tie, shrugging out of his suit jacket and kicking his shoes off. Like he was in a dream, Jimin changed into black pants and a black t-shirt, and then he grabbed his keys and stepped into street shoes.

I must be a fool.

But Jimin couldn’t stop thinking about a short list of moments. The way Jeongguk had lifted him up onto that fire escape. The way Jeongguk had kissed him while he was backed into a corner. The way Jeongguk looked at Jimin in a mixture of loathing and lust, seeing Jimin for who he had become on the surface and nothing beyond. 

He felt like the wool was being pulled over his eyes, because there was a covert but screaming government cover-up and corruption scheme happening right before his eyes, yet all Jimin could think about was getting back into bed with Jeongguk. Jeongguk, his childhood friend and childhood crush, the boy with the big eyes and the tiny giggle. That Jeongguk. Jimin hadn’t sat much and thought about the fact that they were both grown men now, and that Jimin had willing let Jeongguk fuck him without once considering the ramifications or the emotional aftermath. The way Jeongguk had not even hesitated was still heavy on Jimin’s mind.

So Jimin hastily texted Lia as he descended the stairs, asking her to cut the GPS tracking on his motorcycle for twenty-four hours. True to her nature and much to Jimin’s delight, Lia did not even ask questions. She just laughed and said that the deed was done, wishing Jimin a fun adventure and a good night. That was the green light. Jimin swung his leg over the seat and sped off into the night, heading north.

Jeongguk’s residence
Toegye-ro 50na-gil, Myeong-dong, Jung-gu 
SEOUL, South Korea
21:24 PM

As if levitating on fire escapes and breaking into government facilities hadn’t been enough to tide Jimin over, he stuck to the sidewalk and kept his head bowed, hoping that the man smoking a cigarette across the street on his phone wouldn’t recognize him. Then he slipped under the bar and climbed the fire escape as quietly as he could, heart racing when he noticed that one or two lights were on in apartments than had been the first time. But Jimin made it to the top landing, where the window was closed with the curtain drawn.

Maybe he’s not even home and I’m wasting my time.

But before Jimin could even train his mind on the window, the locks flipped, and the window slid up on its own without Jimin’s assistance. 

Shit.

He had to own it. Jimin gulped down his fear and guilt and ducked, climbing through the window and brushing past the curtains. He was smart enough to close the window and lock it behind him, and then he stared. There was Jeongguk, lying on the couch with his legs dangling over the armrest, reading a book. He turned his head to the side to look at Jimin.

“Can I help you?” Jeongguk flipped the book and rested it face down on his stomach.

“You knew I was coming,” Jimin stated, and Jeongguk grunted, sitting up and dog-earring the page of his book before tossing it aside on the couch.

“Not until you pulled up on your motorcycle,” Jeongguk admitted. “But yeah. Your energy is pretty strong. Are you here for a reason?”

“I don’t really know.” Jimin swallowed and licked his lips slowly, scanning the dimly lit apartment. “I just, uh… felt like I needed to be here. I don’t really have a reason.”

“No?” Jeongguk cocked his head to the side. “Not even to talk about the mandatory DNA testing? Or that Jo Chansung is giving your boss the runaround on the phone just like he’s doing to the director of the NIS?”

Jimin ran one hand through his red hair and then hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “I keep forgetting that you’re in his head stealing secrets.”

“Stealing secrets,” Jeongguk muttered, snickering. “Please. I’m getting next to nothing. It’s just basic intel that I would have to smack out of you on a normal day knowing that you’d never give it to me willingly.”

“How much do you know about the training program?”

“Not much. I haven’t poked around in any of your colleagues’ heads,” Jeongguk replied, folding his hands together with his elbows resting on his knees. His long hair was in natural waves, tucked behind just one ear. Jeongguk had a natural beauty that felt rare, hypnotizing to Jimin.

“They’re teaching the trainees meditation and specific thought processes and patterns that are meant to keep you out,” Jimin divulged, and Jeongguk smirked.

“As if I have any interest in controlling those kids. They’re training the wrong people,” he replied. “Meanwhile, they’re using the guise of protecting kids to speed up the process of that damn vaccine. Which isn’t a vaccine at all.”

“Tell me you have a game plan.”

“Why?” Jeongguk stood up. “Are you going to play along?”

“I never said that,” Jimin retorted, but Jeongguk took three steps closer until he was in Jimin’s space.

“You want to know if I have a game plan because you want me to put a stop to this,” Jeongguk softly said. “Without dragging you into it. You don’t want to get your hands dirty. Just admit to that much.”

“It’s not that,” Jimin insisted, but then he lifted his eyes and looked at Jeongguk, who was staring him down. He cracked. “I hate everything that’s happening. Life was fine until you showed up. I wish you’d never gotten involved. I wish you hadn’t…” But he trailed off. Jeongguk’s pointer finger was on his lips.

“Shh. Stop complaining,” he whispered. “It’s not going to change anything.”

Jimin lifted his hand to push Jeongguk’s finger away, but Jeongguk then gripped Jimin by his chin, thumb pressed to Jimin’s bottom lip, and Jimin sank into it.

“You didn’t come here to talk, did you?” Jeongguk whispered, and Jimin closed his eyes and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Jeongguk’s thumb pulled at Jimin’s bottom lip for a moment as Jimin’s heart fluttered against his rib cage. Then he felt the softest and most fleeting kiss against his lips that sent a shiver down his spine. “Is that why you’re here?”

“I don’t want to play games,” Jimin whispered, and that was all he needed to say. Jeongguk grabbed him by the waist, both large hands shoving Jimin’s shirt up against his ribs as they kissed, Jimin pressing himself to Jeongguk’s chest. Jeongguk seemed to kiss as if he had tasted Jimin a thousand times before. He was gentle but intentional, tugging Jimin’s bottom lip between his teeth before licking back into Jimin’s mouth, and Jimin let him do it all, pushing back and tangling ten fingers into Jeongguk’s long hair. 

It was hard to admit, but Jimin realized as they backed up towards Jeongguk’s bed that he had gotten on his motorcycle and traveled north just for this. He hadn’t come to see Jeongguk with a plan in mind. He had followed his own damn lust without shame, and Jeongguk had welcomed him with open arms, not mincing words or dangling the prospect in front of Jimin.

“We haven’t even talked about the first time we fucked,” Jeongguk murmured onto Jimin’s lips. Jimin just used his fingers to push, and Jeongguk fell back onto the bed. Jimin climbed on after him, pulling his shirt off overhead and tossing it, and Jeongguk swung his legs up and scooted back to the pillows. Jimin straddled Jeongguk’s waist and grabbed the bottom hem of his t-shirt.

“Does it have to be a discussion?” Jimin asked breathlessly as Jeongguk leaned forward, letting Jimin remove his shirt.

“Not if you don’t want it to be.” He leaned back again without a shirt on, and Jimin ran his hands up from Jeongguk’s hips to his shoulders, warm skin under soft hands. Jimin bent and kissed Jeongguk's chest over his tattoos first, and then he began to trail his lips up as Jeongguk’s hands snaked around to grab Jimin’s ass. With intent, he pressed down, and Jimin gasped into the next kiss he pressed to Jeongguk’s throat, grinding down on Jeongguk without a second thought, arousal flooding his veins in its most unadulterated form.

“I don’t want it to be.” Jimin whispered it to Jeongguk’s throat like he could put words in Jeongguk’s mouth, feeling the way Jeongguk swallowed heavily. Guided by Jeongguk’s hands, Jimin continued to roll his hips against Jeongguk’s, intently latching onto his neck and sucking at the skin there to leave a mark, savoring the way Jeongguk tilted his head with a small but sharp intake of breath. Jimin left not one, not two, but three separate bruising marks, spurred on by Jeongguk’s reactions.

There was very little exchange of words or sentiments after that. It was a back-and-forth of undressing, and Jeongguk kept his hands on Jimin’s hips the entire time as Jimin silently and eagerly consented to the black silk that tied itself around his wrists and then to the headboard of Jeongguk’s bed. Being completely out of control was chilling to Jimin, but it was also an adrenaline rush he had not anticipated. Perhaps he rued the day Jeongguk had come back into his life so tumultuously, but Jimin trusted him in a bizarre way that was unexplainable.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin breathed, eyes rolling back as he lifted his hips up, his cock in Jeongguk’s mouth, Jeongguk’s long and lubed fingers teasing his rim. Jimin had considered being the one to take charge, but it was so much fun to just hand over the reins to someone so willing. Jimin had done a majority of the work last time; Jeongguk seemed keen to return the favor.

Jimin’s head rolled back and forth on the pillow, and he tugged at his restraints with glee, knowing that he could easily break free but choosing not to. His back bowed, legs writhing, hips lifting as Jeongguk quietly stroked an immediate spot of pleasure inside Jimin, Jimin’s cock still in his mouth. It was maddening and so welcomed, the way Jeongguk multitasked. When he was satisfied, he sat back on his heels and licked his lips, wrapping his hand around his own cock and watched Jimin with a steady gaze.

“Are you going to keep me like this?” Jimin said breathily, still panting from the near-overstimulation. Jeongguk had gotten him dangerously close just by touching, and the wicked little smirk on his face spoke volumes.

“Why? Do you want to stay tied up?” he asked as he rolled the condom on.

“Maybe.”

Jeongguk situated himself by Jimin’s hips and took both of Jimin’s knees, pressing them forward. Jimin’s pulse quickened in anticipation, and then he let out a breathy moan, eyes fluttering shut when Jeongguk slowly pushed into him. His breath hitched, legs trembling when Jeongguk’s hips met the backs of his thighs for a moment. And Jimin figured that perhaps he would have a moment to adjust, but Jeongguk seemed to have no interest in that. He began to thrust into Jimin deeply, deliberately, like he had been fucking Jimin for years.

It was impossible to describe the overwhelming nature of it all. Jimin had always enjoyed sex and the way it satisfied any cravings or scratched any itch. But seeing Jeongguk kneeling over him, dark hair trapped in long eyelashes, muscles flexing with every thrust, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, Jimin was certain that this was the peak of his satisfaction. This man found him desirable. Jeongguk wanted him this way. Jimin had never considered being sought after like this, that anyone would derive such pleasure from having sex with him. But Jeongguk had caved, given in to Jimin’s desires in an instant. As if he had been thinking about round two as well. As if the clash between the two of them was nonexistent.

“Relax,” Jeongguk whispered as he bent and pulled at Jimin’s earlobe with his lips before trailing kisses down Jimin’s neck, sending his cock deeper as Jimin choked on his next breath. “Shh. Just feel.”

Jimin, knees still bent, wrapped his legs around Jeongguk’s waist, ankles crossed, and Jeongguk pressed one hand to the pillow, his other hand scuttling down Jimin’s chest, fingers brushing over Jimin’s nipples as Jimin whimpered. Fingers raked through Jimin’s hair, so Jimin opened his eyes, breath ragged, as Jeongguk rolled his hips.

“You came here so I could fuck you,” Jeongguk whispered against Jimin’s lips before leaving a soft kiss in his wake. “Admit it. I want you to say it.”

“Yeah.” Jimin licked his lips, his tongue darting out to catch Jeongguk’s bottom lip as well. “I did. I came here for you to fuck me like you want me.”

Jeongguk’s laugh was soft and low as he thrusted once roughly, Jimin’s body jolting against the bed.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered teasingly. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He pulled back before Jimin could fire out a response, and the next sounds out of Jimin’s mouth were loud moans and cries of pleasure. Jeongguk knelt again, pressed Jimin’s knees to his chest, and began to fuck him with complete abandon, encouraging Jimin to touch himself even though he couldn’t. But even if he was free to touch, how could he when his body was flooded with electric shocks of arousal and pleasure? It was a buildup so intense that he could hardly breathe. He pulled at the silk around his wrist and thrashed, kicking his heels against Jeongguk’s ribs, but he was helpless in the best way.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Jeongguk cursed, gritting his teeth. Jimin thought for a fleeting moment that that spelled out doom for himself, but then he let out a stream of incoherent, garbled cursed words, because Jeongguk was about to fuck him right through an orgasm so intense that Jimin was sure he wasn’t prepared.

“Close, close, just— fuck,” Jimin gasped when Jeongguk nearly growled, head hanging as his thrusts began more erratic, and as he came into the condom, he wrapped his hand around Jimin’s cock. Not even a dozen strokes later, Jimin was arching off the bed, spilling onto Jeongguk’s hand and his own chest. His body felt as if it was consumed in flames, muscles tensing, mind drifting as the orgasm washed over him, Jeongguk’s whispered curse words muffled.

“Here.”

Jimin’s arms fell onto the mattress again as the silk unwound, and he marveled in a post-orgasm daze at how there were no real marks or aches from being tied up. His wrists were red from fighting against it, but it was nothing Jimin couldn’t handle. Jeongguk, however, had bruises and little lovebites littering his neck, and his pupils were blown as he massaged the insides of Jimin’s thighs, gazing down at him.

“Are you going to walk out again?” Jeongguk asked.

“No.” Jimin grimaced as Jeongguk slowly pulled out, peeling off the condom and tossing it. As he sat on the edge of the bed, a damp washcloth slowly floated near Jimin’s line of vision, so he grabbed it and wiped himself down, Jeongguk doing the same.

In a flash, Jeongguk slipped under the sheet on his bed, covering himself from the waist down, and he flopped back against his pillows, his eyes fixed on Jimin. Jimin pressed his tongue to the back of his top teeth, contemplating, and then he slipped his legs under the sheet. Immediately, Jeongguk’s arm circled Jimin’s waist, and Jimin groaned as Jeongguk pulled him closer, both of them still naked.

“Stop, you’re a pain in the ass,” Jimin complained when Jeongguk dragged him bodily until Jimin was lying on his stomach on top of Jeongguk, the sheet trapping them in.

“And you came here just to get laid,” Jeongguk retorted, and Jimin rolled his eyes. “By someone you supposedly don’t like.”

“Whether I like you or not doesn’t mean the sex isn’t good,” Jimin argued. “As if you like me at all.”

“I could. You just make it incredibly difficult,” Jeongguk answered without a hint of hesitation, and Jimin narrowed his eyes. He tried to roll off Jeongguk, but Jeongguk was fast, pulling Jimin back in as Jimin let out a pained but amused laugh, groaning when he found himself seated between Jeongguk’s legs, his back to Jeongguk’s chest. 

“What are you doing?”

“Stay here for a second,” Jeongguk replied. “I want you to do something for me.”

Jimin let his head fall back against Jeongguk’s shoulder as he frowned in premature annoyance. Jeongguk held out one hand like he was coaxing something, and then Jimin watched as two candles from the living room area flew towards the bed. They stopped right in front of Jimin, and then Jeongguk pinched the wick of the candle on the left. A tiny flame spurted and grew, a reminder once again that Jeongguk was omnikinetic and could do whatever he wanted without limitations.

“Watch,” he whispered in Jimin’s ear, both of his arms wrapped securely around Jimin’s waist as if they had always been this intimate. Jimin then watched as the flame from the candle on the left pulled up, abandoned the wick, and then arched and floated over to the candle on the right, catching the wick and lighting it.

“That’s a nice magic trick,” Jimin commented.

“You do it.”

“What?” Jimin tried to twist his upper body, but Jeongguk hugged him closer, one hand coming to grip under Jimin’s chin firmly but with a touch of affection.

“Look. Focus.”

Jimin focused on the lit candle that was hovering in front of him.

“Move the flame…” Jeongguk whispered, sending chills down Jimin’s spine. “From the candle on the right to the candle on the left.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can.”

“I’m not allowed.”

“Fuck the government and their rules,” Jeongguk declared. “You can do this because I said so. You don’t need their permission to be exactly who you are. This isn’t some illegal trick, Jimin hyung. This is something that’s a part of your genetic makeup. You’re pyrokinetic. You can easily do this. That rule isn’t a rule. It’s a way to control you.”

“I haven’t even thought… about manipulating fire for twenty years,” Jimin whispered. “There’s no way in hell I can do it.”

“Bullshit. It’s not a skill that you have to learn how to use. You’ll have to learn how to control and master it, but this is something you were born with, hyung,” Jeongguk softly insisted. “No hands. No advantages just yet.” Jeongguk’s hands came to rest over Jimin’s, and he laced their fingers together. “Move the flame.”

“Jeongguk, there’s no way—”

“Move the flame, hyung.”

Jimin exhaled, eyes closed. “I don’t think I can.”

“Don’t.” Jeongguk’s grip on Jimin’s hands tightened. “Don’t lie to yourself like that. Come on. Open your eyes. Try. Move the flame.”

Jimin opened his eyes and swallowed heavily, feeling Jeongguk’s steady heartbeat against his back. Surely Jeongguk could feel the way Jimin’s heart was racing madly. But Jimin’s eyes flicked to the candle on the right, a moth drawn to a flame, and he stared. The flame suddenly flickered, and Jimin’s heart skipped.

“That’s it. Come on. You can do this. Concentrate.”

Jimin concentrated, and when he blinked, he could feel the dull ache in his head. Move. Move. Move. But the ache deepened, and Jimin clenched his jaw, feeling it radiating from his temples to the back of his head. His poor mind was enraged, furious with him—how dare he try to access a memory that had been tucked away for so long? A genetic mutation that had been dormant for twenty years?

“I can’t, it hurts,” Jimin whispered feebly.

“You can. You can, come on,” Jeongguk encouraged. “Don’t give up like that. Look at it. Come on. Come on, Jimin hyung.”

Jimin let out a soft cry as he shuddered and leaned forward just a little, concentrating on the flame, squinting at it, his head pounding. MOVE. The flame flickered relentlessly, taunting Jimin, and Jeongguk’s whispers of encouragement permeated Jimin’s struggling mind— you can do this. That’s it. Keep going. Concentrate. Focus. You’re doing it. Come on, hyung. You’ve got this.

Jimin’s grip on Jeongguk’s hands tightened to a point where he was sure he was cutting off circulation, watching the flame pull upwards, elongated. Tears burned Jimin’s eyes as he fought the conditioning, fought the programming, fought the voice screaming in his head that this was wrong! Illegal! Against the law! Jeongguk’s voice drowned out the persistent and intrusive thoughts, shielding the part of Jimin’s brain that was conditioned for pyrokinesis. Jimin let out another cry as a single tear trickled down his cheek, but then the flame pulled up.

“That’s it. Keep going, keep going.”

Jimin’s hands were shaking now as he clung to Jeongguk, his head pounding, the pain almost unbearable. But the flame had detached from the candle’s wick, and a small flicker of fire was hovering between the candles. Jimin followed it with his eyes, trembling, and then he used every ounce of strength he had in his body to guide the flame to the left candle’s wick. The very second it caught fire, Jimin collapsed, coughing, almost gagging, his head splitting open, sweat trickling down his spine.

Two strong arms lifted Jimin from his collapsed position, and Jimin curled up weakly against Jeongguk’s chest, eyes closed, body numb. His head lolled, but he felt Jeongguk’s arms around him securely, and it was a comfort that Jimin had never really expected. He could feel tears streaming down his face quietly, but he was in no position to stop them. The pain in his head was astounding, but Jeongguk was rubbing his back, and Jimin could feel the vibrations of his soft laughter in his chest.

[pyrokinesis] :: 7chariot

“I told you that you could do it,” Jeongguk murmured, dropping a kiss onto Jimin’s hair. “Hey. You’re okay. You did well. You did it. That was twenty years of conditioning and brainwashing that you just broke.”

“Jeongguk,” Jimin managed to choke out.

“I’m here. What is it? Your head? Sit up. Come here.”

Jeongguk hauled Jimin upright and maneuvered him, and then he took Jimin’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking away the tears on Jimin’s cheeks. “I can help you. I can get rid of the pain. The headache. It’s not mind control or manipulation. I’m not breaking my promise. But I can help you. Let me.”

Jimin nodded, nearly out of his mind from the pain that was worse than any migraine he had ever experienced. He felt Jeongguk’s hands wrap around his head, thumbs against Jimin’s temples, and then he pressed gently. There was an odd tingling sensation that spread from Jimin’s head down to his fingertips and toes, but then—sweet relief. He slumped, all of the tense muscles in his body giving up the ghost, the headache evaporating into thin air, soothed instantaneously.

“Better?”

Jimin registered the soft kisses that Jeongguk was leaving on his lips and his cheeks, his forehead and his temple, but he couldn’t quite comprehend it. For the first time in seven years, the first time since he had crash-landed back into Jimin’s life, Jeongguk was… soft. He was the teenager who had created a firework show for Jimin in his dorm room. He wasn’t filled with rage and venom.

It was the guilt that consumed Jimin next—guilt for wanting so desperately for things to stay just as they were in the moment, guilt for wishing that Jeongguk hadn’t turned out the way he had, guilt that Jimin had let Jeongguk walk away that night seven years ago. Guilt for trying to change Jeongguk instead of changing himself first. Guilt for cherishing this one small moment so dearly but not the other moments he’d had with Jeongguk already.

“Let me try again.”

“Again?”

Jimin opened his eyes and nodded, seeing the concern in Jeongguk’s eyes but dismissing it. Jimin held out a hand, and he caught his underwear and scooted to the edge of the bed to pull it on. Jeongguk did the same, dressing only halfway, neither of them bothering with a shirt. Jimin then crawled back onto the bed.

“The same thing?” Jeongguk wondered. “Or something different?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. We’ll try the candles again.” Jeongguk sat cross-legged as the two candles, in their little glass containers, floated back between the two of them. Jeongguk pinched the wick once again to ignite a flame.

“You can create fire.” Jimin shifted his gaze up to Jeongguk’s face. “Most pyrokinetics can only manipulate fire that already exists. How are you doing that?”

“This is the most fire that I can create,” Jeongguk admitted. “A single flame on a candle. I could do more, but I choose not to. Anything larger than that is far too difficult for me, and it’s exhausting. I could create fire, but nothing massive. It would drain me.”

“Even you have limits,” Jimin whispered, and Jeongguk nodded.

“Go ahead. Try it again.”

Jimin took a deep breath and focused his attention and energy onto the flame again, feeling a twinge of familiarity deep in his mind, an ancient memory awakening and filled with a rage that was foreign. Everyone always warned that pyrokinesis went hand-in-hand with unfiltered, raw anger, that it required careful training to control. But Jimin had never once gotten this far with it. 

“It’s not working,” he whispered.

“Keep trying. You can do it.”

“It’s not working, Jeongguk,” Jimin emphasized when the flame didn’t even flicker. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, sharply inhaling through his nose as he rubbed, and then he promptly dropped his hands and shook his shoulders, blowing out a breath. He rolled his neck, and then he concentrated again.

“It’s fine. You haven’t done this for two decades,” Jeongguk quietly said. “Just focus. You can do this.”

Two decades. Twenty years. Jimin had walked into TRACK as a five-year-old child clinging to his mother’s leg, only to be guided away and sat in a room with examiners who poked and prodded at him. Who asked him to do things. Who as good as taunted him to spark a reaction. They had Jimin’s abilities written down on paper, per the hospital records from his birth. They knew he was an anomaly. But they looked Jimin in the eyes while Jimin cried for his mother and told him that he was telekinetic. That under no circumstances was he allowed to manipulate fire. That it was illegal. He’d get in trouble. Bad things would happen.

Lies. They had fed Jimin lies for so long. 

“It’s not working,” Jimin said through gritted teeth again, the flame only teetering once feebly. He stared, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, body nearly shaking from effort as he willed the flame to move, begged it to pull and lift from the wick so Jimin could prove to himself that he wasn’t defective, that he hadn’t been destroyed as a child and built up to be what they all wanted him to be.

But the flame didn’t move.

“Just keep—”

“IT’S NOT—” Enraged, Jimin swept his hand, and both candles flew clear across the room, hitting the brick wall near the kitchen and shattering. “This is all your fault! You made me fucking do this!” Now he was shoving Jeongguk’s chest, hands turning into fists, each inhale a sharp pain in his chest. “You knew I couldn’t! You knew what they did to me! This—is all—your fault!” he shouted hoarsely, fists landing on Jeongguk’s chest and shoulders, and Jeongguk did nothing to stop it.

“Hyung—”

“What did they do to me? What did they do to me?” Jimin demanded erratically, his voice breaking as he shoved Jeongguk harder, but Jeongguk didn’t falter. “Wh-What? Tell me what they did! What did they do to me?” Jimin choked out another sob, and then it hit him, a speeding train to an unwilling bystander. 

Jeongguk had been right all along. 

They had taken Jimin as a child and groomed him. TRACK had seen his potential, Jo Chansung had seen his potential, how they could all manipulate Jimin to suit their will, how they could brainwash him. Year after year, they had praised Jimin for all his success and swept his shortcomings under the rug, pretending that he wasn’t the thing they hated most. And now Jimin couldn’t even move a flame to a candle.

He tried to speak. Jimin had more to say. But the next words came out as a strangled sob that escalated. He pounded at Jeongguk’s chest, and then he doubled over at the waist and just screamed until his throat gave out, until the pounding in his head returned. He could hear the environment exploding around him in response to his pain, the way that books in Jeongguk’s apartment flew and hit walls, glass shattering, clothes in a twisted whirlwind, furniture shifting. When he had nothing left, he broke down sobbing, and then he collapsed. He fell right into Jeongguk’s open arms, blinded by rage and his own tears.

“Wh-What did th-they do to m-m-me?” Jimin sobbed, his chest aching so terribly that he had to press one hand to where he swore his heart was, curled up in Jeongguk’s arms. “Why? Why? Why did they…?”

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Jeongguk whispered, his hand brushing the hair away from Jimin’s forehead, lips pressing to warm and exposed skin. He had Jimin cradled in his lap, and Jimin was near boneless, defeated.

“It’s not okay,” he wailed, gasping as he inhaled, another sob lodged in his throat. “It h-hurts, it hurts. It hurts.” He kept one hand pressed to his chest, the other clutching his head, because the pain he was suddenly experiencing was novel to him, something that his body had never dealt with before. “Make it stop, make it s-s-stop, I can’t breathe. I c-can’t…”

Jeongguk’s hand replaced Jimin’s as he pressed it against Jimin’s chest, dropping a kiss on Jimin’s forehead and then nuzzling his nose into Jimin’s hair. The next breath Jimin took was marginally easier, and he melted, unable to find enough strength to fight against anything or anyone. Jeongguk’s hand moved up to Jimin’s head, and he brushed it across Jimin’s forehead and down one of his cheeks. The aching throb around Jimin’s skull dissipated, but Jimin had nothing left.

“Come here. Look at me.”

Jeongguk picked Jimin up effortlessly and sat Jimin in his lap, nose-to-nose, and he used his thumbs to brush away tears that just kept spilling. With Jimin’s face in his hands, their foreheads together, Jeongguk said, “What they did to you isn’t fair. No one should ever have to break out of conditioning like this. It’s not right. I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

“I don’t understand,” Jimin quietly cried, and Jeongguk softly kissed his lips.

“I know. And I’m not going to say that I told you so. I can’t make the pain stop. I can only make it hurt less.”

“You were right.”

“I never wanted to be right.”

“Yes you did.”

“No.” Jeongguk shook his head, still cradling Jimin’s face between two rough hands. “Not like this. I never thought it would hurt you this much.”

Eyes closed, Jimin felt himself sway on the spot, tears still spilling from his eyes, every heartbeat an effort. Jeongguk sighed, thumbs caressing Jimin’s cheeks.

“I need to know if you want this.”

“Want what?” Jimin finally found the strength to lift his head and look into Jeongguk’s eyes. The man holding him was a murderer. Point-blank. He had taken countless lives with a purpose, fueled by trauma. He tortured them. He watched them bleed. He found amusement in their suffering. But in spite of all that, in spite of a long list of moral offenses that made Jimin shiver in displeasure, that made him resent Jeongguk and everything Jeongguk stood for—he was still Jeon Jeongguk. 

It was a revelation that Jimin hadn’t been expecting. Jeongguk was everything Jimin was not. He pushed every button Jimin had and many Jimin had never known to exist. For months, Jimin had resisted wildly, never once allowing himself to feel anything that he had suppressed, because how could he? How could he feel anything but hatred for a man like Jeongguk? But despite Jimin’s conditioning and what felt like the morally correct thing was to do, he wanted to know what it was like. He wanted more of Jeongguk. So much more.

But what agonized Jimin most was knowing deep down, and even on a surface level, that there was no future for them together, no plausible roadmap to happiness. There was no way to piece back together their paths which had splintered so long ago. When Jeongguk’s crusade was over, when he succeeded in tearing TRACK down brick by brick, there would be no place for them in the world. None.

“I need to know if you want to do this. If you want to learn how to control your pyrokinesis,” Jeongguk explained. “If you want to actually embrace who you really are, or if you’re just having a breakdown moment and five minutes from now, you’ll be out that window like nothing ever happened.”

“No.” Jimin sniffed, blinking back more tears. His voice shook as he spoke, but he powered through. “No, I—I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.” He locked eyes with Jeongguk. “I can’t keep suppressing it. And I can’t pretend like nothing ever happened. Y-You… You broke me. What you did… What you did tonight. You broke me.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing,” Jeongguk replied, searching Jimin’s face for the answer.

“It is what it is,” Jimin whispered. “But you—you unlocked something. Now I know. I know that… I know it’s possible. You have to teach me. You have to teach me how to control it.”

“I can’t. Listen to me,” Jeongguk said, sensing the rebuttal that was about to fly out of Jimin’s mouth. “Listen. I can’t be the one to teach you.”

“Then how the hell am I supposed to—”

“Stop, listen, listen.” Jeongguk’s fingers slipped into Jimin’s hair as he spoke earnestly. “Pyrokinesis, for me, isn’t… I can do it. I’m skilled. I have it under control. But I never had that anger and rage in me to fuel it. I don’t know what that’s like. I don’t know how to teach you to control your emotions so you can control the way you manipulate fire. That’s something that I can’t understand. Pyrokinesis came easily to me. Fire was there, I moved it with my mind. It was clinical. It’s not clinical for you, hyung. I can’t teach you.”

“You’re the only one who can,” Jimin whispered. “The government will present my head on a goddamn silver platter if I so much as light a birthday candle, Jeongguk-ah. There’s no one else who can do this. You have to teach me. I don’t care if it’s not the best out there. It’s something.”

“I know. I get that. But you’ve suppressed this for twenty years. I’ll figure something out. I promise you.” Jeongguk leaned in for a kiss, and Jimin granted him one, but he deepened it immediately, kneeling in Jeongguk’s lap and tangling his hands in strands of long dark hair, licking into Jeongguk’s mouth as Jeongguk reciprocated. It didn’t seem to matter that Jimin had just gone through an entire range of emotions in less than two hours.

“Am I still making it difficult to like me?” Jimin asked between kisses.

“You’re no walk in the park,” Jeongguk murmured, and Jimin let out a tired laugh, shivering from the soft kisses Jeongguk was leaving on every inch of his lips. “And I think it goes without saying that this doesn’t change anything for me.”

“Meaning…” Jimin slowly lowered himself back into Jeongguk’s lap. “You’re still on a mission. You have an endgame.”

Jeongguk nodded once, lips pursed. “I told you that I wasn’t going to let you get in my way. That I wanted you on my side so that you could understand what I’m trying to do. So you’d stop thinking I’m a monster.”

“I never said I was on your side,” Jimin whispered, and when he saw the surprised look on Jeongguk’s face, he added, “I don’t know whose side I’m on right now. Maybe just mine. I hate the way you do things. That’s not going to change. But you’re not a monster.”

“I guess we can consider that progress,” Jeongguk sighed. “Hyung?”

“Yeah.” Jimin gently pulled his fingers through Jeongguk’s long hair.

“The day I gave you that rose.”

“Mhm.”

“I was supposed to tell you that I had feelings for you,” Jeongguk said as Jimin’s heart cartwheeled. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I think I’m starting to realize that I can’t change anything about what happened in the past,” Jimin murmured, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I’ll find someone,” Jeongguk reiterated, but Jimin was still thinking about the rose that was still on his bedside table. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to stow it away yet, perhaps for a good reason.

“I don’t want to lose control, Jeongguk,” Jimin whispered, opening his eyes. “I don’t want to be the token anomaly. I can’t lose myself.”

“Do you even know yourself?” Jeongguk inquired, and Jimin didn’t respond. He stayed in Jeongguk’s lap, and then he lifted his hand and used his thumb to trace the scar on Jeongguk’s face.

“I barely know you,” he pointed out. “As for me, I’m just Jimin.”

“No. You’re Phoenix.” Jeongguk took Jimin’s hand and lowered it. “You’ve always been Phoenix. There were times at TRACK when I saw Jimin. And if you’re serious about training your pyrokinesis, then maybe you can finally know yourself.”

“I’m serious.” Jimin swallowed down the nagging fear that came up instantly. “Tell me how you got your scar.”

“No.”

“Then fuck me again.”

“Okay.”

Jimin flipped Jeongguk onto the pillows and stripped his underwear off as Jeongguk watched him with intention. His eyes rolled back the moment Jimin went down on him, and the conversation was over. All the unanswered questions hung in the air as escaped gasps and moans.

Jimin wasn’t sure he knew another way to talk to Jeongguk if they weren’t both naked and exposed.

Seokjin’s apartment
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
20:26 PM

Ramen was a surprisingly filling dinner, especially with some slices of boiled pork and a bit of kimchi. Seokjin tilted the cup into his mouth as he fed the last of the broken strands of noodles and the soup into his mouth, coaxing it with chopsticks. He chewed with one hand in a fist against the table, grabbing the last piece of kimchi he had.

The government was kind. They paid for Seokjin’s apartment and related bills in full, though Seokjin was responsible for food and furniture. He knew there were caveats, like surveillance and monitoring of spending, but what choice did he have? He had always trusted his employer. But even with a full stomach and warm bed, he wasn’t sleeping any easier. Something didn’t feel right. There was a strange tension in the air now, especially around the DKR. Too many secrets. Jo Chansung wasn’t stopping by the NIS as much. Agents were side-eyeing one another. And Seokjin was deleting text messages furiously.

He hadn’t received a text today.

Sparked by his thoughts, he grabbed his phone and unlocked it, opening up his text messages just to make sure nothing was there. He could still remember yesterday’s text: you would look handsome with all white hair, you know. If you kept using your abilities to the fullest extent. And then the one the day before: wow, Kim Seokjin is really built differently… you look good in suits. The texts were never signed, and they were from an anonymous number. But Seokjin knew they were all coming from Kim Taehyung.

Seokjin hadn’t responded to a single message, and he had no plans to ever answer. But the temptation was growing stronger and stronger, because the text messages were so normal. Seokjin had gotten his fair share of numbers from men and women over the years, exchanged his fair share of flirtatious text messages. But this was one-sided, and it felt… odd.

It should feel wrong. You should feel wrong about all of this.

But he didn’t, and that was why he was losing sleep. Ever since the interrogation that was not an interrogation at all, Seokjin’s mind had been running rampant with thoughts that a hero of his stature should never have. Doubt. Second-guessing. Questions. Jimin was acting strange, too, very out of character. Everything was all wrong—

Seokjin almost dropped his toothbrush when he heard the alarm sounding in his living room. He clamped the toothbrush between his teeth and shuffled sideways out of his bathroom, and then he stared:

URGENT: UNFORECASTED STORM NEAR YONGSAN POLICE STATION. POSSIBLE ELECTROKINETIC SUSPECT. FLARE REPORT. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin cursed under his breath through the foam and toothpaste in his mouth. He scrubbed his back molars furiously as he jogged back into the bathroom, and then he rinsed his mouth out and dove into his closet.

Electrokinetics were a strange breed. Most of them ran about average with the ability to turn on the family television or control the lights in the room, fire off text messages without touching their phone, static shock their friends, and sometimes bypass the password safety protocols on computers. The latter was frowned upon, but it still happened. Anything that required electricity to function was something an electrokinetic could manipulate, given the right training. But creating storms required a lot of energy. Seokjin was restricted from doing it as a government employee, but most electrokinetics who doubled as criminals liked to send down a few lightning strikes for fun.

Because he was electrokinetic, Seokjin didn’t have someone in his ear like Jimin had Lia in his ear. Hoseok used Lia when he went off by himself, which wasn’t common. Otherwise, he relied on Seokjin. So Seokjin swung his leg over his motorcycle and sped off, controlling his directions with simple mind commands, keeping his eyes trained on the sky when he had the chance.

The moment Seokjin saw a streak of lightning in the sky, he almost groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But then there was another streak of lightning that moved horizontally across the sky. And then one vertically. And then horizontally. And then suddenly, there was a lightning strike that looked suspiciously like a letter X.

Is this fucker playing tic-tac-toe with lightning?

It had to be a joke. This was an elaborate prank. Seokjin checked the coordinates he had been sent one final time just to be sure as a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, but the coordinates were accurate. So Seokjin took a sharp right and cruised quietly towards the police station.

Yongsan Police Station
Namyeong-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
20:51 PM

The lights were on. There were no signs of panicked police officers or concerned citizens milling around. Seokjin remained straddled on his motorcycle, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene, arms draped over the handlebars. The sky was dark and silent. Not a single—

“Oh, Christ,” he murmured when he saw a street lamp flickering repeatedly from the side of the building, the alleyway between the station and another dark building. Peeved, Seokjin left his motorcycle where it was parked, set the helmet on the seat, and began to stride towards the alleyway, not even bothering to brandish a weapon. 

“Alright, game over!” he called out, entering the alleyway. It was much darker than the parking lot, hardly lit. “I saw your little show in the sky. What’s this about?”

“You haven’t answered my text messages.”

Startled, Seokjin took a few steps backwards, and then he gaped in disbelief, even in the darkness. There was one street light attached to the side of the police station that wasn’t working, and Kim Taehyung was hanging upside down from it by his knees. He had gracefully swung himself backwards with his arms crossed, a pout on his face, his head nearly level with Seokjin’s head.

“You’re fucking joking.”

Taehyung heaved a dramatic sigh, and then he swung his upper body until he could reach for the street light with both hands. He wiggled his legs off, and then he hung by his hands for a moment before dropping to the ground in front of Seokjin. They were the same height and nearly the same build, though Seokjin was slightly broader. Taehyung’s black hair was a wild mess of curls, which he ruffled haphazardly as he turned to lean against the wall. He was wearing all black, but when he blinked at Seokjin and grinned, a flare of electricity shot through his eyes. His hands wiggled into his pockets.

“I’ve been texting you for weeks.” He jutted his lower lip out. “I thought you’d answer me. I was even sharing some of my best jokes. Did you laugh?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Seokjin quietly snapped, but the moment he turned around, he heard the sizzle of electricity and saw a flash, and then he stumbled backwards. Taehyung had quite literally lassoed him with a strand of electrical energy, knowing that Seokjin’s body (and his suit) could handle it.

“Oh, come o-o-o-on. Play the game,” Taehyung requested once he had Seokjin back in front of him. “You know how hard it is to hack the DKR’s little calling system? Phantom had to give me a little boost. But here you are.”

“You hacked—okay. Alright, fine.” Seokjin ran both hands down his face and ripped his mask off, and then he crossed his arms. “I’ll bite. What do you want?”

“I want to talk. I thought I made that pretty obvious when I texted you last week saying, quote, ‘I want to talk to you,’” Taehyung replied with very heavy air quotes and emphasis on each word. “You’re not very good at flirting. You miss all the signals.”

“Flirting.” Seokjin snorted with laughter, eyes flicking up to the sky for a moment. “Okay.” He looked back at Taehyung. “You think that’s flirting. Right. Well, what do you want to talk about?”

“Well, I just figured that maybe you had questions for me,” Taehyung commented, using his thumbnail to scratch the side of his nose. 

Fuck, he’s so handsome. Not a single flaw on him. 

Seokjin almost scolded himself out loud, but how could he completely disregard it? He had eyes, and he was painfully bisexual. He couldn’t stand and deny what was right in front of him. Taehyung was quite the specimen. If not for the whole “enjoys murder and torture” vibe, Seokjin would have already fallen into bed with Taehyung on looks alone.

“Since you had questions during our little interrogation—”

“That wasn’t an interrogation,” Seokjin interrupted, rolling his eyes. “That was you doing all the talking.”

“Okay, yeah,” Taehyung said with a playful shrug and a nose-scrunched smile. He was shameless. “It was, and I enjoyed every second of it. But in my defense, you were the exact person I needed to listen to my story. But you had other questions. I think you wanted to know how I ended up with Phantom as a friend.”

“Right.” Seokjin licked his lips, and then he, too, shoved his hands into his pockets, unable to believe that he was willingly standing toe-to-toe with a mass murderer who had been sending him flirtatious text messages for weeks. “Okay. Color me curious. How did you end up with him? And why did he wait so long to break you out of prison?”

“Funny story,” Taehyung said, grinning. “He found me. See, I defected from TRACK right after Min Yoongi did, so I went to find Yoongi. And then I heard about this other guy from TRACK who defected, like, a year later, so I hunted him down, and now I have to deal with Yoongi and Namjoon fucking each other’s brains out and not communicating, but also living in the same apartment. It’s the most exhausting teenage drama I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Okay, and Phantom?” Seokjin inquired, only mildly amused.

“Phantom came knocking on my door about… seven years ago,” Taehyung estimated. “Scrawny kid in a hoodie. This fucker walked right into my apartment with literal blood on his hands and said he could do anything. I thought it was a joke. Then he lit my curtains on fire and almost flooded my kitchen and told me to get on my hands and knees and bark like a dog.”

“You’re lying.”

“Dead serious. I wouldn’t joke about being on my hands and knees,” Taehyung said with a wicked, tongue-in-cheek grin. The low laugh he let out was full of delighted glee, almost contagious enough for Seokjin to laugh as well. “So I took him in and let him meet Namjoon and Yoongi, and our little quartet from hell was born. Guess who our leader is?”

“Can’t imagine.”

“Well, when the kid demonstrated that he could quite literally do anything, we thought it was a good idea to just follow his lead,” Taehyung said, and Seokjin couldn’t argue. “Despite his, uh… threatening demeanor, he’s actually quite thoughtful.”

“Do you think I care?” Seokjin arched one eyebrow.

“Maybe not right now, but if I tell you that he’s polite and kind to people who aren’t absolute garbage, it’ll stick with you,” Taehyung said with a sparkle in his eyes. “So anyways, he took his sweet ass time building up his skillset. I mean, I would, too, if I could manipulate everything that existed in the world. But about, uh… three years ago? Something like that. I was in a bad mood.”

“Aren’t you usually?”

“Usually, yes,” Taehyung replied breezily. “But when I say ‘bad mood,’ I mean I was angry enough to hurt innocent people. And I was bored. Seoul is so boring, Seokjin-ssi. People are so predictable. And it’s not like Phantom could put his plan into action yet. He was busy trying to control himself. So I figured I’d spice things up a bit and get myself caught.”

“You—Sorry, you just—you willingly got yourself caught?” Seokjin asked incredulously.

“Hard to believe, right? But I was angrier than usual and bored, which is a bad combination. So I fucked around and made sure that your little friend caught me and restrained me and threw me behind bars,” Taehyung elaborated. “Jung Hoseok, right? Captain Planet. He caught me.”

“He never told me that,” Seokjin murmured, brow furrowed.

“Well, he probably didn’t give a fuck at the time,” Taehyung dismissed. “So I spent a few years in prison. Phantom came the night after I was locked up, though. Just walked into the kinetic block and was like, ‘hey, you want out?’ But I told him no.”

“Why?”

“Because I could get things in prison,” Taehyung said in a hushed voice, tapping his pointer finger to his temple a few times. “Information. I was a good link. Phantom decided it was a good idea for me to stay there for a little. I was helpful. Plus, he gave me extra time outside in the yard and made it look like I was still locked up. Phantom did. It pays to have an all-knowing friend.”

“So you got out because he was ready to put his plan into action?” Seokjin wondered, and Taehyung shot two finger guns at him.

“Exactly. And now I get to see you,” Taehyung said with a pleased little smile and a flick of his eyebrows. Seokjin scraped his teeth along his bottom lip briefly. Last time, Taehyung had mentioned that he had damn near idolized Seokjin while they were at TRACK, but Seokjin had never heard of him until he had defected. Then again, given Taehyung’s past and his complicated history with TRACK, it was no wonder Seokjin had been shielded from it all.

“And what do you get out of that?” he asked. “What kind of thrill does this bring you?”

“I told you that I like you,” Taehyung reiterated. “You were popular at TRACK. I’ve seen you work. You’re good at your job. And I’ve seen you buy cat food, so you must have a cat at home.”

“Are you following me?” Seokjin asked, thinking to be concerned. Taehyung snickered.

“No. But one time I was going to send you a risky text, so I decided to see if you would read it,” he said with a touch of glee. “And you were close by, so I just popped over to where you were, and you were buying cat food. And I sent the text. You read it.”

“Did it make you feel alive to watch me ignore it?” Seokjin asked, trying not to be vicious. He couldn’t quite place his feelings at the moment. He was so intrigued by the conversation that he couldn't find it in himself to walk away, but he was also horrified.

“It’s been entertaining. But besides all the boring bullshit, you’re fucking hot and you’re older than me and I like older men. And you’re fun to chase,” Taehyung admitted. He lifted one hand to ruffle his hair again, and then he leaned his head back on the wall. “How have you been?”

“How have I been,” Seokjin carefully dictated, and Taehyung nodded.

“Yeah. How’s everything going? How have you been?” he repeated, and Seokjin inhaled through his nose. 

His response could be sarcastic. He could continue to fire back and spit out spiteful comments in return. But once he walked away from the conversation, what would he have? Taehyung didn’t seem to be manipulating him. In fact, it seemed like he genuinely just wanted to talk. Against all odds, and even though the alarm bells were shrieking in Seokjin’s head, he couldn’t help but believe that Taehyung was being sincere. His approach was unorthodox and he was still the most dangerous man Seokjin knew (besides Phantom), and everything embedded in Seokjin’s brain told him to sprint, not run, in the other direction.

[wild horses] :: bishop briggs

“Things have been a little chaotic, to tell you the truth,” Seokjin responded.

“Why’s that?”

“Why do you think?” His reply was snappy, so Seokjin shifted his footing to calm himself down. Taehyung noticed; he didn’t comment, though, only pursed his lips for a moment.

“Well, if you three would just stop interfering, things wouldn’t be so chaotic,” he pointed out. “But I’d rather not talk about work after hours. Makes me feel weird.”

“You say that like you work a desk job.”

“Do I look like the kind of guy who could work a desk job? Be honest.” Taehyung swept a hand down his body, and Seokjin looked. He looked, absolutely took every nanosecond of the opportunity presented to eye Kim Taehyung up and down.

I’m going to hell for this. Prison, more like. I’m not reckless. 

“You look more like the kind of guy who would be hiding under the desk,” Seokjin quipped, and Taehyung snorted loudly, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Are you implying that I give good blowjobs?” he asked rhetorically. “Because I do. I could swallow you down in a heartbeat. All you have to do is ask.”

“You’re shameless.”

“And your ears are turning red,” Taehyung noted, even in the dark. But Seokjin was so trapped in the conversation that he hadn’t even noticed that the light attached to the police station building was illuminated dimly overhead, something Taehyung must have done while they were talking.

“Are we done talking?” Seokjin asked, wanting to cover his ears immediately. His damn body always betrayed him at the worst possible times.

“Not yet. I wanted to ask you something,” Taehyung said, peeling himself off the wall and scooting forward until the toes of his shoes knocked against the toes of Seokjin’s shoes. They were the same height, so they were eye-to-eye, and Seokjin didn’t have the sense to check if he was still breathing. “Do you think I could ever have a normal life?”

“What?” Seokjin whispered.

“Knowing what you know about me. Do you think I have a shot?” Taehyung wondered. “At a normal life? Do you think I could ever?”

“No.” Seokjin didn’t hesitate, and it made him ache in an instant, because he was guilty of having the same thought about himself. “There’s no way you could ever live a normal life. Maybe when you’re old and grey. That would be your best chance. You’d have to get away from all of this. Start fresh somewhere. I don’t know how you’d even do it.”

“Are you talking to me, or yourself?” Taehyung asked, and Seokjin paused and stared. And there before him stood Kim Taehyung. Not Shock. Not the villain Seokjin had painted in his mind for countless years. Not the adversary who had nearly killed Seokjin on more than one occasion while giggling to himself because he was probably bored. It was Kim Taehyung, and he was blindingly human, bright enough that Seokjin was tempted to look away. His face was placid, expression difficult to read as he scanned Seokjin’s face in interest.

“You,” Seokjin lied, and Taehyung smirked sadly.

“I’ve killed a lot of people in my lifetime,” Taehyung confessed outright. “I lost count. A couple dozen people who meant nothing to me. Horrible people. Fucking monsters. Not the kind of monster I am. The kind of monsters that hide in plain sight. I don’t regret it. Not a single kill. Do you think I deserve to have a life?”

“You mean do I think you deserve to not be locked up until you’re old and grey and then die in a prison cell?” Seokjin raised one eyebrow, and he could see in Taehyung’s body language that Taehyung was expecting a snarky response. But then Seokjin hesitated.

For years, he had assumed that there was only one acceptable set of morals and rules. Be good, follow the government guidelines, do the assigned job, help people who needed help, lock away anyone who broke the aforementioned guidelines. People like Kim Taehyung were not supposed to be human. They were not supposed to present as individuals with complex emotions and feelings, with a yearning to live a normal life, with a past that was flecked with a clear love for family. 

Taehyung had been set up. Much like Seokjin had been groomed to be a hero, Taehyung had been groomed to be the villain. Maybe TRACK hadn’t intended for it to be that way, but their methods (if true, and Seokjin had a sinking suspicion they were) spoke volumes. They liked to pick and choose. The government Seokjin worked for wanted to make that choice. They wanted to decide who could be good kinetic citizens and who was a waste of their time.

And Seokjin hated that he was just now accepting such a concept.

“I’m sure you do,” Taehyung replied, his eyes dark. “Because good boys like you follow what the government says, and that means that I’m the bad guy. And no matter how hard you try, I’ll always be the bad guy to you. Why do you think I play it so well? I’m good at it. I know you won’t change.”

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” Seokjin snapped.

“I know that you’re an absolute fucking pussy, because you won’t ever break the rules. Too scared. Too much of a coward. Too dumb to see what’s right in front of you—”

Seokjin shoved Taehyung by his shoulders and slammed him up against the wall, and Taehyung just tilted his chin upward with a delighted smirk, running his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. When Taehyung’s hands gripped Seokjin’s hips, the shiver that consumed Seokjin’s entire body was absolutely visceral, so strong that he clenched his jaw. But Taehyung wasn’t letting go; in fact, he was pulling Seokjin closer, and Seokjin had no choice but to listen.

“I don’t mean it,” he whispered, and Seokjin pressed his left palm into the brick wall beside Taehyung’s head, his right hand clenched in a fist. “But God, you’re so sexy when you’re mad. I should piss you off more often. Maybe then I can finally have you.”

“Shut up and let go of me.”

“I’ll text you my address,” Taehyung continued in a melodic whisper that felt like a trance. “You can come over anytime. I’ll let you fuck me. I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me. I’ve been told I’m pretty good in bed, but with you? I’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

“For fuck’s sake, Taehyung, just—”

“Ah, see? I like when you say my name. I told you we had a spark,” Taehyung whispered, and Seokjin almost gasped but held himself together as flickers of electricity rocketed through his body from his hips. But it wasn’t painful—it was pleasure. It was pure pleasure, and Seokjin hated the way that he knew. He knew Taehyung was right. Two electrokinetics in bed together was a dangerous combination, especially if it was Kim Taehyung.

“Let go of me,” Seokjin breathed.

“No,” Taehyung whispered with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The moment the corners of his mouth twitched in a smirk, Seokjin snapped. He snapped and leaned in, making what had to be the most egregious decision of his career, maybe of his entire short life.

There was nothing nice about it—it was a rough kiss with the intent to bruise, but Seokjin realized too late that Taehyung wanted that. Because one of Taehyung’s hands flew to the back of Seokjin’s head, fingers tangled in Seokjin’s hair, and he kissed back like he would never kiss anyone else again. He pushed his tongue into Seokjin’s mouth, and Seokjin let him, feeling the shocks along the nape of his neck and the way that he could practically taste Taehyung’s heartbeat in his mouth.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Taehyung gasped when Seokjin bit down too hard on Taehyung’s bottom lip. “Don’t stop.”

Seokjin didn’t stop. He made it worse for himself by licking back into Taehyung’s mouth and tasting him, by threading his fingers through black curls and suppressing a small moan of pleasure when Taehyung shocked him again, perhaps unintentionally. With every bruising kiss, Seokjin could see little flares of electricity sparking around them, and it wasn’t his fault; Taehyung wasn’t controlling himself at all. He was completely uninhibited as he devoured Seokjin, and it was simultaneously the scariest and most incredible kiss Seokjin had ever had in his life. It wasn’t even a kiss—they were making out. It was raw and unfiltered and lacking finesse, but in all the years Seokjin had chased after others’ lips, kissing Taehyung was his peak. He had never been kissed like this before. Taehyung kissed like he craved, like he needed it. 

“I’m leaving,” Seokjin murmured, suddenly finding some sense as horror flooded his system. But still, even though he wanted to run, he continued to drag his lips along Taehyung’s jaw until he found the spot on Taehyung’s neck where he had left a bruise only a few minutes ago. He kissed it lightly, and Taehyung quietly moaned, body flush against Seokjin’s. 

“Mm. Fine. Maybe next time you’ll give me more,” Taehyung whispered.

“Don’t ever do this again,” Seokjin muttered, and then he took a chance and grabbed Taehyung by the jaw. Taehyung’s eyes were half-lidded now, pupils blown, a smirk on his kiss-bitten lips. All Seokjin’s doing. “And stop texting me.”

“No promises,” Taehyung whispered, sounding pleased. “Have fun getting yourself off at home all alone while you think about me.”

Seokjin then ripped himself out of Taehyung’s arms and stumbled backwards, running one hand over his mouth like he could get rid of any trace of Taehyung with one touch. He was doomed; Taehyung was right. He wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight without finishing what they had started.

Seokjin didn’t look over his shoulder at all. He started running, and he didn’t stop until he was on his motorcycle and speeding off, his hands still shaking.

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
22:12 PM

Every year, the DKR attempted to recruit new kinetics to join the DKR’s team, and every year, they failed to produce a result.

Granted, twenty new people had found employment in the private sector with the DKR, working everyday jobs for visible representation—interning with lawyers, working at banks, construction, traffic control. Many kinetics graduated from TRACK and pretended their abilities didn’t exist. Those who were put on the fast track (like Jimin was) to heroism often became poster children for TRACK or kinesis in general in the greater Seoul area, even into other cities like Incheon, Busan, Daegu. 

Jimin wiggled his tie loose and yanked it over his head, surprised he wasn’t hungry. Two hours until midnight and he had just gotten home. Intake days were always exhausting, but this intake day in particular had been taxing; Jimin’s mind had been elsewhere the entire time, Seokjin had been damn near absent mentally but present physically, and Hoseok had been fed up with both of them for twelve hours.

Something is going on with Seokjin. Something is going on with you, too, but I digress. That was all Hoseok had said to Jimin before departing for the night. And now Jimin was ready to crack open a beer and call it a night.

The problem was that he had only just opened the fridge when his phone began to ring. Peeved, he grabbed the beer and used his hip to close the fridge, sidestepping to his phone and checking the caller ID before answering: IT’S ME.

“You can’t find a better way to do this?” Jimin grumbled out loud as he answered. “Yes?”

“Hey. Come over.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I haven’t seen you in weeks. You’ve been dead silent. You haven’t even dropped bodies for us to find. The DKR thinks you’re living up to your name,” Jimin complained, knowing that he was whining like a child but without the energy to care.

“Boo-hoo. Come over, please,” Jeongguk replied, not taking a single iota of Jimin’s bullshit. “Put the beer down and hurry up.”

“And how the hell did you know that I was about to drink a beer?” Jimin asked. “Did you break your promise over a single phone call?”

“Don’t know. Is the rose I gave you eight years ago dead?” Jeongguk fired back. “Lucky guess. Long day at work equals beer when you walk through the door. Put it back and come over. It’s important. I found someone to train you.”

Jimin set the beer down on the countertop willingly. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious.”

“Did you coerce them into it? Mentally manipulate them into it? Hypnotize them—”

“No, you fucking pain in the ass, I didn’t do anything,” Jeongguk said with a sigh and a slight intonation of endearment. He didn’t seem bothered by Jimin’s irritability. “I found someone who will train you. They’ll be here in a minute, so you better hurry.”

“Okay. Uh… shit. Okay. Give me a half hour.”

“I’ll give you twenty-five minutes.”

“Don’t be an asshole—oh, come on,” Jimin snapped when the line went dead. He ran both hands over his face, and then he hastily threw the beer back into the fridge and rushed into his bedroom to change. As he was shimmying into his pants, he stumbled when his eye caught on the red rose that was still lying on his bedside table. Not dead. Still very much alive and thriving as if it was fresh. Whatever magic Jeongguk had worked on it as a sixteen-year-old kid was still intact. He hadn’t broken his promise.

Once he was wearing comfortable clothing, he ditched his phone (after texting Lia to deactivate his motorcycle’s GPS), and then he hurried to the garage. He was going to have to talk to Jeongguk about potentially providing some further cloaking methods so Jimin didn’t have to go through all the rigamarole of texting Lia.

Who the hell did he find?

Jeongguk had said it himself—he was anonymous to the world. He could walk the streets in broad daylight without a mask on at all and no one would spare him a second glance. He had that luxury. But how had he managed to find a pyrokinetic who was willing to train the DKR’s prized hero without causing chaos?

Jimin had been practicing, too. He was awful, an absolute amateur who got frustrated too easily, but he had been trying. He had candles in his house now that he played with at every opportune moment. Two days ago, he had sat in his bathtub with candles and had managed to roll a small ball of fire before dropping it into the water. His anger tended to get the better of him, so he could only work in short bursts, but he was at least trying.

Jeongguk’s residence
Toegye-ro 50na-gil, Myeong-dong, Jung-gu 
SEOUL, South Korea
23:04 PM

The street was abandoned and dark. Jimin still didn’t want to risk using the front door even though Jeongguk had confirmed that it was safe. Instead, he parked his motorcycle and carefully climbed the fire escape, walking on his toes. To his surprise, the window was already cracked open, as if Jeongguk had been expecting Jimin to not let himself in the normal way. Jimin inhaled as he ducked through, and then he straightened up and closed the window behind him without touching.

“One day you’ll use the door.”

“Yet you’re waiting for me by the window,” Jimin replied, trying not to smile when he saw Jeongguk lounging on the couch with a drink in his hand. “Did I get here before my supposed teacher?”

“Nope.” Jeongguk smirked, and then he tilted his head to the right without breaking eye contact. Jimin glanced over to the right, and then he took a large step backwards and pressed one palm to the window like he was ready to escape already.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he snapped in an immediate panic. Min Yoongi was sitting in the kitchen chair in the darker corner, flicking a lighter repeatedly. Flame, no flame. Flame, no flame. He was nursing a drink as well, but the look he was giving Jimin was akin to poison laced with bitter amusement.

“Dead serious,” Jeongguk replied. “He’s the only pyrokinetic willing to train you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Jimin said. Was he gasping? Was the room spinning? If Yoongi was sitting in the chair, then that meant that he knew far too much. That meant that he knew about Jeongguk’s complicated past with Jimin in some capacity, which meant that he also knew that Jimin was flirting with betraying his own country and government.

“I promised I would find someone to train you,” Jeongguk said evenly. “Without coercing and without mind control. He’s quite literally your only option, and luckily for you, he’s the best.”

“I’m not doing this. I’m not fucking doing this, not—no. Not from him,” Jimin stammered, shaking his head. “I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not.” The locks flicked on the window, and no matter how hard Jimin stared at them, they wouldn’t budge. He was foolish enough to glance at the door, but that was locked as well. “You’re going to give it a shot.” Jeongguk leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I told you that I can’t train you. Pyrokinesis is clinical to me. It’s just part of my repertoire. But for you, pyrokinesis is rooted in rage and anger, and you need to learn to control it. And there’s nobody better to teach you how to do that than the master himself.”

“How much did you tell him?” Jimin whispered, his hands clammy.

“Enough,” Jeongguk replied, and from the kitchen, Yoongi snickered.

“If you think I find this thrilling, you’re wrong,” he said in his raspy voice. “You think I was jazzed to hear that he’s fucking you? Not really. You being an anomaly, though…” Yoongi clicked his tongue and tilted his head momentarily. “That was both surprising and unsurprising.”

“How—What?” Jimin was frantic, on the verge of being dizzy.

“The first time we hashed it out at SEOUL Forest,” Yoongi stated, taking a quick sip of his drink. “I was trying to kill you. You stopped my shot. I threw fire at you and you stopped it. You shouldn’t have been able to do that. Only a pyrokinetic or this fuckwit—” Yoongi lifted one foot as a gesture to Jeongguk— “can do something like that.”

“Okay. Okay, but… but you…”

“I know that you two were best buddies at TRACK,” Yoongi supplied. “Explains why he won’t let us kill the three of you. And he swears you’re not the brainwashed little shit I think you are. So I guess you have a lot to prove.”

“This is bullshit.” Jimin turned back to Jeongguk. “All he’s going to do is insult me and make learning pyrokinesis a nightmare. I’m not signing up for that.”

“It’s him or no one,” Jeongguk said as an ultimatum. “I can’t teach you. No one else will. They’ll throw you in prison instead. Please just give it a chance. You don’t know what it will be like. He agreed to train you. I didn’t talk him into it. Don’t waste the opportunity.”

“If I was going to insult you, I would’ve done it at least five or six times by now,” Yoongi chimed in, still flicking the lighter as he watched the flame. Then, the flame still dancing, he glanced up and locked eyes with Jimin. “I might surprise you. Maybe we have something in common.”

Jimin leaned to the side as suddenly, the flame from the lighter stretched and thinned out, flying towards him and circling his waist until it made a ring of fire, trapping Jimin. Frozen, Jimin then watched as the ring rose over his head, tangled together into a ball, and flew into the kitchen sink, where the water turned on courtesy of Jeongguk. Jimin pursed his lips and breathed only through his nose, gritting his teeth in silence.

He’s right. I have no other choice. It’s Min Yoongi or no one.

“Fine.” Jimin crossed his arms. “One chance. That’s it. And if it sucks and all you do is fuck with me, I’m out.”

“I could say the same to you,” Yoongi pointed out, but then he pocketed the lighter, downed the rest of his drink, and stood up. “Come sit.”

Jimin took a few steps forward and then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Yoongi as Yoongi did the same. He was quite handsome in an unconventional way up close, his scar a lot more prominent than Jeongguk’s scar. He had visible burn marks on his skin, but Jimin was sure that each scar had a story.

Yoongi then leaned in, and Jimin’s first instinct was to flinch, but he froze when Yoongi pressed one wrist to his forehead, brow furrowed in concentration. He then snapped his fingers twice at Jeongguk, still staring at Jimin, and Jeongguk quite literally read Yoongi’s mind. Moments later, Yoongi had a thermometer in his hand. He held it up to Jimin’s forehead until it beeped, and then he pursed his lips.

“What…?” Jimin trailed off when Yoongi turned the thermometer—38.8 Celsius. Though he didn’t feel feverish whatsoever, Jimin’s temperature said otherwise. Without a word, Yoongi turned the thermometer on himself and showed it to Jimin—39.1 Celsius.

“My body temperature runs hot naturally. It’s normal for most pyrokinetics to run at about thirty-eight, just slightly higher than average. But your body temperature is too high. And if you leave it unchecked for too long, it’ll continue to spike, and then it will become noticeable. You’ll run high fevers, sweating, body chills, hallucinations, burn marks on your skin. Been there, done that. You can’t afford to have this high of a temperature.”

“I don’t understand,” Jimin whispered, which was a lie. He understood. Yoongi just spelled it out for him.

“Have you been practicing at home?” he asked, and Jimin nodded. “Are you getting frustrated?” Jimin nodded again. “If you don’t learn to control yourself, your temperature will keep rising. Above all else, you have to learn how to control your pyrokinesis and your output and find some kind of inner peace, or you’re fucked. Do you get that?”

“Yeah. I get it,” Jimin quietly agreed.

“Pyrokinesis for us isn’t about controlling fire. It’s about controlling ourselves,” Yoongi stated. “If you can control yourself, control all the rage and anger within you without suppressing it, then you might get somewhere. You could be damn good.”

“I doubt that,” Jimin said with a wry smile, and Yoongi raised one eyebrow briefly.

“A lot of people—” He paused to set the thermometer down, and then he folded his hands in his lap— “think that pyrokinesis is the most useless of all kinetic abilities. If there’s no fire to manipulate, you’re shit out of luck. That’s an amateur approach. A foolish mindset. Pyrokinesis can be powerful if you learn how to manipulate heat and create your own fire. It’s not useless. And like it or not, you’re powerful. Most pyrokinetics can light the scented candles in their room on a good day. You could be a damn human flamethrower.”

“No thank you.”

“That wasn’t a prediction,” Yoongi said, and Jimin swore he caught a hint of a smile. “Alright.” He reached behind him and brandished two candles, and Jimin perked up and gestured.

“I’ve done this,” he said with a hint of misplaced pride. “I’m actually pretty good at it now. Um, moving the flame from one candle to the other? I can do that pretty well.”

Yoongi blinked. “Congratulations. Light the candle.”

“What?” Jimin stared in disbelief, but Yoongi was persistent. He flicked a finger at one of the candles.

“Light the candle, please,” he requested.

“W—How am I—How am I supposed to do that?” Jimin asked, startled. “I know—I mean, I know I sound like an idiot, but I’m… I’m new at this. I’m not… at the level yet to create fire. I haven’t done that before.”

“Light the candle,” Yoongi repeated calmly. “Figure it out. Find a way to do it.”

There seemed to be no way out of it. Jimin was tempted to look over his shoulder at Jeongguk like he was in need of a savior, but then he pushed his shoulders back and swallowed his injured pride. He was new at pyrokinesis, but that didn’t mean he had to continue carrying on like a petulant child. He was capable. All he had to do was try, and remind himself not to get infuriated within ten seconds of possible failure.

“Okay.” Jimin gripped his kneecaps and closed his eyes to take a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he opened his eyes and focused on the candle wick. Jeongguk could light candles just by looking at them. Surely Yoongi could as well. Granted, Jeongguk often just pinched the wick and a flame appeared, but how was that even possible? Kinesis was a mutation that affected part of the brain. So Jimin tried to access said part, even though his mind was still fighting him on it.

“It’s not working,” he whispered after what had to be a minute of dead silence. “Not even a little bit of smoke. Nothing’s happening.”

“Because you’re doing it the most difficult way possible,” Yoongi pointed out without patronizing. “Watch.”

Jimin watched as Yoongi rubbed his thumb against his pointer finger rapidly, and then he pinched the wick of the candle and released it. There was a happy flame flickering now, instantaneous. Before Jimin could speak, Yoongi held up his hand.

“Friction,” he stated. “Friction creates heat. Your body temperature is already higher than normal as a pyrokinetic, Jimin-ssi. There are some things that you need to learn to use to your advantage. Our bodies are mutated, more advanced. We bend the laws of science just by existing. If you create enough friction to generate heat, your body will understand what you’re trying to do. It’s a pyrokinetic’s natural reaction, one that I think you have. Try it.”

[always rising] :: niki, rich brian, warren hue

Jimin didn’t want to be a skeptic, so he nodded and pressed his fingers together. He began to rub quickly, feeling the heat building up on the pads of his fingers, and when his wrist began to ache from the movement, he leaned in and pinched the wick of the candle, begging it to burn. With a wince and a small gasp, Jimin yanked his hand away, and then he stared.

“Nice.”

Yoongi’s single word of praise nearly went over Jimin’s head, because all he could do was gape at the lit candle in front of him. A flame. He had just created fire with friction from his own body. An amateur, an absolute rookie of a pyrokinetic, and he had just lit the candle by creating, not manipulating.

“Jimin.”

Jimin glanced up.

“You’re far more capable than you think you are,” Yoongi said. “You’re pyrokinetic. Your body is conditioned for this. Being an anomaly, in your case, hasn’t weakened one of your abilities. You’re a rare case. Time to own it. Let’s try something else.”

Jimin felt a shiver ripple down his spine that was a mixture of pride and shock with a touch of horror. His conditioning was still so strong; Jeongguk had seen it all along, and Jimin was just now coming to terms with it. He had to keep that part of his brain quiet, the part that was screaming at him to stop breaking the rules.

“Take control of the flame.” Yoongi swept one hand, and the flame from the candle pulled and turned into a nice, neat ball of fire between the two of them. It was hovering motionlessly, and Yoongi was looking past it at Jimin. “I have full control of it right now. Take it from me. Take control of it and keep it right where it is. I won’t let go until I feel like you have control. Take it.”

Jimin knew how to take control against other telekinetics. He had failed time and time again with Jeongguk, but that was a given; Jeongguk was far too powerful, and he wasn’t trying to overcome two decades of brainwashing and government grooming. But Yoongi was one of, if not the most, powerful pyrokinetic in Seoul, maybe in the world. 

But Jimin had to try.

“I’m ready,” he whispered with a nod. Then he fixed his eyes right on the flame. The average human would have been forced to look away, their eyes sensitive to the brightness of the flame. But Jimin only had to blink in slow motion before refocusing. He could physically feel the control Yoongi had over it. It made his skin crawl, feeling another kinetic’s power while trying to assert his own. Taking control of an object through mental commands was difficult, but not impossible. It was a mixture of envisioning and accessing the mutated part of the mind.

“I’m not—” Jimin slumped, eyes closed as he caught his breath. “I’m not an expert at this like you are. I just need time.”

“I’m not pressuring you,” Yoongi stated, and Jimin opened his eyes and stared at his lap, realizing Yoongi was right. No pressure. No time limit. No expectations. Just a request to take control of the flame. “No matter what happens, Jimin, I don’t want you to lose focus. Taking control of this flame is the only thing on your mind. Life or death. At all costs. Take it.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

“Don’t,” Jimin snapped when he felt Yoongi’s fingertips nudge his shoulder. 

“Take it from me. Come on.”

“Stop it,” Jimin said loudly, but Yoongi continued to shove Jimin’s shoulder with more force, attempting to break his concentration. Jimin knew damn well that it was just a tactic to keep him from gaining control, that there was some kind of reverse psychology to it. This wasn’t his first training rodeo. But the fact that Yoongi was fucking with him when there was a ball of fire hovering between them and Jimin was already emotionally vulnerable was too much.

“Fuck off, stop it,” Jimin barked, his eyes still fixed on the flame as he lifted his arm to smack Yoongi’s hand away. But then he heard Yoongi let out a low laugh of amusement before shoving Jimin again, so hard that Jimin nearly toppled over.

“Fuck off, you fucking bastard, stop—”

“Don’t lose it. Keep it. Hold it there. Don’t let go of it,” Yoongi interrupted, because Jimin had suddenly snatched control of the ball of fire from Yoongi while straightening up, and the tangled flame was dipping and rising repeatedly. “Hold it. Hold it. Now split it. Two candles, two flames. Split the ball of fire.”

Jaw clenched, Jimin lifted both pointer fingers and slashed in a downward motion towards each candle, his eyes still fixed on Yoongi in a strange mix of hatred and admiration. The tiny ball of fire split down the middle, and each wick ignited.

“Anger.” Yoongi clapped his hands and hopped to his feet as Jimin dropped his face in his hands. “You see that shit? I pissed you off for ten seconds and you took control from me. And that’s what we need to work on. I gave you the assist. I got you mad on purpose to show you what you could do. But if you let that shit get away from you, if you let the anger take the wheel, you’re fucked. Get up. Let’s go.”

Jimin scrambled to his feet and glanced over his shoulder at Jeongguk, who was just sitting on the couch reading a book as if chaos was not unfolding in his kitchen. Sensing eyes on him, Jeongguk looked up as the page of his book turned on its own accord, and then he had the audacity to wink at Jimin before returning to reading.

“Basic sparring for pyrokinetics.” Yoongi pushed his sleeves up, and then he drew the fire from the candles and began to let it flutter between his two hands. He flipped his right hand palm-up and coaxed the fire over his palm with his left hand. “I’ll pass it to you. You pass it back. Don’t light yourself on fire. Jeongguk won’t be amused if he has to extinguish you.”

‘I’d be mildly amused,” Jeongguk called out from the couch.

Then they began. Jimin had only ever sparred with other telekinetics in a controlled environment, so sparring with a man who had tried to kill him before was an experience he had never expected to have. Yoongi started slow, calling out corrections—“fix your stance, look at your feet” and “turn your shoulder more towards me” and “don’t let the flame bleed at the edges like that, reel it in” and “engage your core, you need to center yourself” and “are you breathing? Exhale into it.” Not once did he make an attempt to sabotage Jimin, and though Jimin was painfully and obviously new to using his pyrokinesis, Yoongi was patient. Yoongi, the man who lit the world on fire for fun, was patient with Jimin, a man he saw as his enemy.

“Good. That’s enough for tonight. It’s been an hour.”

“Jesus.” Jimin spun and collapsed into the wall, his back to it, head hanging, hands on his hips. He was sweating from both exertion and close proximity to fire and heat, but he would be lying if he said that it didn’t feel good. It felt invigorating. He had just spent an hour manipulating fire, and his body and mind were both revolting, but Jimin had not felt this capable in years. He had worked under restrictions for so long that being free to do what felt natural was utterly exhilarating.

“Not bad for a first session,” Yoongi commended, shaking his arms as his sleeves fell back to his wrists. “You have a long way to go. And you’re a whiny pain in the ass. But I can work with it.”

“Oh, so you start the insults now?” Jimin fired back. “Just when I was starting to form a more positive opinion on you, huh? Now you turn back into the mass murderer who thinks it’s a good idea to burn down apartment buildings?”

“He deserved it,” Yoongi said flippantly as he reached over and grabbed a coat that was hanging on the back of a kitchen chair. As he shrugged into it, he added, “It’s funny what you can do when you stop following society’s laws and rules. What do I care if other people get hurt in the process? I’m not a bleeding heart. And by your standards—not a good person. Let’s not mince words.”

“Jeongguk tortures and kills people and I still have sex with him,” Jimin flatly said, and from the couch, Jeongguk snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, and how’s that going for you?” Yoongi’s question was rhetorical as he headed for the front door. There was a silent pause, and then he gripped the doorknob and twisted his lips, staring at Jimin. “Okay. Well, that was the one chance you gave me. Did I pass?”

“I can tolerate you,” Jimin responded. He swore Yoongi almost smiled.

“That makes one of us,” he sarcastically replied. “Tell Jeongguk when you want to train again. You need to do it frequently, not sporadically. Just let me know. And don’t do anything stupid at home. Small training exercises for control. The ones I showed you. That’s it. Don’t be too ambitious.”

“Noted.”

Yoongi leaned back and saluted Jeongguk, and then he yanked open the door and disappeared into the hallway, pulled the hood of his jacket up. The moment the door closed, Jimin turned and pounced on Jeongguk. He shoved both hands into Jeongguk’s shoulders and kept him on the couch, and then he straddled Jeongguk’s lap and made himself comfortable.

“I was going to do this when I first got here.” Jimin buried his hands in Jeongguk’s hair and kissed him, and Jeongguk responded eagerly, licking into Jimin’s mouth and gripping his hips with all ten fingers. It was Jeongguk who deepened the kiss first, and Jimin sighed in exhausted pleasure, rocking his hips forward and running his fingers through Jeongguk’s long hair before gently resting both hands at the nape of his neck.

“Did I get you the right trainer?” Jeongguk whispered, fingers dancing along Jimin’s waistband as Jimin shivered, his lips focused on a small mole on Jeongguk’s neck.

“I’ll allow it,” he breathed.

“You really boiled it down to me torturing and killing people and then fucking you,” Jeongguk murmured, his hands slipping down to massage Jimin’s thighs in a suggestive but intimate way. 

“You fuck me really well.”

“We’ve had sex twice.”

“I could go for a third time,” Jimin whispered, and Jeongguk’s laugh suggested both disbelief and amusement.

“You’re insatiable. But you did pretty well with the training,” Jeongguk said as he reached around and gripped Jimin’s ass with purpose, leaning his forehead against Jimin’s chest. “You have to do what he says. Promise me.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious. Your body temperature is rising. If you don’t control yourself, you’re fucked. I can only do so much to help you. I can keep the government off your back, but I can’t save you if things go wrong. Don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t. I’ll practice every day. I’ll be careful,” Jimin whispered, speaking his promises onto Jeongguk’s lips.

“Good. Now we can have sex,” Jeongguk declared, “because I’ve been thinking about fucking you for days.” He then punctuated every sentence with a kiss, sending Jimin deeper and deeper. “Thinking about how you say my name when it feels good. Thinking about how you feel around me. Thinking about your mouth on me. Thinking about how you’d cry if I ate you out.”

“Fuck off,” Jimin breathlessly said, eyes closed, goosebumps on his skin in anticipation. “You talk too much. Prove it.”

He should have been able to prove it. Jimin was half hard and hopelessly horny, desperate to feel sated after pushing himself to the physical limit with his pyrokinesis training. But then Jimin’s wristwatch made a telltale noise.

“What the hell is that?” Jeongguk asked, pulling away with his brow furrowed. Panicked, Jimin jumped off Jeongguk’s lap and stared at his watch.

“It doesn’t track me, don’t panic,” he said right away. “It’s the message system that the government uses to contact me. Messages only come through to me at home or at the DKR. Lia must’ve pushed the message to me through the alert system on my watch because she knows I’m not at home.”

“Pays to have a confidant,” Jeongguk muttered. Jimin tapped the small screen and swiped, and then his blood ran cold.

“Oh my God.”

“What is it?” Jeongguk rose to his feet, and then he lunged and grabbed Jimin as Jimin’s knees weakened and nearly gave out on him. Jimin read the message until his vision blurred, and then he looked up and locked eyes with Jeongguk.

“I have to report to the DKR.” His heart slammed against his ribcage. “Jo Chansung wants to meet with me in person.”

Chapter Text

PART VIII :: OXYTOCIN

:: :: ::

Jeongguk’s residence
Toegye-ro 50na-gil, Myeong-dong, Jung-gu 
SEOUL, South Korea
00:35 AM

Jeongguk had a death grip on Jimin’s elbows.

“He wants to what?”

“Meet with me. In person. Face-to-face. I have to go to the DKR so that a car can pick me up and take me to him.” Jimin knew he sounded dazed as he spoke, like his voice was floating above his body somewhere. He took immediate note of the way Jeongguk’s eyes searched his eyes in a frantic manner, the way he swore he could hear the wheels turning in Jeongguk’s head.

“Why does he want to meet with you?” Jeongguk whispered.

“I don’t know.” Jimin licked his lips nervously. It felt as though his watch was burning a hole through his wrist, like the message was mocking him. “Jeongguk, you have to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Get into my head,” Jimin breathed, still pressing his chest to Jeongguk’s and seeking comfort in some form. If he could feel Jeongguk’s heartbeat, that would keep him calm—or so he hoped. “You have to invade my mind. You have to. If I’m meeting with him face-to-face, then you can go through me to get to him.”

“He’s not an idiot,” Jeongguk softly snapped. “He knows you’ve been in confrontations with me. And if he’s caught on by now, then he may know that I can use other people as proxies to get to him. He won’t take that risk.”

“He’s taking the goddamn risk by meeting with me,” Jimin insisted, his words nearly slurred, but Jeongguk shook his head.

“No. It’s too easy. Either he doesn’t believe it or he has something to block me out, which is why he’s making you go to him,” Jeongguk emphasized. “A car is picking you up to take you to some undisclosed location because he knows that I’m after him. He might not know how, but he’s not stupid.”

“You have to at least try.”

“No,” Jeongguk snapped. “Absolutely not. First of all, fuck you for thinking I’d just break my promise to you over one chance to access Jo Chansung’s mind. Second of all, I’m not going to give him a reason to act irrationally and do something to you. If he thinks you’re compromised, or that you’re a proxy for me, he’ll kill you. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s the one who killed that one agent whose head I invaded to get my list. I doubt he’d hesitate to do the same to you.”

“Well, I would hope he’d hesitate,” Jimin said, feeling offended. “I’m his fucking poster child.”

“And you don’t think he’d kill you in a heartbeat if he thought you were messing with whatever plan he’s got going on?” Jeongguk challenged, raising one eyebrow as he gripped Jimin’s chin in one hand. “Wake up, hyung. I told you that you’re easily expendable. When will you believe me?”

“It’s not that, I just—I do, it’s just…” Jimin tapered off and blew out a breath, because Jeongguk was right—he didn’t believe it. Or rather, he didn’t want to believe it. But that was both the blessing and the curse of being forcibly unconditioned. He had to face many demons now, and that included the idea that he could be quickly and easily betrayed by the government for which he worked, including Jo Chansung.

“You need to go to that meeting and play dumb,” Jeongguk insisted. “Not too dumb. Be firm. Stand your ground no matter what he asks. Don’t show any fear. And don’t let him break you down. You’ve spoken with him before. You guys are buddy-buddy. Show him that nothing has changed. He can still trust you.”

“I’ll remember everything,” Jimin breathed as Jeongguk moved to cup his face with one hand. “I’ll remember every single part of the conversation, and I’ll tell you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Jeongguk.” Jimin stared Jeongguk down, because he could see that Jeongguk was trying to hide his frustration and failing. “If you would just—”

“I’m not fucking mind controlling you,” Jeongguk interrupted snappishly, but he saw the way Jimin flinched, so he deflated with a sigh, pressing his lips to Jimin’s forehead. “I’m pissed. I won’t lie to you. I’m fucking pissed that you’re the one meeting with him. You, of all people. But that’s just life. I’ll have to find a different way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… do me a favor and remember the conversation,” Jeongguk pleaded. 

“You could take all of it from my mind and have access to him,” Jimin whispered sadly, but Jeongguk shook his head.

“No. It’s fine. I get it. Nothing worth it is ever easy. I should’ve known that. It has to be karma,” Jeongguk said with a chuckle. “I’m not surprised that it’s you. You’ve become a bit of a blindspot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jeongguk said, shaking his head. “I’ll keep my head down and keep working. You need to go. They’ll wonder what’s taking you so long.”

“Right. Okay. I’m—Jeongguk, I’m sorry,” Jimin apologized earnestly, but Jeongguk was already embracing him with another kiss on the forehead.

“Just go. I’ll rut out my frustrations on a damn pillow instead of with you,” he murmured, and Jimin managed a weak laugh. 

“Rain check,” he whispered.

“Yeah, rain check. I have a few jokes I could tell you.”

“I don’t want to hear a single one of them.”

Then Jimin ducked out of the window that Jeongguk opened and leapt down the fire escape, his heart pounding in his ears, wishing he could turn around and change his mind, spend the night with Jeongguk. Instead, he had to rush home and take a shower to scrub any trace of Jeongguk (or even Yoongi) off his body.

Jimin made it home in record time, and his shower was even faster. After a quick judgment call, he changed into a casual black suit, and then he hopped into his car and drove to the NIS, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel repeatedly, making sure that his location could be tracked so that there was absolutely no question that he was on his way. His mind was moving faster than he could drive, distracting him until the person behind him beeped. Jimin flinched and scowled, and then he took off faster than he should have.

This could go two different ways and two different ways only.

This issue was black and white. Either Jimin was going to make it out alive with a few good lies that he had to uphold based on whatever the meeting was about, or Jimin was going to be brought out of the meeting place in a body bag. It was difficult to imagine another alternative. Then again, Jimin wasn’t sure he even knew what this meeting was about, especially if he was going to be the only one attending.

There were a lot of new rules. The DNA testing was set in stone, but it had yet to happen. Surely word had gotten back to Jo Chansung that the two scientists who were killed were killed in Jimin’s presence. 

Maybe that’s what this is about. He wants to know if I know his secrets.

That was what Jeongguk had meant by playing dumb. Now Jimin understood. He had to pretend that he wasn’t aware of the link, that he hadn’t heard what he had absolutely heard. He had to fabricate the story to match the report he had written, because there were only two people alive who knew what had happened and what had been said that night, and Jeongguk wasn’t going to talk.

But Jimin had to.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
01:07 AM

“Phoenix has landed.”

“Thanks,” Jimin murmured as he handed over his keys to the first agent, and the second agent standing by bowed to him and then gestured. Jimin wasn’t even going to have a free moment to step inside the building or compose himself in his office. There was a black car with tinted windows waiting for him, two men standing by the passenger side door. When Jimin approached, one man opened the car door, and the other just barely bowed his head.

“For everyone’s safety and Director Jo’s protection,” he said stiffly, and then he offered up a black blindfold. Jimin stomach flipped as he gritted his teeth in silence, because if he threw a fit or complained or even hinted that he was annoyed with the prospect of being blindfolded for Jo Chansung’s safety, they would be onto him. The meeting would sour quickly. So Jimin just nodded as if he was in complete agreement, and then he hopped into the passenger side seat of the car. Before he put the blindfold on, one of the agents rushed over with a lockbox in her hands, the lid open. Jimin wanted to protest, and he fleetingly lamented that Jeongguk wasn’t in his head. But he handed over his watch and his phone.

“Thank you.” The agent bowed and closed the lid, and then one of the men watched as Jimin slipped the blindfold on until his vision was completely obscured.

Memorize the turns. Measure the distance in your head. 

But it took only three minutes and five too many turns for Jimin to become disoriented, and he cursed himself for not being more focused. Perhaps he was too deep into his fight-or-flight response, but he couldn’t even tell if they were traveling north or south, or if maybe they had begun to head west. 

By best estimation, the car ride was about thirty minutes, and Jimin realized how naked he felt without any form of communication to sustain him or keep him connected to help. Technically, he was supposed to trust Jo Chansung and feel safe in his presence, but Jeongguk was slowly beginning to corrupt Jimin’s mind, if it could even be called corruption. Was it poison if it was the ugly truth? Was it tainted information if all Jeongguk was doing was opening Jimin’s eyes?

“Step out of the car, please.”

Jimin shifted his legs and slid out of the car, and a hand grabbed his elbow as politely as possible before guiding him towards what had to be a building—Jimin could sense it. He could sense a human presence in the building as well, and that was the advanced telekinetic in him. It was a skill many telekinetics did not possess, but Jimin had perfected it long ago.

“Ah. Thank you,” Jimin said with a small bow in no certain direction when someone removed the blindfold for him, and he allowed his eyes to adjust. It was an office building of some sort, and they were standing directly in front of an elevator. Feeling like the ignorant protagonist in a movie, Jimin took note and gestured without a word to the elevator, curious.

“Sixth floor,” the man who had removed his blindfold instructed. Jimin bowed again, and then he entered the elevator, pressed “6,” and folded his hands together in front of his body, certain that there were security cameras all over him. He couldn’t show any sign of apprehension or fear. He had to walk into whatever room was waiting for him as if he was just here to chat with a man he swore he knew well. 

The elevator doors slid open, and Jimin stepped into a spacious room that took up the entire floor. The lights were dim by the elevator, brighter near the windows. Jimin could hear a strange, low humming noise, almost a buzzing sound, so he glanced up to the corner of the room.

Kinesis dampener.

Jimin couldn’t even fake telekinesis now. Kinesis dampeners were kryptonite; the device emitted a frequency that jumbled and confused the mutated part of a kinetic’s mind that controlled their abilities. Whatever signals the brain sent to the rest of the body in order to perform any kind of kinesis were scrambled thanks to the dampeners. So Jimin walked into the room as just a man and nothing more, which was both momentarily relieving and horrifying. He was vulnerable.

“Come in, come in. Please excuse the theatrics. I can imagine that you understand my reasoning.”

“Without a doubt,” Jimin casually replied, walking towards the windows. The opposite side of the room was furnished with couches and a rug, a plant in the corner, a desk space, even some decanters and bottles of alcohol with a few tumblers. There were two men, one on either side of the long window, both wearing earpieces with a blinking light. And there was Jo Chansung, drink in one hand and the other hand in his pocket, earpiece in, eyeing Jimin with a small smile. Dark hair swept back like it wasn’t one in the morning, dressed in a suit that looked like it had just been pressed, reading glasses visibly tucked into his breast pocket. There was no questioning his authority just on looks alone. Jimin approached and bowed ninety degrees.

“Strange time of the night to call a one-on-one meeting,” he said as an attempted joke, and it worked; Chansung’s smile widened for just a moment.

“As I said, I’m sure you can understand,” he repeated in his usual jovial tone, and Jimin nodded.

“I can imagine that if you went into the public eye for a coffee, you’d have a target painted on your back these days,” he commiserated, and Chansung hummed.

“Can I interest you in a drink?” he offered, beckoning to his collection. Jimin considered, but then he shook his head.

“Kind of you to offer, but to be completely honest with you, I’m interested in cutting to the chase. I’m trying to figure out why you summoned me here at one in the morning. I thought I could brainstorm ways to help solve whatever problem you might present during the drive here, but…” Jimin trailed off with a shrug, trying to build his lie.

“You weren’t briefed beforehand on any potential problem. In the interest of time, then, I’ll get to it.” Chansung sipped his drink and then palmed it, cupping over the top and letting it hang low by his leg. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened that night. That night with two of our lead scientists. I’d like you to tell me what you saw and what you heard.”

I knew it.

Heart pounding, Jimin briefly cocked his head, playing curious. “I apologize, Director, but did you not get my report on that assignment?”

“I did. I received the report and read it thoroughly. Multiple times,” Chansung added, and that set off an alarm bell in Jimin’s head. Stand your ground no matter what he asks. “But reports, Jimin-ssi, can be fabricated easily or watered down to be government friendly. I’m not interested in that version of events. I want to hear it directly from the man who was there, the one man that I can access who was there.”

“I understand.” Jimin nodded, continuing to keep his cool. Should have taken that drink. “Would you like me to summarize, or did you have questions you wanted to ask?”

“You arrived at the apartment building,” Chansung began, his gaze never faltering. Sharp, sure, unwavering. “You went up to the top floor as advised. What did you see first?”

“Song Seokhoon and Lee Taesuk were both tied to chairs by the window. They were each blindfolded and gagged,” Jimin said, keeping his tone of voice even and making sure to control his breath so that he didn’t come across as erratic or uncertain. “First instinct was to get to work on untying them, or getting their blindfolds or gags removed. I didn’t even get a chance to do that.”

“And why is that?”

“He was watching me,” Jimin said, remembering exactly what he had written in his report and trying to insert the appropriate human emotion into his verbal storytelling, all fabricated. “He had to have been to get to me that quickly. Phantom. He forced me to walk away from the scene and positioned me in a spot to watch. It was… intense.” Jimin swallowed heavily. “He usually likes to talk before he raises hell. Not this time.”

“Which I found rather curious. Forgive me,” Chansung said with a chuckle. “But your previous reports had details about brief conversations you had with Phantom. Granted, they weren’t very personal or very telling, but they were something. And in this report, I was disappointed, if I’m being honest.”

“You and me both,” Jimin said with a matching chuckle. Stay in the lie, stay in the lie, stay in the lie. “The one time I wanted to have a conversation and figure out what the hell he was doing is the one time he made me a spectator. So I had to watch him do terrible things. And to be honest, I think I would prefer to spare you the details.”

“And that’s fine.” Chansung lifted a hand and waved it once. He paused and sipped his drink, and then he used a few fingers to adjust his tie, lifting his chin to allow for more movement. There was a couch’s length between them, but Jimin hadn’t been invited to sit down, so he remained standing, trying not to let his knees buckle. “I’d like you to tell me everything that you heard that night, Jimin-ssi. Every conversation, everything that Phantom said, everything that Lee Taesuk and Song Seokhoon said before their untimely deaths.”

“I have a lot of regrets about that night.” Jimin slipped his hands into his pockets but kept his posture polite. “And my first regret is that I lost control the moment I got there. Phantom told me that I would be a witness to what he was capable of doing. All I can assume is that he communicated with the two men telepathically. He did a lot of touching. He touched their heads. There was a lot of screaming. But he seemed to get exactly what he wanted from their minds, whatever it was. Because they didn’t talk willingly.”

“Right. You detailed that in the report,” Chansung slowly said, reaching to set his drink down on the side table. He then took a few more steps to be closer to Jimin, and Jimin stood his ground, making sure not to budge. “How two of TRACK’s greatest scientists refused to talk willingly and were forced to submit to Phantom’s torture. How you watched.”

“Yes.”

“Describe the feeling. The feeling of being under mind control,” Chansung clarified. Suddenly, Jimin felt like he was back at TRACK taking his exit examination, being asked a series of difficult questions while hooked up to a heart rate monitor. He had been tested brutally, more than any other trainee, and because of that, he was stable. 

And he was a fantastic liar.

“It’s difficult to explain,” Jimin began. He then used Seokjin’s and Hoseok’s experiences as his own, as well as what Jeongguk had always told him. “Mind control doesn’t blind you. It’s the torture of seeing everything that’s going on and knowing what you want to do, but there’s a command in your head telling you to stay right where you are. To do what you’re told to do. And you can’t break it. I knew what I had to do, but instead, I walked away. Do you know what that feels like?”

“I do not,” Chansung admitted. “Thankfully. He didn’t request that you inflict pain on yourself, though. Correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“I do find it rather peculiar, though…” Chansung rubbed a spot below his bottom lip with a pointer finger, brow furrowed for a moment. “That this particular mission was the one time that Phantom chose to control you without giving you any leeway. Without a conversation first. Seems a little out of character for a man who I thought had taken a keen interest in you.”

“Trust me, Director. If I could have spoken, I would have been asking the same kinds of questions,” Jimin said with a hint of a sigh. “That was the most intense it’s ever been. The mind control. Something must have irritated him. Angered him. And he decided to take it out on me that night. I haven’t gotten the chance to challenge it or ask questions since.”

“Mm.” Chansung paused again, eyes flicking downward, a wry smile on his lips. “Well, then I think it would be wise, Jimin-ssi, if we sent the team instead of just you from now on. Next time that Phantom is on our radar, I’ll be sure to send Prism and Flare out with you on assignment. Accountability. Two more witnesses to any conversations that may occur.”

“I completely agree.”

Jimin didn’t agree. The tone of voice, the body language, the circumstances… something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Jimin’s fight-or-flight was ready to take over now, but he had to remain unperturbed. Jo Chansung was still a trusted superior. Jimin had to be convincing.

“I worry that you may be compromised beyond what I had imagined or come to terms with as an occupational hazard,” Chansung admitted, and Jimin bowed slightly in fake concurrence.

“I understand. It’s a rather unfortunate setback that I hadn’t predicted. Not to be informal, but I really thought I had him. I thought I was in. I guess he had other plans.”

“It would seem so. I just think it would be even more unfortunate if the information in the reports wasn’t up to standard, or if you were missing any crucial details that two more sets of eyes and ears could capture,” Chansung said as he turned to top off his drink. More alarm bells began to shriek in Jimin’s head, because those were fighting words. Jimin wasn’t one to break protocol or show disrespect, but he also wasn’t one to allow anyone to make insinuations that put him out of control.

“Forgive me, Director, but are you insinuating that I’m purposely leaving out crucial details from my reports?” Jimin raised one eyebrow, because there was no doubt that he was leaving out crucial details. But Jo Chansung couldn’t know that.

Jimin watched as Chansung wiggled the stopper back into the container of whatever alcohol he was drinking (whiskey, maybe scotch), and he added a few drops of water before he picked it up again and took a sip. The tiny little light on his earpiece continued to blink, and Jimin’s eyes flicked up fleetingly to the kinesis dampener in the corner right near Chansung’s head. 

Were they for Jimin, or were they to stop an intruder?

“Perhaps I’m not Director Nam, and I’m certainly not director of the NIS,” Chansung conceded. “But my role as director of TRACK is a government role, and it is of the utmost importance. Not only do I look after TRACK and the children—I look after all kinetics past and present, and that includes the team with the DKR.”

“You’re invaluable,” Jimin stated in an attempt to stabilize things.

“You take point on most assignments, Jimin, because the DKR and TRACK—and the South Korean government, for that matter—have placed their utmost trust in you,” Chansung continued, and his words felt like an immediate attempt to guilt Jimin into spilling all his hidden truths. But Jimin wasn’t going to crack. “We even assigned you a partner to be your eyes and ears in the field. Choi Jisu is an invaluable asset to you on every assignment, would you agree?”

“I would agree,” Jimin replied. “She’s excellent at what she does.”

“Then why, Jimin, when I asked her to provide her version of the events that unfolded that night, did she tell me that she had no information to share?” Chansung asked, and Jimin’s heart plummeted. “Why is it that she told me that for the last few assignments you’ve been given with Phantom, she’s been asked to go dark?”

“I ask her to go dark for a very specific reason, and that reason is not to withhold information or shut out witnesses,” Jimin almost barked, even though he was lying. If Lia had any knowledge of the conversations and mayhem he got into with Jeongguk, he wasn’t sure what her reaction would be or where her loyalties would lie, though he wanted to think that Lia would be loyal to him first. “We’re dealing with a man who is an expert in mind control, who has access to nearly anyone he pleases.”

“I fail to see the reasoning,” Chansung replied with very little emotion. He was eyeing Jimin with something that felt like disappointment mixed with distaste, and Jimin had never experienced anything like it before.

“Phantom is well-practiced in remote mind control,” Jimin explained. “It’s not just the people physically present who he can control. If Lia is in my ear, Phantom will know. Lia is up to her eyeballs when it comes to what she knows about the DKR and TRACK and all of our movements. It’s her job. Imagine what Phantom could do if he accessed her mind. Imagine the damage he could do. I’m trying to protect her.”

“What you fail to understand, Jimin, is that she has a job to do,” Chansung said calmly. “She was hired for this role. She is paid for this role. She took this role with a clear understanding of the risks involved. You are not authorized to make such a decision to cut her off. In fact, you making that decision is a concern.”

“Lia is not just my eyes and ears. She’s my friend.” Jimin kept his voice low to keep from exploding. “I know what it’s like to be under mind control. I won’t let that happen to her if I can help it. And forgive me again, Director, but the last DKR agent who fell victim to Phantom’s mind control for even a second hasn’t made a peep since she was fired. Is she even still alive?”

Jimin stared Chansung down without blinking, because although he knew the answer, he wanted to read the body language, and the result was startling. Chansung’s rather pleasant and natural resting face hardened in an instant. The corners of his mouth twitched. He lifted one hand to touch the earpiece with one finger before slipping that hand into his pocket.

“TRACK spent thirteen years training you for a very specific purpose, Jimin. To serve and protect our country and use your abilities for good and for good only. You are a valued member of society and the government. But these recent run-ins with Phantom have me questioning whether or not you have been completely compromised. I’m sure you wouldn’t refuse a DNA test before you depart here tonight,” Chansung said as he set his glass down on the desk, still cupping it with one hand.

“Gladly,” Jimin agreed, because he had absolutely scrubbed himself down and rinsed out his mouth and done everything he could to clean off.

“Nor would you refuse a psychological evaluation tomorrow at the office.”

“Whatever you need.”

“And from this point on…” Chansung moved to be in front of his desk. “You are not authorized to request that Choi Jisu ‘go dark’ during any of your assignments. She is to be right there in your ear listening in on the entirety of the conversation. That is an order. She will be questioned and asked to submit reports moving forward, and I expect her reports to match yours. Do we understand one another?”

“Yes, Director.” Jimin bowed deeply. “I’ll continue to work hard. You can trust me to get the job done.”

“Can I?” Chansung raised both eyebrows with a small smile, and then he gestured to one of the men standing by. The man marched over behind the desk and removed a rapid DNA testing panel that the DKR used often. He then approached Jimin with a swab.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, so Jimin did, keeping his eyes fixed on Chansung. The swab was tested immediately, but the man returned. “Give me your dominant hand.”

Jimin clenched his jaw quietly and offered up his right hand, and the man scraped gently under his fingernails. He then tested that sample as well, and when he cleared his throat and stepped away, Chansung glanced down at the desk. Jimin’s heart was in his stomach, but then Chansung looked up and nodded once.

“Negative for foreign DNA. You are dismissed. And you would do well to remember everything we’ve discussed,” he advised.

“Yes, Director.” Jimin bowed again, and as he straightened up, he fixed the bottom hem of his suit jacket.  “Please take care. He seems to be bolder these days. Protect yourself.”

Chansung said nothing. He only nodded once more, and then he swept up his drink and turned back to the window, his energy troubled. Jimin, however, was weak in the knees and lucky to be leaving the office building alive. He made sure not to show too much enthusiasm as he departed and stepped into the elevator, and he knew that he couldn’t relax until he was home. 

He’s onto me. I’ve been reckless. Have I been? No, it’s just paranoia. But he’s still onto me. I can only use the mind control excuse for so long. What do I do about Lia? Do I tell her everything? Do I keep her in the dark? Do I ask Jeongguk to work his magic and keep her ignorant?

The blindfold went on. Jimin stayed seated in one position in the car for the entire ride. When he returned to the NIS, the temptation to dive for his phone and immediately alert Jeongguk was strong, but he had to bite his tongue. Instead, he drove back to his apartment with trembling hands in total silence, resolving himself to contact absolutely nobody.

It was going to be a long and painful night of being trapped in his own mind.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
08:49 AM

“Good timing.”

“Good morning to you, too—oh, what’s this?”

“A random act of kindness,” Hoseok said as he handed Jimin a cup of coffee, and Jimin grinned tiredly, accepting it with one hand and taking a sip right away. Behind them in the garage, agents were parking their individual cars, and they each had an escort to the elevator.

“It’s not a bribe?”

“Has Seokjin been acting weird to you?” Hoseok hissed, and Jimin raised one eyebrow as he pivoted to face the closing elevator doors, the agent reaching out to press the button for the eighth floor. The coffee was a conversation starter.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘weird,’” Jimin murmured.

“Weirder than usual. Ever since—you know. That special little moment,” Hoseok said with ambiguity, considering the company. Jimin knew exactly what he meant. “You’ve been off, too, but Seokjin has been especially weird. Like the other day, I was in his office—”

Hoseok was cut off when the elevator doors opened, but he stayed hot on Jimin’s heels as they peeled off from the agents to walk around the bullpen together.

“And we were comparing notes about a case, right?” Hoseok continued right away, leaning in as he spoke in earnest. “And his phone vibrated on his desk, which is totally normal. But you should’ve seen the way he reacted.”

“Did he throw his phone?”

“No. He fried it,” Hoseok replied, and Jimin came to a halt and gave Hoseok a surreptitious look with raised eyebrows, knowing that the DKR was bustling first thing in the morning and conversations could be overhead, facial expressions easily read. “Out of nowhere! Just attacked it. That thing was charred. And he was just like, ‘so, where were we?’”

“That’s… extreme,” Jimin conceded, and Hoseok snorted.

“Over a text message,” he clarified. “It was a vibration from a text message, and he zapped his phone and acted like it was just another day at the office.”

Jimin shrugged, stopping short of his office. “Maybe it was bad news.”

“Please. We know everything about him. His bad news is our bad news. Unless he’s starting to keep secrets, which wouldn’t surprise me.” Hoseok sounded exasperated. “The two of you are getting on my last goddamn nerve. You’re lucky I love you both.”

“Okay, hang on,” Jimin said with a chuckle, releasing his hold on both his coffee and his bag. The coffee floated to his desk, and the bag plopped onto his desk chair. “Why am I getting on your last nerve?”

“Because you’re acting weird, too,” Hoseok repeated. “You seem to have some kind of death wish, always chasing after Phantom. I still think he’s taking full advantage of it and making you his puppet, but I digress.”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Hoseok chirped the very moment Seokjin poked his head out of his office and glanced at the two of them. Without a word, Hoseok held out the second coffee cup that he was carrying, so Jimin followed it with his eyes and sent it over to Seokjin’s outstretched hand.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Seokjin sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand as his other hand wrapped around the coffee. “Did you turn on the news? Director Jo is making a public announcement today in ten minutes.”

“What? Is that on the agenda?” Jimin asked, raising one eyebrow.

“It wasn’t until half past eight,” Seokjin replied, leaning one shoulder against the wall outside his office. “I’m hearing through the grapevine that it has something to do with the new term starting, and that they’re changing the medical requirement rules. Something like a vaccine.”

“Seriously?” Hoseok’s voice inflected upward. “More than the typical vaccines? Is this for health reasons? Is this in addition to the mind control training program? Yah, they’re really going all out. Is Phantom that much of a threat to those kids?”

“How did you figure that out?” Jimin kept his voice low, and Seokjin pursed his lips for a moment before he beckoned, so Hoseok and Jimin walked into his office, Jimin letting his coffee trail behind him before he grabbed it with one hand. Seokjin shut the door with a quiet click.

“I may have taken a quick glance at the private press release briefing government officials on what to expect,” he admitted, and Hoseok snickered as Jimin pressed his tongue into his cheek, listening. “I know I’m not supposed to use my hacking skills for evil, but it was too tempting. I saw a breaking news article about a press conference, so I did some digging. It was harmless.”

“What do you think the vaccine is really for?” Jimin asked, staring at one spot on Seokjin’s desk as he waited for an answer. He was still trying to come to terms with his conversation with Chansung, and this sudden announcement wasn’t helping his cause.

“What do you mean, really for?” Hoseok emphasized. “It’s what vaccines are always for, Jimin. It’ll protect the kids from severe illness or harm. I’m sure he’s having a press conference just to get parents and politicians to rally behind him.”

“That’s a naive way to think about it.”

“Seriously?” Hoseok repeated as Seokjin said, “Wait, what?” Jimin whipped his head up, caught, and then he rolled his eyes and glanced away with a hint of a shrug.

“Everything just seems a little too convenient,” he said, though he was internally screaming from withholding so much information. “Two of TRACK’s lead scientists are murdered by Phantom and suddenly there’s a vaccine announcement? We were trained to look for coincidences, and this is a big one to me.”

“We’re also trained to trust our employer,” Hoseok pointed out, but he didn’t sound like an ignorant loyalist; he was speaking as if testing his own words and gauging Jimin’s response. Jimin didn’t entertain it; he chose not to respond at all, despite the fact that he was brimming with information and he wanted to shout in anguish and beg Seokjin and Hoseok to prove that they could be trusted with all of the secrets Jimin had piling up.

“Well, are we watching this together?” Jimin asked, avoiding the subject entirely. He didn’t miss the way that Seokjin and Hoseok exchanged a glance, but Seokjin turned on the television in his office, and the three of them sat back with their coffee in silence, waiting.

At exactly nine o’clock, a banner with BREAKING NEWS appeared on the morning newscast program, and Jimin leaned forward, his heart leaping into his throat. It was a remote announcement. There was Jo Chansung in a suit with a charming smile on his face as he greeted the audience, and Jimin recognized the backdrop. He had been in that office space two days ago.

“Do you think this is dangerous?” Hoseok whispered. “Can Phantom access him like this?”

“It’s not live,” Jimin murmured, staring at the screen. “They always say when it’s a live broadcast. It isn’t. He’s too smart for that. He knows better.”

“Why are you talking about him like he’s the enemy and you’re trying to analyze him?” Hoseok questioned, but Jimin lifted a hand and waved it to shush his friend, hoping desperately that Hoseok didn’t return to such a question or fixate on it.

“Today is a wonderful day for TRACK,” Chansung said with a touch of cheer, his greetings finished. “Our trainees are currently enjoying their short break between terms. A brand new term begins in just two weeks, and I’m absolutely thrilled to welcome back all of our trainees to our updated facility. That’s right—updated. Our staff have worked tirelessly to ensure the safety of our students, and we hope that they, as well as all parents, will recognize and appreciate the safety measures that we have put in place. Such measures include additional screenings and alarm systems.”

“That’s thanks to Phantom,” Seokjin muttered from behind Jimin.

“After trialling our new training program at the end of last term with our students aged twelve and older, I am also pleased to announce that we will be continuing this program in the new term,” Chansung declared. “This training program is to protect all students from the negative effects of mind control. Though we believe that it is highly unlikely that any of our trainees will be faced with such a challenge, we believe in total preparedness. Control over chaos. This training program will continue.”

“Here it comes,” Seokjin murmured again, and Jimin watched as Chansung flipped to a new page from the notes on his desk. He wasn’t using them, but surely it was just for show.

“Most importantly, though, is a new change to our medical procedure for all trainees,” Chansung stated, and Jimin’s heart skipped. “I am proud to say that I have been working day in and day out with our fantastic team at TRACK Labs to develop a brand new vaccine for our trainees. This vaccine has been tested and is successful and has been approved. The vaccine is not only required—it is to maintain the health and safety of our kinetic children. This vaccine is specifically tailored to the kinetic population and need not be administered to anyone without kinesis. With this mandatory vaccine, our students will be able to maintain their physical health and strength, and I will be asking for the full support of both the public and of all parents with students at TRACK. This is a government-approved vaccine.”

“Emphasis on government-approved,” Hoseok noted, sounding perplexed.

“Upon returning to TRACK in two weeks, all of our trainees will be assigned a time slot at the medical wing, where they will receive their vaccine,” Chansung continued. “All vaccines will be administered on that first day. Any side effects will be reported to parents and guardians, though we anticipate side effects to be minimal and mild. Once again, I will ask for the utmost support behind both of these programs that will be implemented. The training program will protect your children, but the mandatory vaccine for kinetic children will be vital. If successful, we will be asking all medical personnel to add this vaccine to the list of mandatory vaccines for all children who are born with kinetic abilities. That is all for today. Thank you.”

[this won’t end quietly] :: we the committee

There was a moment of suspended silence, and then the newscasters reappeared, recapping the announcement and showing live footage and comments of viewers already rallying behind the new programs. 

Good thing it’s mandatory!

Those poor children have been through enough. They need help.

Anything that can help regulate and control their abilities and keep them healthy.

Director Jo is doing a fantastic job.

Director Jo was playing God. And nobody knew it.

“So?” Seokjin flicked off the television and dropped the remote onto his desk with a clatter. Jimin didn’t turn around, but Hoseok did.

“How did they test the vaccine?” he asked immediately.

“Remember how we thought that the test subjects were for the mind control training program?” Jimin spoke to the floor, but Hoseok and Seokjin fell silent. “After you two went to the research center and it was burned to the ground? And I said that Han Hwijong was getting emails for test subjects from TRACK Plus?”

“You’re fucking joking,” Hoseok breathed. “You think that’s what this was about?”

Seokjin narrowed his eyes, elbows on his desk as he laced his fingers together and rested his chin on his knuckles. “You’re talking like you think the test subjects weren’t willing participants.” 

“What if they weren’t?” Jimin challenged. “We know the bare minimum about TRACK Plus, hyung. That’s how they intend for it to be. We never had to go there because we passed the exam, but TRACK Plus has donors all over the country and you don’t hear much about the trainees that go there.”

“You think they were forced to participate as test subjects?” Hoseok questioned. “Because that’s, uh… I mean, besides being a goddamn human rights violation, that’s…”

“Manipulation and coercion for what they think is the greater good. Right,” Jimin offered, and then he abruptly stood up. “How many test subjects do you think died before they got it right? They were pretty ambiguous describing that vaccine. That’s all I’m saying. I have questions.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Seokjin said weakly.

“Well, I do,” Jimin snapped, and then he took a deep breath to control himself. Don’t get heated. The more you stress, the higher your temperature will get. You downed scalding coffee just now. Calm down. Calm. Down. “Look, all I’m saying… is that there’s some shady shit happening. And if I’m starting to catch on, then maybe… maybe you both should take a closer look, too. Something’s not right.”

“Jimin—”

Jimin left Seokjin’s office before he could regret what he had just said, and he rushed back to his office and closed the door, locking it for good measure. Then he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his recent calls, frustrated. He had no real way to contact Jeongguk other than showing up at Jeongguk’s doorstep, but perhaps if he made a half-assed attempt, Jeongguk would understand. Jimin was willing to take that risk, so he called back the IT’S ME number, receiving an immediate message that the caller could not be reached. Miffed, he held his phone in his fist and closed his eyes, his other hand covering one side of his face as he took a deep breath. But then his phone began to vibrate.

DON’T CALL ME, FOOL.

“Hello?” Jimin quietly said.

“Why are you trying to call me?” Jeongguk croaked, sounding like he had been rudely awoken. Jimin wasn’t sorry about it. “Are you stupid? You’re at the DKR right now, aren’t you?”

“Well, then I need a way to contact you,” Jimin insisted. “Because I have a lot to say and I can’t get to your apartment to tell you. And whatever magic you can do to keep what I’m saying off the security cameras in this damn building, do it.”

“I’m not your personal bodyguard.”

“Damn it, Jeongguk, do something,” Jimin snapped, and he heard Jeongguk scoff.

“Well, now that you said my fucking name,” he complained, and then there was a moment of silence. “Okay. Now talk, and talk freely, because I’m doing my best work for you. What’s going on?”

“Did you see the announcement?”

“Of course I did. Are you surprised?” Jeongguk asked, sounding disgusted.

“Could you access him?”

“No. It wasn’t a live broadcast. I tried, trust me. I couldn’t do shit.”

“Jeongguk, he asked me what happened that night. That night with those two scientists. He wanted to know exactly what I heard and saw. He thought it was peculiar that you decided to take control over me that night. Which is a fucking lie, but that’s what I wrote in my report. And he suggested that I lied in my report.”

“Shit.”

“And now, whenever we’re sent on a mission to track you down, my friends have to come with me. He wants more witnesses.”

“Great.”

“And the girl who’s always in my ear? Lia? Choi Jisu. He knows that I make her go dark to protect her from you. To keep her out of our conversations. And now he’s mandated reports from her about any assignments that involve you. I’m not authorized to tell her to go dark. She has to listen in on everything.”

“So now I’m going to have to fuck with her head.”

“You can’t,” Jimin said in a panic. “She’s—No. I can’t let you do that to her.”

“Too bad. You don’t get a choice. If she’s going to listen in, I’m going to hypnotize her and tell her exactly what to hear. If it messes her up, it messes her up. Oh well. It’s not up for discussion.”

“Or I could tell her what’s going on.”

“You’re not telling her a fucking thing,” Jeongguk snapped. “You have no idea if you can trust her to be more loyal to you than she is to her government job. She’s in the same position as you, Jimin-ssi. If she doesn’t have that job, she’s a risk and a problem. One wrong move and it’s over. You know that.”

The phone was floating on its own accord, pushed up against Jimin’s ear as he pressed his palms together and rested his pointer fingertips against the bridge of his nose. “You can’t fuck with her head, Jeongguk. You have to do like you did with Director Nam. She can’t know. Please. I’m begging you.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Jeongguk replied. “If my suggestions hold, then we won’t have a problem. If she’s resilient to the bare minimum, then I’m going to have to go deeper with it and give her a permanent suggestion.”

“She’s a good person, Jeongguk.”

“She’s a liability. This is the second person I’ve kept alive for you,” Jeongguk said, sounding annoyed. “That’s two people too many.”

“Lia has been helping me get to your apartment,” Jimin mentioned. “She disables my GPS and scrambles my signal. She gets me to your place safely.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do all of that for you from now on,” Jeongguk declared. “I’m sorry, but if you want to keep training with Yoongi and meeting up with me, then this is how it has to be. And if you happen to be sent out on an assignment and I’m there, then I’m going to take control of the entire situation. That means your two friends and Lia. No exceptions. I’m not letting this get out of hand.”

Jimin slowly laced his fingers together and pressed his lips to the knuckles of his thumbs, opening his eyes. He took several deep breaths in the silence, knowing Jeongguk was just there on the other line.

“You’re trying to figure out whether you need me or not,” Jeongguk deduced. “Whether you’re going to come over to my place and tell me everything that happened with Jo Chansung and keep training with Yoongi, or if you’re going to say ‘fuck it.’ Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’m coming over tonight,” Jimin whispered, but he knew Jeongguk could hear him. “And you’re going to tell Yoongi to be there to train me. And after that, I’ll tell you everything that happened in that conversation.”

“Okay.”

“And if I find out that you’re lying about a single goddamn thing,” Jimin threatened in a low voice. “If I find out that you’re making shit up, that you’re manipulating whatever information is out there, that you’re just playing me to get what you want, I’ll kill you. That’s not a bluff. I’ll kill you myself because I’m the one person who can.”

“You are. And I’d let you. See you tonight.”

Jeongguk hung up first. Jimin let his phone drop to the desk, and then he unfolded his hands and watched as they trembled and twitched.

He was compromised. That much was true. And it was Jeongguk’s fault.

Taehyung’s residence
Cheongdam-dong, Gangnam-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
21:38 PM

A series of bad decisions happened one right after the other.

Seokjin’s first mistake was submitting to the nagging temptation of Taehyung’s constant text messages, including messages with his address and an open invitation. He had destroyed his phone in an attempt to make the desires stop in some kind of abrupt fashion, but it hadn’t worked.

His second mistake was showing up unannounced and woefully unprepared. At no point had anyone warned him that Kim Taehyung without a shirt on would be so emotionally crippling, but Seokjin was only human. And his third and final mistake was feeding his dark and what he felt were twisted desires to learn more about Taehyung, figure him out, indulge.

Seokjin was a rule-follower. He was the oldest of the trio at the DKR, the first of his kind of hero, the shining example of what a good kinetic should be. It was not supposed to be easy for him to succumb to the advances of one (very beautiful) dangerous man, but there was a catch—Taehyung didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive. He was the kind of man who planned nothing and made choices based on a whim, and Seokjin seemed to be his choice.

And who was Seokjin to deny it?

He was, indeed, the “good boy” that Taehyung thought he was. He was excellent at his job and got eight hours of sleep each night as best as he could. He had a skincare routine. He liked to pretend that he wasn’t coursing with electricity at any given hour of the day, but the skin he took good care of was constantly buzzing. He also liked to pretend that he was so focused on his work that he didn’t have time to dabble in relationships or intimacy of any sort, but that was a screaming lie.

He was curious.

So Seokjin found himself standing in front of apartment 3012 in a nice neighborhood, fist raised to knock on the door. He hadn’t received a text from Taehyung in a week, but he was ready to make the biggest mistake of his life and regret every single moment. So he knocked.

“I told you not to bring it to me, hyung, come on—”

But then Taehyung threw open the door, and he froze. Seokjin stared. There was Kim Taehyung in all his glory, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants low on his hips, his black curls a wild mess and hanging in his eyes. He was in the middle of brushing his teeth, but the moment he saw Seokjin, he shifted the toothbrush to rest on the right side of his mouth, grinning mischievously, streaks of electricity flashing through his eyes in excitement, sparks flying from his fingertips as he reached up and gripped the top of the doorframe with both hands.

“Well, look who it is,” he said with the same grin. “I see you found the place okay.”

“Bad time?” Seokjin asked, trying to keep the bite in his voice to a minimum. Taehyung swung forward and backward a little to stretch out his shoulders, but then he pushed off the top of the doorframe and took a few steps backwards, resuming brushing his teeth. He gestured grandly, so Seokjin stepped inside and used his foot to close the door behind him. He crossed his arms defensively, but Taehyung held up one finger and disappeared into the bathroom. Seokjin heard the sink running, and then Taehyung re-emerged, still grinning like he had pulled off the most fantastic trick by luring Seokjin to his apartment.

“I thought you were someone else,” he admitted, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and giving his head a little shake to shift the hair out of his eyes. “But you’re much better than him.”

“And why is that?” Seokjin tried not to gape, but Taehyung was nothing but pure muscle, lean with a smaller waist and a visible tattoo on his hip that likely wrapped around his thigh. 

“Because I can lure you to my bedroom and ask you to fuck me, but he would just laugh at me,” Taehyung sighed, blowing out a breath as his lips vibrated. Then he shrugged. “Never mind. You got my address from my text messages.”

“You stopped texting me.”

“Well, you changed your number,” Taehyung complained, pouting. “Always making life difficult. I like the hair-pushed-back look, by the way. Exposed forehead. Looks good on you.”

Seokjin hummed, but then he ran both of his hands down his face before he began to crack his knuckles, staring at Taehyung. “I don’t really know why I’m here.”

“Yes you do.” Taehyung smirked. “I made you an offer. I told you to come over anytime and I’d let you fuck me. That I’d let you do whatever you want. That obviously stuck with you. If that’s not why you’re here, let me know.”

“What if I’m just here to talk?” Seokjin challenged, and Taehyung snickered, shifting his footing.

“Then you’d get to enjoy the look of surprise on my face first, followed by my undivided attention,” he replied. “I’d be disappointed, though. I’ve been admiring and fantasizing about the good boy in the electrokinesis program from afar for years, and all you want to do is talk?”

“Never meet your heroes. Isn’t that what you said?” Seokjin asked, cocking his head to the side. Taehyung smirked again.

“Is there a rule against fucking your heroes?” he asked. “Because I don’t really know how much more transparent I can be. I’d be happy to get on my knees for you right here in the living room, but you’re hesitating.”

“You’re shameless,” Seokjin said with a short laugh.

“It would be a lot more difficult if I wasn’t,” Taehyung replied. “We could sit here and talk politics or good and bad, heroes and villains all fucking night. But that’s boring, and I’m tired of being bored. Come entertain me.” 

Taehyung winked, and then he turned and strolled into what had to be his bedroom. Seokjin stood in the living room motionless, contemplating his options. It would be easy to turn around and walk out the door. It would be damn near impossible to kick off his shoes and walk into the bedroom with no idea of what was to come.

So Seokjin pressed his toes to the heel of one shoe and removed it, and then he removed the other. It took all of his willpower to place his shoes by the front door, and even more courage to walk to the bedroom. There was fear, but there was also a rush of adrenaline. This was out of character for him, but it was undeniably thrilling, especially when he walked into the bedroom. Taehyung was lounging back against his pillows with his phone, but when Seokjin walked in, he tossed the phone aside like trash and rolled off the bed until he was standing face-to-face with Seokjin.

“I can get you started,” he whispered, and then he reached down and took Seokjin’s hands, placing them on his waist. He guided one of Seokjin’s hands up his ribs and to his chest, and Seokjin’s pulse quickened when he heard Taehyung’s breath hitch slightly. Taehyung’s hands fell away and landed on Seokjin’s shoulders instead, and he crawled his fingers until he could lace them behind Seokjin’s neck.

“You have a tattoo,” Seokjin murmured like he needed an icebreaker. Was the room spinning? Was he out of his goddamn mind?

“I’ll let you see it if you get me naked,” Taehyung whispered mischievously, and then he leaned in and dragged his lips along the hollow of Seokjin’s neck. “Touch me.”

[skinnydipped] :: banks

Seokjin’s brain turned into a complete haze as he ran his hands over the expanse of Taehyung’s broad back and his chest, around his hips, knuckles caressing ridges of muscles and smooth skin. He paused to consider what he was doing when Taehyung began to kiss the underside of his jaw, but it felt too good. Far too good. He was just going to have to resolve himself to a one-night stand, resolve himself to using Taehyung to get off and leaving it at that. This was dangerous, but it also felt right despite being incredibly wrong.

“Off,” Taehyung whispered, so Seokjin obeyed, his mind fuzzy. He pulled his shirt off over his head, and Taehyung let out an audible sigh, his hands on Seokjin’s chest instantly. When he dropped to his knees. Seokjin feared that he actually choked on his own breath out loud, but Taehyung didn’t seem affected. He just got right to business, and Seokjin didn’t stop him. A man who murdered for fun was on his knees for Seokjin willingly, removing his pants to take what he wanted.

And Seokjin was going to let him.

It was indescribable, everything he felt. All he could see was Taehyung’s mess of black curls, but Taehyung hadn’t been kidding when he had said he gave good blowjobs and could swallow Seokjin down easily. He didn’t even choke when Seokjin lost control and thrusted into Taehyung’s mouth, fisting a handful of his hair. In fact, he moaned and grabbed Seokjin’s thighs, massaging encouragingly, and then he pulled off halfway and blinked up at Seokjin.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Seokjin gasped, bowing his head with his eyes closed, his entire body on fire. Electricity coursed through his veins on any given day, but this was entirely different. He was charged and mindless, sent into a tailspin just by the way Taehyung had looked up at him with those half-lidded dark eyes with Seokjin’s cock in his mouth.

“Why not?” Taehyung pulled off. “Too much for you? Get on the bed.”

Seokjin obliged. He turned and fell back onto the bed, and Taehyung removed the last of all their clothing and climbed right onto Seokjin, straddling his lap. Seokjin sucked in a breath, head falling back for a moment when he felt Taehyung’s hard cock against his, and then he dared to open his eyes.

“I’ve gotten you this far,” Taehyung whispered with a grin, bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes fluttered shut when Seokjin, in a daze, reached and ran his hands up the sides of Taehyung’s thighs and to his hips. The tattoo was on Taehyung’s right hip, and it was spectacular. It was a massive snake wrapped around roses and flowers, the snake’s head on his hip bone. The snake’s tail curled around his outer thigh, and Seokjin traced its coiled body in silence, traced along golden smooth skin covered in ink.

“Do you care if I kiss you?” Taehyung whispered as he leaned down. “Since I had your dick in my mouth and all.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Seokjin breathed, and then Taehyung’s lips were on his, and it felt good. He gripped Taehyung’s hips as Taehyung gently rocked against him, tracing Seokjin’s bottom lip with his tongue between kisses, breathy little moans escaping from the back of his throat whenever Seokjin grabbed his ass or his thighs or his hips with purpose.

“I want you to ruin me, Kim Seokjin,” Taehyung whispered against Seokjin’s lips. “Don’t be nice about it. I want you to fuck me so I know exactly how you feel about me. Will you do that?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin said on the exhale, barely able to keep his eyes open. What the hell was he agreeing to do? Was this going too far?

Fuck it.

Taehyung grabbed the lube and a condom. He manhandled Seokjin until Seokjin was up against the pillows, hard cock resting against his stomach shamelessly, Taehyung straddling him. Taehyung grabbed Seokjin’s wrist and drizzled the lube onto Seokjin’s fingers, licking his lips with a grin as Seokjin’s heart stuttered. But if Seokjin was going this far, he was going to commit. It was just sex, after all. That was what it had to be.

Taehyung was loud. He wasn’t shy about it at all, and Seokjin was frantic. He had two fingers inside Taehyung and his other hand wrapped around Taehyung’s cock, and praises were spilling from Taehyung’s lips that made Seokjin feel momentarily immortal. Taehyung combed his fingers through Seokjin’s hair and gripped as he rode Seokjin’s fingers slowly, encouraging him to go deeper, pausing breathlessly as his eyes rolled back when Seokjin seemed to brush just the right spot.

“Tell me how you want me,” Taehyung said firmly, already breathless as Seokjin pulled his fingers out. He contemplated, and then he panicked.

“From behind,” he blurted out, and he thought Taehyung was going to protest, but Taehyung only smirked.

“Fine. But like I said—don’t go easy on me. I like it rough. You can do that for me, right?” He cupped Seokjin’s jaw and pressed a soft kiss to Seokjin’s lips.

“Yeah,” Seokjin breathed, unable to believe how nice it felt to please Taehyung. He then watched in amazement as Taehyung rolled over and stretched for show, glancing over his shoulder coyly.

“Get to it,” he said. “I’ll tell you if it’s good.”

“It’ll be good,” Seokjin said in a daze, situating himself behind Taehyung and swallowing down his fear. He ran his hands down Taehyung’s back, along his ass, to his hips. He quickly rolled the condom on and used his slicked hand to stroke himself, and then he slowly pushed into Taehyung as Taehyung arched his back and took Seokjin with ease. Despite being prepped, Taehyung was still tight enough to take Seokjin’s breath away as he bottomed out with his hips to Taehyung’s ass.

“I don’t need time to adjust,” Taehyung said. “Don’t play with me. Fuck me.”

Seokjin obeyed. He gripped Taehyung’s hips and began to thrust slowly at first, but then he found a rhythm, gritting his teeth as pure want flooded his veins almost immediately. He drank in each of Taehyung’s little breaths of pleasure, and Taehyung was still loud for Seokjin’s benefit.

“Come on, baby, angle your hips more— fuck, that’s it, that’s so fucking good,” Taehyung  gasped, and his praise spurred Seokjin on. When Taehyung fell silent, Seokjin panicked, his hands trembling because it felt incredible for him, but he couldn’t be the only one.

“Is that still good?” he whispered, and Taehyung froze and glanced over his shoulder again.

“You want to hear how good you’re doing?” he wondered, and Seokjin licked his lips and nodded, wondering if Taehyung could see him. “Then get on top of me and fuck me harder.”

So Seokjin caged Taehyung in and knelt between Taehyung’s spread legs, and then he pressed his chest to Taehyung’s back and began to fuck him harder, deeper, as Taehyung moaned into the pillow, gripping the sheets with white knuckles. Seokjin watched Taehyung’s every move, sweat trickling down his spine, and when Taehyung writhed against the mattress, his legs twitching, Seokjin knew he was onto something. He pushed up and pressed one hand between Taehyung’s shoulder blades, and Taehyung couldn’t stay still. His moans grew louder, and he egged Seokjin on repeatedly, gasping out how good it felt.

“So good, that’s so good, just—need you to touch me, touch me, come here—”

Taehyung choked on his next words when Seokjin’s hand wrapped around his cock, and he nearly collapsed back onto the mattress as he tried to keep his hips up. Seokjin was relentless, chasing the building orgasm that he could feel and monitoring Taehyung’s reactions, desperately seeking the praise and validation to know that he was doing well. He wanted Taehyung to feel good, too, something he had never expected to crave.

“Ah, fuck,” Seokjin cursed breathily, slowing his thrusts. “Fuck, I’m—I can’t—shit, I’m…”

“Don’t come yet.” Taehyung immediately moved forward and then flipped onto his back, leaving Seokjin on his knees and breathing heavily. “I want to come first, and then I want to watch you come. I’m not taking it from behind for that. I want to see you. Time to grow a pair.”

“Okay,” Seokjin whispered, and then he let Taehyung push him onto the pillows and climb into his lap. He held his breath when Taehyung grabbed his cock and lowered down onto it, and then he exhaled when Taehyung’s hands pressed to his chest.

“Be a good boy and fuck me,” he whispered, and Seokjin was a goner. How had he ever shown up at Taehyung’s apartment thinking he was going to have any kind of upper hand? Taking orders from Taehyung was nothing short of thrilling. Seokjin had lived for years in fear of the teenage boy who had murdered an entire precinct of cops, who had given him a scar on his wrist that was a permanent reminder of his failure. But now Taehyung had that same wrist pinned to the bed, and suddenly, the years of nightmares meant nothing, even though Seokjin knew that they would come back to haunt him as they always did in a fit of guilt. 

He couldn’t think like that right now, not when the man he had feared for so long was riding him. Taehyung was demanding and needy, but he was pliant and full of praise for Seokjin, and suddenly, he wasn’t so scary. He was just another man who was looking to get off and was using Seokjin to do so.

So Seokjin pressed his free hand to the small of Taehyung’s back, and he planted his feet on the mattress and fucked up into Taehyung. Taehyung’s fingernails dug into Seokjin’s skin, and that spurred Seokjin on. He freed his hand from Taehyung’s hold and grabbed both of Taehyung’s hips to thrust up into him repeatedly, and Taehyung threw his head back with a moan. When he fell forward again and opened his eyes, Seokjin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Let me,” Taehyung gasped, because his eyes were no longer just dark brown. They were glowing with white hot electricity, and his hands felt warm against Seokjin’s chest. On the left side of his neck, Seokjin could see his veins turned dark like the roots of a tree or a spiderweb.

He had too much energy to spare.

“Whatever you need,” Seokjin whispered, not knowing what to expect. Taehyung kept his hands pressed to Seokjin’s chest, but then Seokjin gasped and arched off the bed, inadvertently thrusting up into Taehyung again, eyes rolling back, skin thrumming as the electrical pulses consumed him. Taehyung was giving him shock after shock, but it wasn’t painful—it was full of pleasure. Seokjin had fallen into bed with plenty of men and women over the years, but none of them had made him feel as out of control as Taehyung made him feel. This was new and so incredible that he couldn’t make sense of what was happening to him.

“T-Taehyung, fuck, that’s—”

“Doing so well. You can take it, baby, come on,” Taehyung coaxed in his deep, melodic voice, panting. “Take it. Please. Please, just take it, I need… God, that’s it. That’s it, that’s it…”

Out of his mind, Seokjin wrapped both arms around Taehyung’s waist and flipped the two of them with a small growl that he barely recognized from himself, and then he grabbed Taehyung’s knees and pressed them to his chest. With an energy that he couldn’t explain, he began to fuck Taehyung with such force that the entire bed shook, and Taehyung clawed at Seokjin’s arms, still shocking him, sparks licking Seokjin’s skin. He absorbed them all, and then he whimpered.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Taehyung gasped. “I said me first.”

Seokjin gritted his teeth and slowed down, and then he reached down with one hand and began to stroke Taehyung’s cock in time with his thrusts. He stared down at Taehyung’s face, which was contorted in pleasure and was easily one of the most wonderful things Seokjin had ever seen in his life.

“Almost,” Taehyung whispered, locking his gaze with Seokjin’s, the dark veins on his neck still prominent. “Fuck, almost there, a-almost… tighten your grip, I’m—that’s it, that’s it, that’s—I’m coming, I’m gonna—”

Seokjin stroked Taehyung through the entire orgasm, watching as his back bowed off the bed and the roots of the dark veins in his neck nearly reached his heart. He spilled onto Seokjin’s hand and his own stomach, legs writhing, breath heavy. He then collapsed onto the mattress, eyes closed, head rolling to the side for a moment.

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin whispered, and Taehyung’s eyes flew open. “I’m… Can I…?”

Panting, Taehyung grinned in a fucked out daze. “Are you asking if you can come?”

Seokjin nodded.

“You did so well for me. How do you want to come?”

“On you.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting.”

Seokjin pulled out while wincing, and then he stripped the condom off and immediately hovered over Taehyung, pressing one hand to the pillow and using his other hand to wrap around his cock. He started slowly, drinking in Taehyung’s dazed expression and bloodshot eyes, blown pupils, damp hair from sweat. He was a fucking vision, and Seokjin had done that to him.

“I’ve been doing all the talking, calling you ‘baby,’ and you’ve barely said a word,” Taehyung drawled as Seokjin began to pick up the pace. “Be nice to me. Tell me how I made you feel. Give me something.”

“You…” Seokjin bowed his head for a moment, collecting himself. He wanted to refuse, wanted to say something snarky and just get himself off. But Taehyung was so pretty, staring up at him with love bites all over his neck and scratch marks on his chest, shifting his hips so that the snake tattooed on his skin seemed to be doing all the charming for him.

He’s human. I’ve crossed the line. He’s human to me. I can’t go back now.

“You made me feel so good,” he whispered, unable to think of anything eloquent to say. “I didn’t think—I just—you—God, you’re so gorgeous.”

“I know,” Taehyung said with a fucked out smirk, sleepy eyes focused on Seokjin’s face. The dark veins were fading. “So are you. You took everything I gave you and did everything I asked. Knew you’d be a dream in bed. You should brag more about your dick size, though. Wasn’t expecting that. Now hurry up. I’m still waiting.”

Seokjin sucked in a breath, feeling the intensity of the orgasm building to nearly impossible levels in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t look away from Taehyung. The moment Taehyung’s eyes flicked down between them, Seokjin lost it. He let out a small, choked moan and spilled onto Taehyung’s chest and stomach, head spinning.

It was instantaneous. The moment Seokjin opened his eyes and began to come down from the high, he felt something awful settling into the pit of his stomach. But Taehyung seemed unfazed. He tucked and rolled off the bed, and when he returned, he was wiping down his stomach with a washcloth, strolling around his bedroom in all his naked glory. He crawled onto the bed and offered the washcloth to Seokjin, and Seokjin wordlessly wiped himself down before he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his hands shaking.

“If you can get up and walk out of here after that, I’ll be impressed,” Taehyung said as he lounged onto his pillows, grabbing one of the sheets and just barely draping it over his lap. Seokjin kept his elbows on his knees, trying to catch his breath and reason with himself.

It happened. You came here expecting it to happen. Don’t fool yourself. You came here for sex, and you got it. You just got into bed with the most wanted man in South Korea, and you enjoyed it.

“I have to go,” Seokjin muttered.

“Oh, boo-o-o-o-oo.” Taehyung scoffed and clicked his tongue. “Don’t be so predictable and brooding. Boo-hoo, you fucked the enemy. Boo-hoo, I kill people for fun and I enjoy it. Boo-hoo, you’re a government employee and you’re supposed to throw me into jail. Isn’t it fun to be the bad boy for once? I think it suits you.”

“Shut up,” Seokjin snapped, slapping his hand onto the mattress and looking over his shoulder. Taehyung just blinked, a ghost of a grin on his face. “How can you be like this? That didn’t fuck with your head at all? Not even a little?”

“Not even a little. I’ve wanted you to fuck me for years,” Taehyung emphasized. “Used to fantasize about what it would be like, especially since you barely even knew me. A little power play, you taking orders from me. That kind of thing. But goddamn, you exceeded all expectations. And now you want me to regret it? Absolutely not. That’s boring. Do better, Kim Seokjin.”

“I don’t get you,” Seokjin whispered, still trying to wrap his head around what he had just done. “This has zero consequences for you at all. Why? Why?”

“Why should it?” Taehyung settled back comfortably on the pillows. “Stay for a little.”

“No.” Seokjin laughed humorlessly. “Stop—just stop. Stop trying to make this happen.”

“Oh, I know it’s never going to happen,” Taehyung conceded immediately. “Which is why you should stay for a little while and enjoy it. Bask in the moment. We just had great sex, and you want to get up and leave.”

“And if I tell you that I’m trying to leave because you’re the definition of evil?” Seokjin raised his eyebrows, trying not to think about how he was still naked on the edge of the bed and Taehyung wasn’t even fazed.

“You don’t think I’m evil,” Taehyung replied, smirking. “You’re only saying that because I’m free to do what I want.”

“That’s not…” 

That’s exactly it. He’s free. He does whatever he wants. Zero consequences. No rules.

“That’s it,” Taehyung confirmed. “You get pissy with me and bite my head off because I’m free, and every single day, I wake up and do whatever the fuck I want to do. If I feel like killing someone because they’re a horrible person, then I kill them. If I want to eat spicy ramen, I eat spicy ramen. If I think some politician is a fucking asshole, I torture him until he’s begging for his life. And then I sleep like a baby at night.”

“Freedom.” Seokjin paused and let the word hang in the air, and then he chuckled. “Why does freedom turn men into monsters?” he whispered, and Taehyung’s little breath hinted at laughter.

“The age-old question. Consider first that the monsters are the ones who restrict your freedom because it benefits their idea of freedom,” Taehyung pointed out. “And then humor me and consider that we just had mindblowing sex, and I’m going to give you an open invitation to come back and fuck me whenever you want. And there are no consequences.”

“Yes there fucking are.”

“To who?” Taehyung snickered. “You said it yourself. It’s never going to happen. You told me I can never have a normal life. Fair enough. Neither will you. So you might as well enjoy the fucked up life you have by fucking me.”

Seokjin couldn’t help it—he felt the corners of his mouth turn upward in what could have been a smile, and Taehyung noticed. He used a foot and nudged Seokjin’s thigh.

“Freedom is conditional to all the people in your circle,” he said simply. “If I’m going to hell, then the least I could do is have a little fun and find my own version of freedom. You?”

“It’s way more complicated than you think.”

“No it’s not. Un-complicate it,” Taehyung said, inventing words as Seokjin snickered and reached down to grab his clothes. “You heroes love to stew in your own agony. Thought maybe you’d find some sense being plugged into an evil villain, but I guess we’ll work on it.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind. You know that?” Seokjin pulled on his underwear and his pants, turning to look at Taehyung, who was grinning.

“I have so many jokes,” he said dramatically. “But no willing audience. Just give me a chance.”

“Stop texting me.”

“Nah.”

“Goodbye, Taehyung.”

“Later, handsome.”

Seokjin slipped his shirt on, watching as Taehyung grabbed his phone with a sigh as if nothing had ever happened, like he hadn’t just turned Seokjin into a mess in an hour’s time. This was madness. Utter madness. Seokjin was living in some kind of nightmarish daydream.

Feeling regret gnawing at him, Seokjin ruffled his hair, and then he left Taehyung’s bedroom without looking over his shoulder. His hands were still trembling as he grabbed his shoes, and with each shoe he put on, he wondered if this was how his life was going to end. If this was his fate. If he had just doomed himself.

 A series of bad decisions happened one right after another.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
19:32 PM

Jimin’s coffee was steaming.

It was half past seven at night, but it was a Friday, and Seoul’s kinetics liked to act up on Friday nights specifically, which meant that Jimin always stayed at the DKR until about eight or nine o’clock just to see if anyone chose to cause a ruckus. Not that he needed coffee, but it had been a good excuse to leave his office momentarily and visit Lia, despite being riddled with guilt. Jeongguk had asked him to, after all, so that he could access her mind with ease.

I’ll be gentle. I won’t hurt her. I promise you.

Then again, that was what he had whispered to Jimin right after they’d had sex, so he wasn’t sure if riding Jeongguk the way he did had encouraged such a pliant and agreeable response. 

It had been almost two weeks since Jo Chansung’s announcement about the vaccine. The trainees would be returning to TRACK on Sunday to begin the new term on Monday. Outside of the scientists and government officials leading the charge, only Jeongguk and Jimin knew what those vaccines contained, and if every student was injected, then there would be utter mayhem and no accountability. Time was running out, but Jeongguk had sworn to Jimin that he had a plan, and that he was going to let himself into TRACK Labs again and compromise or destroy the vaccine supply—or maybe both. 

I should have done it sooner, but there are too many variables. You might think this shit would be easy for me, but it’s not. There are too many strings to pull.

He was right. The situation was precarious; if Jeongguk pulled on the wrong string, his anonymity could be shattered, or innocent people could wind up in the crossfire. And though Jeongguk wasn’t opposed to collateral damage, he liked to avoid it. It was the reason why he was so peeved about having to maintain and keep tabs on Director Nam and now Lia.

The steam continued to steadily rise from the coffee cup because Jimin had removed the lid. He was watching it with a fixed gaze, keeping his breathing even. He had had three training sessions with Yoongi since his first one (and three long nights filled with sex because of Jeongguk), and he was improving, his temperature regulating and stabilizing. He was still running hot compared to the average human, but Yoongi said that he was no longer in danger of exposing himself and needed to keep it that way.

It wasn’t fire, but it was heat. Jimin kept his fingers on his keyboard in case anyone tried to interrupt, and he stared at the steam until it started to coil clockwise. He sent it floating upwards in waves, and then he manipulated it until he spelled out the characters of his family name and his first name. The steam letters then tangled together in a ball, and Jimin let it evaporate into the air.

“Shit,” he gasped when the alarm began to sound, ripping through the silence and startling him. It wasn’t a surprise, though. Fridays were always exciting (term used loosely) at the DKR. But then Jimin glanced at the screen.

URGENT: PANIC ALARM ACTIVATED @ TRACK LABS. PHOENIX, PRISM, FLARE REPORT. ALERT LEVEL - SEVERE. RESPOND ASAP.

“Motherfucker,” Jimin cursed, leaping out of his seat and immediately holding out his hand until the closet flew open and his suit was in his grasp. He locked his office door and changed with haste, already frustrated and unprepared. If an alarm had been activated at TRACK Labs, then it was either on purpose, or Jeongguk wasn’t as stealthy as he claimed to be. Because this couldn’t be anyone but Jeongguk. If Taehyung, Namjoon, or Yoongi were there, Jimin would be stunned. 

But Jimin wasn’t the only one reporting, and that was what made him feel unprepared. Now he had to jump headfirst into one of those precarious situations with two more sets of eyes and three sets of ears that he didn’t want around, especially if Jeongguk was going to be there raising hell. Something was going to go terribly wrong, and Jimin didn’t have the gift of time to sit down and consider his options or decide a plan of action.

“PHOENIX. FLARE.”

Director Nam’s voice cut through the buzz in the air from outside the office door. Jimin tugged his face mask on and inserted his earpiece.

“Phoenix to Leo.”

“Yeah, hurry up before Director Nam passes out from all the excitement,” Lia said in immediate response. Jimin cracked a small smile while rolling his eyes, and then he clipped on his utility belt (he chose to leave his gun behind) and threw open his office door. 

The bullpen was in a state of chaos. Director Nam was standing by with Hoseok, and Seokjin had just emerged from his own office, looking windblown but ready to go. Jimin didn’t want to stop and have a sidebar with anyone. He wanted to hit the road and attend to the situation without being bombarded with questions or instructions, so he just began to march to the elevator. And because he was the leader, Seokjin and Hoseok immediately followed, and Director Nam was hot on their heels.

“Ignore all speed limits,” Director Nam barked. “I’ve already asked Lia to inform all authorities to ignore the three of you.”

“Yes, Director.” Jimin was walking with haste, but Director Nam was keeping up with him, Seokjin and Hoseok now trailing behind hurriedly.

“This is a mayday call,” Director Nam reminded Jimin, turning over his shoulder to address Hoseok and Seokjin as well. “The vaccine supply is set to be delivered to TRACK tomorrow, and now they’re under lockdown with a panic alarm. I don’t need to remind you what will happen if this vaccine supply is destroyed. Months of hard work, years of development, dozens of kinetic children left without a vaccine. If you can’t save it all, then save what you can.”

“We’ll do our best, Director,” Seokjin swore. “Just stick with Lia for updates. We’ll feed them to you.”

“Copy. Hurry,” Director Nam pleaded, and then he peeled off to join Lia as Jimin stepped into the elevator first. The three of them crowded together, and Jimin thought it was best to bring about a sense of camaraderie, so he put one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Hoseok’s shoulder.

“We have no idea what to expect,” he said in a hushed tone. “This is a panic alarm from the one place that should be safe from harm. So let’s keep our heads on straight.”

“Director Nam thinks he’s after the vaccine supply,” Hoseok said as the elevator doors opened. “You think he’s right? And if Phantom is the one who’s there, how the hell are we supposed to keep him from destroying the entire stock?”

“We don’t know who’s there,” Jimin replied, but that was a lie. He knew. He fucking knew that Jeongguk was there. “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch. We need to get there and assess the situation, and I have to keep Lia in the loop.”

“I know, isn’t this fun? I love eavesdropping.”

“Can it, kitty cat,” Jimin said good-naturedly, and Lia scoffed in his ear.

“I’m Leo for a reason, asshole. I’ll roar at you if you don’t cooperate. Oh. Sorry, Director. Sorry, you have to understand that—I mean, this is just how I talk to him. Never mind. I can’t really apologize. Uh, Leo out. For now.”

All three of them hopped on their motorcycles, and Jimin flipped the visor closed on his helmet, still laughing. Immediately, an arrow pointing him in the right direction popped up, followed by a distance tracker and an estimated time of arrival. Jimin revved his engine, and then he peeled out of the parking garage in the lead.

“Leo to Phoenix. ETA is twenty minutes, but if you speed like you’ve been advised, you can make it in thirteen and a half,” Lia said. “So haul ass. Leo out.”

Jimin immediately sped up, and he heard Seokjin and Hoseok speeding up behind him as they wove through traffic, careening back and forth as horns honked around them, running red lights as they raced through busy streets. It wasn’t often that Jimin felt like he had the strength and courage to do his job, but when he was on his motorcycle driving at top speed on his way to intervene wherever he was needed, he felt like he had some usable bravado.

Jimin accelerated down the hill as TRACK Labs came into view, all the lights still on. Surely they had been there working overtime to prepare the vaccine for distribution. As they approached, Jimin noticed that there were several trucks parked near the loading bays, which disappeared from view when they reached the bottom of the hill.

TRACK Labs
Juam-dong, Gwacheon-si, Gyeonggi-do
SEOUL, South Korea
20:09 PM

“Get us in,” Jimin barked at Seokjin as the three of them approached the gates together. “The guard is knocked out.”

Seokjin teetered up close to the gate with his motorcycle and reached his hand out, and moments later, the gates opened. The guard was slumped over the controls, but Jimin could faintly detect a heartbeat when he cruised past the guard stand, so at the very least, Jeongguk hadn’t killed anyone yet.

“Panic alarm is still on,” Lia said in Jimin’s ear. “We just got communication from someone inside that Phantom is there. Just Phantom. He’s in the building, but no one can find him. The scientist said that they just caught a glimpse of him. No one is under mind control. They’re all hiding in the lab and scared shitless.”

“That’s fine, just let us in,” Jimin said as he hopped off his motorcycle and began to run to the front doors of TRACK Labs with Hoseok on his right and Seokjin on his left. He could see the flashing warning lights coupled with the sound of a muffled three-tone alarm that was jarringly familiar. Jimin swept his hand, and the doors flew open.

“Is everyone in the lab?” Jimin asked for clarification.

“Heat signatures say that everyone is in the main lab. Shit, that means—Phoenix, that includes Phantom. He’s in the room with them. I don’t see a heat signature anywhere else in the building,” Lia hurriedly said. “And there are—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Seokjin cursed over Lia’s voice. He had made a beeline for the security office, but now he was standing in the doorway with a look of disbelief on his face. “I have no power. None. Can’t even hack the system. I’m useless.”

“Yeah, there are kinesis dampeners throughout the entire building,” Lia repeated in Jimin’s ear, and she included Hoseok and Seokjin, because they both let out noises of frustration as Jimin clenched his jaw.

“So turn them off,” he demanded as he began to follow signs for the main lab.

“Negative.” Lia sounded nervous. “Uh, I’m—I’m not authorized to turn them off.”

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Phantom is there, they won’t let me,” Lia hissed. “It’s to stop him, not you.”

“But it’s crippling us at the same goddamn time,” Hoseok cursed, jogging ahead of Jimin. But Jimin lunged and grabbed his arm to stop him from entering the lab. Huddled together, he motioned for them to walk through the doors and then split up. Jimin didn’t want to give away that he knew the layout of the lab, but he began to whisper.

“Flare, go left. I’ll go through the center. Prism, take the right,” he advised. “I wouldn’t use your weapons unless completely necessary. I didn’t bring mine. There are kinesis dampeners. That makes us powerless, but it doesn’t make Phantom powerless. Our priority is the scientists. Get them out. Whoever is closest needs to focus on making it a rescue mission.”

“And who focuses on saving the vaccine supply?” Hoseok asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I will,” Jimin declared. “Leo, open the lab doors. Let’s go.”

[oxytocin] :: billie eilish

There was a beep and green flash of light from the keypad, so Jimin shoved the door open, and Hoseok and Seokjin peeled off as instructed. But it took only five seconds for all hell to break loose.

“HELP US!”

“HE’S IN HERE SOMEWHERE!”

“GET THE VACCINES!”

The scientists were all huddled underneath the lab tables in pairs or trios and shouting, making it nearly impossible for just Hoseok or Seokjin to evacuate them all safely. The lab was completely dark with just the red flashing evacuation alarms providing any kind of light intermittently. 

“Leo to Phoenix.” Lia’s voice practically echoed in Jimin’s brain. “There are twenty-five scientists who need to be evacuated. I’m following heat signatures. Confirm when all twenty-five are out safely.”

“Got it.”

“I’m listening in with Flare and Prism, too,” Lia said, sounding slightly skittish. “Hurry up. I don’t like this.”

“Up, up, get up, hurry,” Jimin heard Hoseok say, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw about five or six scientists running for the exit. There were stacks of boxes that looked ready to be loaded on a truck, surely a supply of vaccines. There were bundles of vaccines that were waiting to be boxed, the packing process interrupted by Jeongguk’s arrival. Jimin bent down to assist his first group, and the moment he did, he saw it.

An earpiece. One of the scientists was wearing an earpiece with a small blinking light just like Jo Chansung.

“Fuck, come on. You have to go. Move, come on.” Hoseok’s cursing ripped through Jimin’s revelation. The pandemonium was the priority.

“No,” a trembling voice said. “I-I-I can’t. I don’t—I want to stay right here.”

The other scientists that were just short of the door all agreed. They had stopped dead in their tracks, and Hoseok was holding open the door with a look of panic. He caught Jimin’s eye, but Jimin knew exactly why they weren’t moving—he had been right. The kinesis dampeners did nothing to suffocate Jeongguk’s mind control abilities. So Jimin glanced up to the second floor walkway that led to the storage rooms and offices.

Jeongguk was standing on the walkway bridge with both elbows on the railing, a gun dangling from one hand as he stared down on the scene of chaos he was creating. All black outfit, black face mask, long hair tied up. He had waited until Jimin, Seokjin, and Hoseok were in the room to wreak havoc, and when he caught Jimin’s eye, he cocked his head to the side.

We’re fucked.

Jimin could only think one thing as Jeongguk lifted the gun. He panicked, assuming that he was about to be forced into dragging injured or dead scientists from the lab, but Jeongguk only aimed for the far corner and took two consecutive shots. Shrieks and cries rang out, but Jimin whipped his head and looked.

The kinesis dampener was destroyed.

“Get them out of here,” Jimin said loudly, still staring Jeongguk down. Jeongguk swung the gun down so that it was pointed directly at Jimin’s head, but then he faked and turned over one shoulder, shooting the dampener in the top corner closest to him. The scientists under Hoseok’s care rushed out, and Jimin saw Seokjin gathering a few more as another shot rang out over the alarms.

“He’s destroying the kinesis dampeners,” Lia said in Jimin’s ear. “I’m getting the alerts. Why the hell are they not bulletproof? Is this a sick joke? Can you use your abilities? Can you do anything?”

“PHOENIX! GET HIM!” Hoseok bellowed, flinging one hand upward at where Jeongguk was standing before ushering two more scientists into the hallways.

“THE VACCINES! SAVE THE VACCINES! GET THE VACCINES!” one woman begged and pleaded, and all Jimin wanted to do was drop to his knees and rip his earpiece out and pretend that none of the chaos was happening. So instead of helping the scientists who were hiding at the other end of the lab, Jimin broke into a run and took the L-shaped staircase two steps at a time to the second floor walkway. Then, without thinking, he charged at Jeongguk and collided with him, knocking him to the ground and straddling him as the gun went flying.

“What, are you trying to make it convincing?” Jeongguk breathlessly asked with a laugh, letting Jimin pin him down. It didn’t last long; with a grunt, he flipped Jimin over as the two of them tumbled, and the gun flew back into his outstretched hand.

His kinesis worked.

“Here you go.” He smacked the gun into Jimin’s hand, keeping Jimin’s back to the floor and bending down until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “You wrestled it off me. Well done.”

“They’re wearing earpieces,” Jimin gasped out as he heard Seokjin shouting at some of the scientists to leave the vaccines and evacuate immediately. The alarm was still sounding. The lights were still flashing. “The scientists you can’t control. They have earpieces. Jo Chansung wears one, too.”

“Noted. One crisis at a time, hero boy. I have a vaccine supply to destroy,” Jeongguk said, and then he sighed. “Stay still. This is gonna hurt.”

“What—” Jimin then gasped as his head whipped to the side when Jeongguk’s fist collided with his face. Before Jimin could protest or fight back, Jeongguk was gone. He leapt right over the railing and landed on top of one of the lab tables, and the seven remaining scientists who were on their way out began to scream and cower. 

“Leo to Phoenix,” Lia said frantically in his ear. “Seven heat signatures left.”

“What—Are you—Can you hear everything?” Jimin gasped, clutching his left cheek and wincing as he stood up on shaky legs, abandoning the gun altogether.

“All the screaming? Yeah. He’s not on the second floor. Get down there and help,” Lia commanded, worried. Amazed at her sudden ignorance and still in pain, Jimin stumbled towards the staircase, but halfway down, he froze.

“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE,” Seokjin bellowed, because from his position on the lab table, Jeongguk had created enough of a spark to make fire, and suddenly, several boxes of the vaccine supply that were packed and ready were up in flames. 

“Get them out!” Hoseok hollered, running back through the doors. “Phoenix! Yah! Get them!”

“Hurry up, come on,” Jimin breathlessly said, and seven scientists rushed towards him, three of them crying, one of them sobbing to save the vaccines. The very second that the last scientist was out the door, Hoseok ran in.

“Get one of the boxes!” he hollered. “We have to save some of the vaccines!”

The fire was growing, and Seokjin was on the other side of the lab, grabbing a box of vaccines in an attempt to save the supply. But the box flew out of his hands and landed right in the flames, and Seokjin cursed, but then he seemed to realize that his powers worked.

“Come on, he’s distracted,” Hoseok panted, shoving Jimin forward. “Either get a box or take him down!”

“Phoenix to Leo,” Jimin said as he kept close to the wall, his cheek still stinging, watching as Jeongguk hopped from one lab table to the next, igniting boxes of the vaccine and sending fire into Seokjin’s path to keep him from leaving. “The scientists are out safely.”

“Copy. Get the vaccines and get the hell out,” Lia insisted. “You’re not safe. There’s nothing you can do. He’s going to destroy it no matter what. Salvage whatever you can, Phoenix, and get the fuck out.”

Hoseok disappeared from Jimin’s side to join Seokjin in an attempt to help. Jimin ran to the other side of the lab, walking directly through the flames but parting them enough to not get burned. There was one final stack of boxes with vaccines left untouched, and Jeongguk was making his way over. But so were Seokjin and Hoseok.

It’s a serum. Meant to mutate the kinesis gene. A second mutation.

It wasn’t a vaccine. Jimin was standing poised and ready to salvage the supply of a serum meant to mutate TRACK children without their permission.

The Darwin Project.

And the scientists Jimin had just rescued likely knew what they were creating. They knew. And they wanted to save it and administer doses to children.

It doesn’t work on anomalies. It only works on single kinesis mutations so far, doesn’t it? 

If Jimin was still a student at TRACK, he would be dead by Sunday evening.

Pain. Excruciating pain. A slow death if they aren’t provided with the antidote.

“YAH! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Hoseok bellowed, over the alarms and the roar of the growing fire. He was staring Jimin down from across the lab, both of them on opposite sides of the last few boxes with fire spreading in between them. Seokjin was by Hoseok’s side, and Jeongguk was crouching on one of the lab tables, elbows on his knees, watching in interest.

The world began to rush through Jimin’s ears like he was trapped underwater, and he pulled down his face mask, gasping for air. He took one look at Jeongguk, and Jeongguk yanked his face mask down to his chin as well, his whole face now exposed. Time halted for them. They locked eyes, and Jimin swore he heard all the quiet questions Jeongguk was asking in his own head. Lia was saying something in his ear like a warning, telling him that the fire was making the scene unsafe and that Director Nam was desperate to extract them. Seokjin was trying to grab a box of the vaccines. Hoseok was encouraging him while yelling at Jimin.

It has to stop.

Jimin found his stance. He lifted both of his hands, and then he focused on the blaze, on the flames that were destroying the supply stacked by the wall. Then, in one fluid motion, he let out a strained and strangled shout and dragged the fire, throwing it directly at the last few boxes that were untouched. Immediately, the flames began to lick the boxes and consume them. Seokjin stumbled backwards as Hoseok caught him, and then they both stopped and stared at Jimin through the fire, astounded.

Jimin shook his head. And then he ran.

Chapter Text

PART IX :: MONSTERS

:: :: ::

Yoongi and Namjoon’s apartment
Itaewon-dong, Yongsan-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
00:47 AM

Seeing Yoongi in the throes of pleasure beneath him was something Namjoon would never tire of seeing. He was a vision, his pale skin glistening with sweat, hair trapped in his eyelashes, cheeks flushed with color as he watched everything happen. 

“Almost,” Namjoon breathed, because they didn’t talk much during sex. Yoongi liked to observe and feel; he and Namjoon had clashed at first over Yoongi’s constant state of contemplative silence, but Namjoon had figured out that all he needed to do was find a topic of interest, and Yoongi then had to be told to shut up. But when it came to sex, Yoongi was a man of few words.

“Look so—pretty like this,” Namjoon whispered as he bent and kissed over all the love bites he had left on Yoongi’s neck and collarbone, right over his scars. He marked easily despite the burns, and Namjoon found it rather thrilling. 

“Namjoon,” Yoongi gasped out, and when his fingers dug into Namjoon’s shoulders, he knew; Yoongi had his legs wrapped around Namjoon’s waist, but he lifted his hips off the bed and into Namjoon’s hand, and then his eyes rolled back as the orgasm washed over him, and he spilled onto his stomach and Namjoon’s hand. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Namjoon almost moaned as he fucked into Yoongi harder and faster, chasing his own orgasm. Yoongi swallowed hard, a trickle of sweat running down the column of his neck, and that did it for Namjoon. He came with a small gasp, hands pressed to the mattress, and then he continued to thrust shallowly as he caught his breath, cum leaking out onto the sheets already.

“Hey,” Yoongi whispered, so Namjoon collapsed, his full weight on top of the man he loved. He rarely, if ever, admitted it out loud, because feelings were compromising for any man of intelligence or purpose. Not that Namjoon figured himself to be any kind of genius or godsend; he just told himself stories so that he didn’t have to feel all the things he felt for a man who could quite literally set his heart on fire.

“Thanks,” Yoongi murmured when Namjoon drew water all the way from the bathroom sink to wet the washcloth that had been tossed to the side of the bed. They wiped down as Namjoon gently pulled out, and he cleaned Yoongi up completely.

“You good?” Namjoon tossed the washcloth aside. “I know you don’t usually say much, but you were quieter than usual.”

“Uh, well.” Yoongi chuckled dryly, and Namjoon took notice. Instead of dismissing it, he rolled and caged Yoongi in again, lying on top of him and yanking the sheet until it was draped over their waists messily. “I don’t know if you’re going to want to be all up in my space while I’m talking.”

Namjoon raised one eyebrow, tempted to lean down and kiss Yoongi, but he resisted. “Why is that?”

“Jeongguk said that it’s time to tell you after what he did tonight at the lab, and he gave me the goddamn command to do it right before I came home,” Yoongi complained as he lifted one hand and tousled his blue-grey hair.

“Oh? Are you two keeping secrets?” Namjoon wondered.

“Well, Jeongguk and I were, but then fucking Taehyung found out because of that other electrokinetic, so I guess Jeongguk figured we can’t keep you in the dark,” Yoongi explained, and Namjoon pursed his lips, trying to get rid of the stab of annoyance he felt.

“Okay. Spill.”

“You can badger Jeongguk for details later,” Yoongi prefaced. “But the gist of it is… you know how we’re not allowed to kill those three?”

“Yeah.”

“Turns out that Jeongguk had one friend and one friend only at TRACK,” Yoongi began, and Namjoon’s heart almost stopped. He wasn’t going to say— “And it was Jimin. Park Jimin. Phoenix.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Namjoon cursed, head hanging as he felt Yoongi squirm uncomfortably beneath him. Rightfully so—Yoongi hated telling people things. He liked to listen. But not this time. Jeongguk’s commands were impossible to ignore. Namjoon had been on the receiving end several times. So Yoongi had to talk, or the consequences would be ugly.

“Yeah. Apparently they were really close. To the point where Jeongguk had a little crush on him,” Yoongi continued, and Namjoon clenched his jaw, trying not to break too soon. No emotion. No emotion. Get rid of it.

“So what, Jimin knows things?” he asked.

“Not just ‘things.’ When Jeongguk defected, he left one witness to the carnage and chaos. And that was Jimin,” Yoongi divulged. “So Jimin knows everything. He knows Jeongguk’s name, age, favorite food, what makes him tick. Fucking everything. They started meeting up months ago in secret, and now they’re fucking each other’s brains out because apparently that’s a good way to communicate instead of talking about their problems. Not that I’m one to talk. And what’s even worse is that Jeongguk made some warped promise when they were kids to never use mind control on Jimin. And he’s keeping it.”

“Fuck off. He doesn’t—you’re saying he’s never fucked with that idiot’s mind?” Namjoon asked, aghast. “A world of opportunity and a direct fucking line to the enemy, and he won’t just sneak his way in? He’s just thinking with his dick instead?”

“He refuses to use mind control on Jimin, yes.”

“God damn it, Jeongguk,” Namjoon cursed, taking another deep breath as he absorbed what Yoongi was saying. Then he paused and considered his source. Why was Yoongi telling him all of this? How did Yoongi even know that Jeongguk had a history with Jimin? “Hyung.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you know all of this?” Namjoon narrowed his eyes. He noticed when Yoongi squirmed beneath him again, felt Yoongi try to make himself smaller and avoid the subject, but that did the exact opposite for Namjoon; it just attracted him to Yoongi more, because Yoongi tended to pout without knowing it and then tried to play tough and shrug it off. He was nearly invincible and could burn anyone with his words alone without ever lifting a finger. He was worth being feared. But Namjoon didn’t see him that way.

“So, uh…” Yoongi drew in a breath. “There’s a bit more to Jimin than what meets the eye. He’s an advanced telekinetic.”

“Bullshit.”

“He works on restrictions.”

“True,” Namjoon conceded, and then he rolled the two of them until he was lying on his back with Yoongi on top of him. “So he’s an advanced telekinetic. Big deal.”

“Namjoon-ah.” Yoongi’s tone was quiet but firm. “He’s an anomaly.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” Namjoon whispered. “You’re joking.”

“Like it or not, he’s in the same boat as us. It just… looks different,” Yoongi explained, searching for the right words. “He was brainwashed from age five and told to forget that he was an anomaly. To just focus on telekinesis. And he believed it. He fell right into their grooming techniques, which… well, you know how they are. I don’t know what it’s like to be an anomaly, but…”

“So what’s his other ability?” Namjoon questioned.

“Pyrokinesis.”

The puzzle pieces flew together at top speed. It all clicked right before Namjoon’s eyes, especially given how guilty Yoongi looked. Namjoon scrambled to sit upright against the pillows, bringing Yoongi with him, and Yoongi knelt quietly between his legs, sheet around his waist as Namjoon held up both hands, trying to reason with what he was thinking. Jimin was an anomaly. He was a pyrokinetic. Yoongi knew all of this information. There was no other connection to make.

“Jeongguk knows that Jimin is an anomaly,” he stated. Yoongi nodded. “He’s breaking the conditioning. He’s reversing the brainwashing.” Another nod. “And that means that Jimin is starting to experiment with his pyrokinesis.” A very defensive nod. “And who the fuck else would Jeongguk ask to teach his secret little friend than you, am I right?”

“Namjoon—”

“Of all the fucking things to do, hyung, this takes the cake,” Namjoon said with a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head. “Not only are you keeping secrets, but you’re going behind my back to teach the government’s favorite plaything like it’s no big deal? Like he won’t just fuck everything up for us? You’re teaching him to fucking murder us!”

“Namjoon-ah—”

“We promised each other that we wouldn’t keep secrets like this,” Namjoon snapped, because now it hurt. Now he felt betrayed. “I don’t blame Jeongguk. But you? We said—damn it, hyung, we said that we wouldn’t do this to each other when we agreed to make it work.”

“Nam—”

“Why the hell would you risk everything we have to give the literal enemy more ammunition?” Namjoon continued heatedly.

“Sweetheart.”

Namjoon choked on his next words and paused when Yoongi’s hands came to rest on his cheeks. It was such a rare show of affection that Namjoon lost all ability to maintain his level of anger. It dissipated as he stared at Yoongi, his eyes tracing over the vertical scar as he wished he could seek revenge on the dead man who scarred his beloved years ago. 

Beloved. He would never say that out loud.

“The only reason I agreed to it is because I realized that Jimin is loyal,” Yoongi said, and Namjoon instinctively snorted in disbelief. Despite his primary disgust, he kept listening, because Yoongi seemed adamant. “He’s been sitting on this information for years, Namjoon. Jimin has known Jeongguk all his life. When the DKR gave Jeongguk a code name and started hunting him down, when this whole mess started, Jimin could have sat in meetings with Jo Chansung and spilled all of Jeongguk’s secrets. He could have sung like a canary. To this goddamn day, he hasn’t said a word. He could give up Jeongguk in a heartbeat, especially with all the DNA testing rules they have. And he hasn’t.”

“And that…” Namjoon took another deep breath, trying to make sense of what Yoongi was saying as Yoongi dropped his hands. They were big on loyalty. All of them were. Trust and loyalty were all that they had, mostly because they had never received it as children. No adult had ever put their trust in Namjoon to do the right thing. They had groomed him and praised him and coerced him in the right direction, but whenever Namjoon had offered up his thoughts, he had gotten the figurative pat on the head and an unspoken “there, there” before being ignored. No trust. No loyalty.

“That’s why I agreed to it,” Yoongi whispered. “Jeongguk gave me a choice. I didn’t have to teach Jimin. But I said I would.”

Namjoon finally wrapped both of his arms around Yoongi’s waist again and drew him into a hug, and Yoongi nestled into the crook of Namjoon’s neck comfortably as he always did. This was the honeymoon phase. They still bickered like children, and sometimes it got physical, but Namjoon was no longer nursing burns and wounds inflicted by the man he was having sex with on a weekly basis. Instead, he was waking up in the middle of the night sweating and then quietly taking care of Yoongi to stave off impending nightmares and cool down their shared room.

There wasn’t much stability for two lost souls in love. Yoongi was rooted in anger. Namjoon was rooted in indifference. But when they were together, Yoongi always said his fevers subsided, and Namjoon found a way to care. They were terrible for each other, an awful match, but Namjoon had had his string of failed teenage crushes at TRACK and a slew of failed one-night stands. No one kept him coming back for more like Min Yoongi.

“Jeongguk won’t fuck with his head,” Namjoon whispered. “If you said that he won’t use mind control on Jimin, then how do you know that Jimin isn’t double crossing him? Manipulating him? Using it to his advantage?”

“Because Jeongguk can access Jimin’s friends’ minds if anything goes wrong,” Yoongi murmured. “He could destroy Jimin’s entire world in a heartbeat. And like I said—Jimin has had multiple opportunities to give Jeongguk up. He hasn’t. He told me the last time I trained him that he just recently met with Jo Chansung in person.”

“What? Jimin did?”

“Mhm. He didn’t give Jeongguk up even then,” Yoongi muttered, and Namjoon deflated a little. “Jo Chansung was accusing him of lying. Which he is. He’s fabricating all of his reports to the government, you know. Just to keep Jeongguk out of it.”

“Damn.”

“Namjoon.” Yoongi propped himself up just enough to look at Namjoon. “Tonight at the lab.”

“What about it?” Namjoon wondered. “Don’t tell me something went wrong. Jeongguk had a plan, hyung. You said that the entire supply was burned. I mean, okay, someone could have snuck out with a sample or two, but whatever. The supply is gone. No mass vaccination on Sunday unless a miracle happens.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Yoongi replied. “What I’m saying is that Jimin was there with his two little friends. And Jeongguk was burning the vaccine supply like he promised. But guess who helped him spread the fire and light the place up?”

“You’re kidding.” Namjoon almost laughed.

“He did it right in front of the other two,” Yoongi confirmed. “Which means that the government is going to be on his ass, and now he has his two best friends as witnesses to both his pyrokinesis skills and the fact that he’s kind of double crossing them. So if anyone’s in hot water, it’s Jimin. And Jeongguk said he’s just going to sit back and let Jimin handle it unless it goes to shit.”

“Mm.” Namjoon hated being an eternal skeptic, but he had been double crossed too many times by people he had been foolish enough to trust. The last person he wanted to go down in flames was Jeongguk, but more than that, now Yoongi was directly involved. Now it compromised all of them. “I should be mad at Jeongguk.”

“Yeah. I was mad at him at first, too,” Yoongi admitted. “He understood. But he said that he wasn’t going to change what he was doing for Jimin just because I was mad. So I figured I’d join in. And honestly, Jimin’s…”

“Don’t you dare say he’s not bad.”

“Well, he was a whiny little brat at first,” Yoongi replied. “I still think he is. But he has his moments. I can see why Jeongguk is in love with him.”

Namjoon snorted. “In love? Jeongguk? You think Jeon Jeongguk has the capacity for actual love?”

Yoongi drummed his fingers against Namjoon’s chest contemplatively, and Namjoon watched. “I think he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone except Jimin. If he had to choose between saving the three of us or saving Jimin, we’d all be dead. So I guess that’s the closest I can get to saying he’s in love.”

Namjoon nodded even though Yoongi couldn’t see it. “This is snowballing.”

“Mm.”

“I mean, we’ve been training for this and planning this for years, waiting for Jeongguk to be ready. All we wanted to do was kill anyone involved in TRACK and dismantle it from the inside out. Start over. Keep kinetic children from being abused like we were. Right all the wrongs. Now look.”

“Chaos.”

“I think we were fooling ourselves,” Namjoon admitted. “I think we were idiots if we believed that our crusade wouldn’t turn into something like this. This is a system that thrives on abuse. Control over chaos,” he added in a mocking tone. “Because kinesis is chaos to them.”

“I know.” Yoongi sighed and shifted. “And now we’re dragging the good guys into it. That’s what’s making this shit so messy.”

“Yeah, but could we do it with just the four of us?” Namjoon muttered. “Realistically. Using the three of them… it works. It gives us an ‘in.’ As much as I hate them, we need them. We need the good guys to get the job done.”

“Will they still be the good guys when this is all over?” Yoongi murmured rhetorically, letting his sentiment hang in the air. Namjoon reached up and stroked Yoongi’s hair a few times as Yoongi curled into the touch.

“Do you think people ever wonder what the bad guys do in their downtime?”

Yoongi snickered. “Are you calling yourself a villain?”

“Well, we’re on a list of Korea’s most wanted men,” Namjoon muttered. “But they never show that in the movies, do they?”

“What, the villain eating lunch or walking his dog?”

“Right.” Namjoon cracked a small smile. “I don’t know. It’s just… I never really thought about it until we dragged those three into this with us. That we’re not always out in the city hunting people down.”

“We’re just getting started,” Yoongi quietly said. It was ambiguous, but Namjoon knew exactly what he meant. “This is just the beginning. Jimin’s going to have to tell his friends what’s going on.”

“So in the next few days, we’ll either turn Jimin into the villain, or we’ll have all three of them on our side fighting with us,” Namjoon figured, and Yoongi hummed.

“Give or take a few variables, yeah. I think that’s where this is going.”

Namjoon slowly closed his eyes, turning more towards Yoongi when he realized how feverish Yoongi’s body had become. The stress of the conversation was making him run hot. Without a word, Namjoon removed the sheet from their bodies and rolled Yoongi in between his legs until Yoongi’s back was pressed to his chest. He lifted one hand and followed the trail of water that he had pulled from the bathroom sink, and then he let it grow as it ebbed and flowed under his ministrations. Then he brought the water to rest over Yoongi’s chest as Yoongi sighed and slumped slightly.

“I’ve got you,” Namjoon murmured, and then wrapped his right hand around Yoongi’s hard cock as Yoongi arched into his touch with a soft moan. They were done talking. Yoongi’s job was done; Jeongguk’s command had been satisfied. And now, though Namjoon was still quietly reeling and swallowing down feelings of fear, he chose to focus only on the one man he needed. The man who, if he didn’t survive their crusade, Namjoon would flood the world for like a biblical apocalypse.

No emotion. Get rid of it.

With Yoongi in his arms, though, Namjoon knew he could never get rid of what he was feeling.

Jimin’s residence
Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
01:16 AM

There was something eerily comforting about silence.

When Jimin had started running, he hadn’t turned back. He had sprinted from TRACK Labs by himself, sprinted from the fire he had created, but Seokjin and Hoseok had chased him, shouting his name. Gasping, Jimin had contacted Jeongguk in desperation while leaping onto his motorcycle, begging Jeongguk to fix it. Begging him to keep Director Nam and Lia in the dark. Begging him to make it look like a failed mission for all three of them where the elusive Phantom had gotten the better of them all and the vaccine supply was burned and destroyed.

Jeongguk had followed through. But he had refused to wipe Seokjin’s and Hoseok’s minds. 

Jimin was meant to report to the DKR at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow for a mandatory briefing, and Seokjin and Hoseok would have to be there as well. All three of them would then have to write up a report, and if they didn’t match, then Jimin’s head would be on the chopping block. What was worse was that Lia’s report would be completely different from all of theirs, given the current circumstances. So now Jimin was just sitting in the silence of his apartment, on his fourth glass of whiskey, ignoring the text message he had gotten from Jeongguk.

We can’t hide anymore. My friends all know. Your turn.

Jimin wanted to be numb. He didn’t want to have to confront the idea that being the anomaly he was meant to be was synonymous to upheaving his entire life and obliterating his comfort zone. There was no more status quo. The person Jimin was months ago was gone. He felt unrecognizable.

The glass was halfway to Jimin’s lips when he heard a hollow triple knock on his door. His first instinct was to assume that the authorities were here to arrest him for treason or conspiracy against the government. His second instinct was to hurl his glass at the door and let it shatter. But then the knock came again, followed by a voice.

“Jimin, let us in.”

It was Hoseok. “Us.” He wasn’t alone. Surely Seokjin was with him. Jimin stayed on the couch and took a sip of his whiskey. The knock came again.

“Jimin, open the goddamn door. We need to talk. Now,” Hoseok insisted. “We know you’re in there! Open the door.”

The silence was so nice.

“Open the fucking door or we’ll break in,” Hoseok continued. “I have Seokjin. You know we can just let ourselves in.”

Then break down the door. Jimin locked his phone and tossed it aside. He took another sip. Why was it that ignoring the problems that were piling up seemed to be the only way to cope?

The door beeped and clicked, and then it swung open. Jimin didn’t even look. He kept his eyes focused on the coffee table until his vision blurred as Seokjin and Hoseok walked right into the apartment on their own and locked the door behind them. Seokjin just stood by the door, but Hoseok marched right into the kitchen, grabbed two glasses, and made his way to the couch. He slammed the glasses down on the coffee table and poured himself a decent amount of whiskey, then poured some for Seokjin. 

“Alright. Sit,” Hoseok barked at Seokjin, and Jimin finally looked up, because that was a tone he hadn’t expected. Seokjin walked like a guilty man as he sat down on the adjacent couch beside Hoseok, keeping a healthy distance. Jimin couldn’t help it; he floated the glass of whiskey towards Seokjin, who accepted it with a small bow of his head.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“With all due respect, hyung, I’ll get to you in a moment,” Hoseok said to Seokjin, and then he turned back to Jimin. “But I’m fucking fed up with your bullshit, so you’re going to talk first. I’m not leaving until you do. We just came straight here after getting DNA tested and nobody even asked where you were, so I have a few questions. You’ve been keeping secrets ever since this mess with Phantom started, and now he’s keeping secrets—” He jabbed a thumb at Seokjin— “and I’m fucking over it. I’m tired of being the dumb friend in the dark. So talk.”

“I… I don’t know where to start.” Jimin’s voice came out hoarse, so he cleared his throat and licked his chapped lips.

“Why don’t you start with the fact that the two of us witnessed you manipulating fire?” Hoseok offered snappishly, but then he took a deep breath and brought the glass to his lips to down half of it in one go. Jimin kept his elbows braced on his knees, twirling the glass slowly between his hands. He stared at the whiskey as he spoke.

“I’m an anomaly.”

[the courage or the fall] :: civil twilight 

Hoseok clicked his tongue, held his breath, and then let out a small laugh as he nodded in slow motion. Seokjin only blinked, but then he spoke first.

“You know what? I’m not as surprised as I thought I would be.” He sat up taller, noticing that Hoseok was giving him a look. “No, I’m serious. He drinks scalding hot tea and coffee. I spilled an entire coffee on him once and he didn’t even care. I’ve seen him walk through fires out in the field and then lie about it and say that he went around it. Fire and heat have never bothered him. The connection between that and being a pyrokinetic isn’t difficult.”

“Okay, but there’s no way—there’s no way,” Hoseok said, rounding on Jimin, “that you’re allowed to be a pyrokinetic. There’s no fucking way.”

“No. There isn’t,” Jimin agreed. “Because I’m not allowed. TRACK brainwashed me when I was five and told me to suppress it. Every year that I went without thinking about being a pyrokinetic was a celebration for them, because it meant that they had data to prove that they could groom anomalies. I was praised for suppressing it. I’d bet money on the fact that they have me as their poster child hero because it just shows that they can control an anomaly like me. I’ve never even lit a candle until recently. About a month ago is when I finally gave it a shot.”

“Why?” Hoseok pressed.

“A friend encouraged me to try,” Jimin said with as much ambiguity as possible, but Seokjin snickered, his head still bowed. Hoseok was having none of it.

“No, we’re not doing that shit,” he snapped. “None of this inside joke bullshit.” He turned back to Jimin. “Which friend? Because I have a hunch, and I fucking hope that either I’m wrong, or that you have a damn good explanation.”

Jimin sat back on the couch and finally eyed his friends. They were still in uniform. Neither of them had changed. All Jimin could think about was the two of them riding straight to Jimin’s apartment and then bickering quietly in the parking lot about how to handle the situation before Hoseok had reached the end of his rope.

“Oh, it’s not an inside joke. I don’t actually know. I’m just taking a wild guess, same as you,” Seokjin offered willingly, but then he glanced at Jimin. “But I’m not surprised that TRACK groomed you and made you suppress it. Are you?” He looked at Hoseok.

“At this point? No,” Hoseok said with a humorless laugh. “With everything that’s been going on, I’m beginning to realize that my employer is a pile of steaming hot garbage and that we can’t trust anyone. I said it before—when the villains start making sense, something’s wrong. Now who’s the friend?”

Jimin pressed his tongue into his cheek, hesitating. Then he locked eyes with Hoseok. “I have a damn good explanation.”

Hoseok stared, and then his eyes flicked down to his whiskey. He then downed the rest of it in one go, and Jimin brought the bottle over to Hoseok’s free hand without a word, tipping it when Hoseok offered his glass.

“Are you double crossing us?” Hoseok quietly asked, avoiding eye contact.

“No.” Jimin’s answer was immediate. He shook his head. “I’m not. Not like you think. I’m not double crossing you. But Phantom… remember how we always wondered why nobody remembered him being at TRACK? How there’s no record of him?”

“Mhm.”

“The night that he defected, he was sixteen,” Jimin began. “It was the end of September. I was just about to take my exit examination and leave TRACK. And he decided that he had had enough of the abuse. So he put the entire building under mind control. He murdered ten of the guards. I didn’t see it happen, I just… saw the bodies. I saw one of the guards kill another before she slit her own throat. And he was just… standing there at the other end of the hallway. I was the only one awake.”

“He was sixteen and he murdered ten people,” Seokjin repeated. “That sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to you in a moment,” Hoseok said, patting Seokjin’s knee roughly. Jimin finally cracked a small smile that was fleeting. “If you saw all this happen, then that means that you knew him. You knew him. You know who Phantom is.”

“I do.” Jimin nodded. “Because he was my best friend.”

“Oh, Christ,” Hoseok murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course he was. Keep going.”

“He was assigned to the telekinesis program when he did his intake. And when we were kids, he made a promise to me.” Jimin held out his hand, and from his bedroom, the red rose that was on his nightstand floated out until it was safely in his grasp. “I was ten. He was eight. He told me a secret. Said that he could make our music teacher do whatever he wanted because he could control people’s minds. So we just—you know, giggled about it like kids do. He made the teacher assign us to the same instrument. But then I made him promise me that he would never control my mind or make me do anything. He promised.”

“You lied to me.” Hoseok cocked his head to the side, his voice calm. “I was right. You slipped up. Phantom’s never controlled your mind, has he? With what you just said, that’s—he’s never done it to you, has he?”

“Never.” Jimin held up the rose. “He gave this to me about eight years ago. Called it a forever flower. Said that it would only die if he broke his promise to me.”

“How romantic,” Seokjin grumbled.

“It’s still alive,” Jimin pointed out. “He won’t do it. I met with Jo Chansung face-to-face and he knew it, and he still refused to get into my head. He could have had full access to the man himself. Endgame. But he didn’t do it.”

“How much does he know?” Hoseok asked softly. “How much? When did you start working with him?”

“It’s complicated.” Jimin set the flower aside. “I knew it was him when Director Nam brought it up in that meeting. I recognized him when we fought at the prison the night Taehyung escaped. And he recognized me right away. When we were at SEOUL Forest, you saw me talking to him.” Jimin glanced at Seokjin. “That’s because we knew each other. We were arguing. He hated what I had become. I hated what he had become. There was no love lost.”

“Then what changed?” Hoseok wondered.

“When Director Nam was compromised after the airplane incident,” Jimin said, and he saw a flicker of recognition in both of his friends’ eyes. “Director Nam came to me privately and asked if I thought that I could talk to Phantom about it. I said yes. So I went to see him and asked him to back off, and he said no. We hashed it out, came to a deal. And then we just… I don’t know. I don’t know how it happened, to be honest. It just escalated, and I didn’t… really care enough to stop it.”

“So you’re sleeping with him,” Hoseok deduced, sounding both astonished and disgusted but also mildly amused. Jimin nodded.

“Yeah. I have been for months. But besides that, every assignment where I’ve been sent out to see him, I’ve learned… a lot. Like the night with those two scientists.”

“What about them?” Seokjin asked.

“TRACK Labs… created a serum disguised as a vaccine,” Jimin replied. “It’s a vaccine that mutates the already-mutated gene and reverses kinesis. Takes away a kid’s abilities.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Hoseok said, aghast.

“I wish I was,” Jimin said darkly. “But it’s been approved for mass production after a lot of trials, and guess who they were trialing it on?”

“TRACK Plus,” Hoseok declared, snapping his fingers once.

“TRACK Plus. Hyung, this vaccine is effective on kinetic children. But it’s not effective on anomalies,” Jimin said. “And by not effective, I mean that it kills them. It induced a very slow, very painful death. So any child at TRACK who’s an anomaly is going to die if they’re given this new vaccine. If I was still at TRACK, I would have been dead by Sunday.”

Hoseok ran both hands down his face as Seokjin blew out a breath and sat back. Silence reigned for a moment as Hoseok drank and Jimin poured himself yet another glass, his hands shaking.

“And you know this for sure,” Hoseok challenged, but Jimin just nodded.

“He took me to TRACK Labs at night once,” he confessed. “Phantom did. He snuck me in there so I could see it myself. They had former classmates of mine strapped in at the lab, hyung. Do you remember a girl named Hwang Sooyoung?”

“Sooyoung?” Hoseok’s eyes widened. “The—She was—That girl who all the geokinetics thought was an anomaly? She was, like, six or seven years younger than me, but we all knew about her. We swore she was hydrokinetic, too.”

“I saw her there that night at the lab,” Jimin said. “He—Phantom, he gave me her name. She must’ve gone to TRACK Plus, because she was there that night, and she was in a lot of pain. I could see it. I doubt she’s still alive.”

“So that’s why you helped burn it all,” Seokjin figured. “Because you knew what was going on.”

“I knew. But that’s not all TRACK is trying to do,” Jimin continued. “There’s a reason all three of us have to report for DNA testing if Phantom is ever involved. They want his DNA.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Hoseok laughed again in disbelief. “They don’t want to build a profile, do they? They want his fucking DNA so they can use it. They want to create more of him like some bad science experiment.”

“It’s called The Darwin Project,” Jimin enunciated. “The vaccine for the kids and the serum they’re trying to create to mimic Phantom’s abilities. They want to play God. They want to pick and choose who gets kinesis and who doesn’t. They don’t want it to be up to chance or fate. They want control over it so that the people they think deserve our abilities can have them. And if they have Phantom’s DNA… they can give omnikinesis and potentially mind control to whoever they want.”

“Jesus,” Hoseok said, his eyes distant as he sat back again. Seokjin twirled his glass on his palm, staring at the floor. Jimin quietly drank and let his words settle in with his friends, knowing that he was spilling far too much at once, albeit necessary. His story hung in the air for a moment, but Jimin felt the moment when Hoseok and Seokjin both absorbed it, because they shifted on the couch at the same exact time.

“But here you are with everything they need, and you’re not giving it to them,” Seokjin slowly said. “You have his DNA all over you at any given time. You know all kinds of things about him, but you’re… you’re just not saying anything. You’re working with him. You agree with what he’s doing.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jimin pointed out. “Am I withholding things from the government? Yes. I’m withholding everything. Am I working with him? Yes. Do I agree with what he’s doing? Not really. I don’t like his methods. But I can’t change him. It took a lot for him to get me to wake up and realize what was going on. How expendable we are.”

“What do you mean?” Hoseok’s brow furrowed.

“After the airplane almost crashed, the board of trustees voted to reprimand me,” Jimin divulged, and Hoseok’s eyebrows rose. “The very people whose lives were in danger decided that I needed to be punished for saving them, all because I worked around their restrictions. We might be heroes, but it’s conditional. If we make one wrong move, it erases decades of dedication. They don’t care. The second we break their rules, we prove that kinetics are dangerous and not trustworthy. We prove that restrictions are necessary to control us. It’s happening to me, which means it’ll happen to both of you, too.”

“They don’t actually care about us,” Seokjin chimed in, lifting his eyes. “I’ve, uh… I’ve started to realize that. The people who restrict our freedom do it because it benefits them. It benefits their version of freedom and power. We’re a vulnerable group. Easy to control. We all just want to be accepted, and they manipulate us and groom us so that we just… roll over. We take what we can get.”

“If Jo Chansung is the one pushing for this vaccine, then this must benefit him,” Hoseok chimed in, and Jimin slowly nodded. “Something about this… I mean, he’s obviously a powerful man. But how does this directly benefit him?”

“Jeongguk thinks that it’s because of his son. He swears Jo Joosung is still alive,” Jimin commented.

“Who?” Hoseok and Seokjin said at the same time, but Jimin saw another flicker of recognition in Seokjin’s eyes first. Jimin contemplated, but then he realized that he had been foolish to think that he couldn’t trust Seokjin and Hoseok, that they would choose their conditional careers over one another. They were all employed by the government and in a precarious position, but at the end of the day, they could depend on each other and virtually no one else. Admittedly, Jimin knew from the jump that he could trust his two closest friends with sensitive information, that they would listen without jumping to outrageous conclusions. But given the chaos around him, he had hesitated, and now he was making up for it.

“Jeongguk.” Jimin swallowed the lump in his throat. “Jeon Jeongguk. That’s his name. He’s twenty-three. And it goes without saying that if you repeat it anywhere or rat him out, he’ll come for you. Because you two are disposable to him.”

“I mean, that’s fair,” Seokjin said, and Hoseok scoffed indignantly. “What? It is! You think we matter to him? Taehyung would kill you and Jimin if you pissed him off enough. He wouldn’t care. The only reason none of us are killing each other is because Phantom said—sorry, Jeongguk said that they can’t kill us.”

“Oh, lovely,” Hoseok said, throwing up one hand. “Christ Almighty. So he thinks Jo Joosung, the nine-year-old who died a hero, is still alive.”

“Yeah. And I think he might be alive, too,” Jimin confessed. “And that he’s an anomaly hiding out at TRACK Plus because his father put him there. Once upon a time, Jo Chansung showed up at TRACK to visit Jeongguk when he was nine. When they were giving Jeongguk electroshock therapy in secret. And Jeongguk read his mind the entire time. Chansung wanted to throw Jeongguk into TRACK Plus. So I wouldn’t be surprised if Joosung was still alive.”

“Okay, I’ll digest that later,” Hoseok said, waving his hand. “What I’m trying to understand is—I mean, Jo Chansung is the director of TRACK. He’s done phenomenal things, supposedly. I mean, now that I know he’s just let the abuse happen for years right under his nose, it’s kind of… anyways. Why is all of this happening now? What made Jo Chansung wake up one morning and decide to create a vaccine to take away kinesis?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear that a guy with omnikinesis and mind control was his last straw,” Seokjin interjected before Jimin could speak. “Jeongguk came out of nowhere and started wreaking havoc and dropping bodies. You saw how fast Chansung went into hiding. He obviously felt threatened.”

“And if he had been thinking about a way to keep kinetics from reproducing in the future while also picking and choosing who got to have our abilities, then Jeongguk was the perfect excuse,” Jimin added. “An all-powerful man with mind control capabilities? Train the kids and then take away their kinesis. Easy solution. Jeongguk’s existence breeds fear. And Jo Chansung can prey on that to fuel his agenda. It’s the perfect ruse.”

“So then what, have the villains lost the plot?” Hoseok asked, and Jimin cracked a smile again. Hoseok had just the right amount of whiskey in him to finally loosen up now. “They started their little crusade to just make people pay, right? A revenge tour. Whatever. Now what?”

“Now Jeongguk’s realizing that it’s worse than he originally thought,” Jimin replied. “That dismantling TRACK from the inside out is going to require a lot more than just killing people. There’s a whole subplot that they didn’t account for.”

“Whoever’s writing this script is an idiot,” Seokjin said, and finally, the three of them burst out laughing. Hoseok slid down on the couch, legs out, fingers laced together, knuckles against his forehead as he spoke to the ceiling.

“I’m a lightweight. This is too much information for my tipsy brain to handle. I came in here ready to murder you, Jimin. Thought about making you eat rocks.”

“I noticed,” Jimin muttered, tired but amused.

“I have a lot of questions, but I can’t think of any of them,” Hoseok continued. “I asked one question and got about seven answers. Seokjin hyung is right. This plot is shit.”

“It’s better to just do what I’m doing and accept everything at face value,” Seokjin advised, waving his hand. “And then come back with questions later. I’m still trying to be okay with the fact that Phantom is a twenty-three-year-old guy named Jeongguk.”

“Yeah, humanizing him feels a little bizarre,” Hoseok added, and Jimin smirked.

“Been feeling the same thing for a while now.”

“Okay, well, Jimin’s bullshit is going on the back burner for now. Hyung, you’re up. Tell us your secrets,” Hoseok said.

“I think you’re the one losing the plot,” Seokjin said, and Hoseok dropped one hand and smacked Seokjin’s thigh. “Okay, okay. I’m not—it’s not even—it’s nothing.”

“Ten thousand won says you’re sleeping with him,” Jimin said as he drank the rest of his whiskey. “Kim Taehyung. You’re meeting up with him, aren’t you? That’s why you’re not surprised by what I’m doing.”

There was an acute silence, and Seokjin’s sigh broke it. “He’s persistent.”

“He’s a sadistic maniac,” Hoseok bluntly stated.

“Who’s very persistent,” Seokjin argued.

“So what, is he having sex with you for a reason? Is there an ulterior motive?” Jimin wondered, and Seokjin slowly shook his head, his ears visibly pink from embarrassment.

“No. It’s just sex. He likes to talk to me. I don’t know. Life has no consequences for him,” Seokjin said, sounding frustrated. “He just does things. Doesn’t even think about why he’s doing them.”

“Because he has the freedom to do whatever he wants,” Jimin pointed out, and Seokjin whipped his head up and stared at Jimin. “Isn’t that it? I mean, once you accept that you’re the villain, the rules don’t apply to you anymore, do they?”

“That’s what he said. He said he sleeps like a baby at night. It doesn’t faze him anymore.”

“So you’re having sex with Kim Taehyung.” Hoseok rolled his head and pointed a finger at Seokjin, and then he rounded on Jimin. “And you’re having sex with—what’s his name again? Jeon Jeongguk? Phantom. You’re both fucking the bad guys and you didn’t even think to tell me.”

“Now would probably not be the best time to say that Min Yoongi is the one training me in pyrokinesis,” Jimin commented offhandedly, and Seokjin choked on his drink and coughed while waving a hand as Hoseok burst out laughing, covering his face with both hands again.

“This is a disaster,” he said into his hands. “My life is a joke.” He dropped both hands. “Okay. I’m accepting all of this. I’ve laughed about it when I shouldn’t have. So now what?”

“Now… Now I think we should just lay low,” Seokjin suggested, and Jimin took a deep breath. “This vaccine disaster… they won’t let it slide easily. So we need to keep our heads down.”

“We have to make sure our reports match,” Jimin added. “Jeongguk will tell me exactly what Lia is writing in her report, and all of us need to do the same. The narrative has to be consistent. So once I know what our story is about tonight, I’ll relay it to both of you. Unless you’d prefer that Jeongguk just puts the story into your heads.”

“That’s disturbing but convenient,” Hoseok commented.

“Then I’ll have him do that. We do have one person on our side,” Jimin pointed out. “Director Nam.”

“No way he’s on our side,” Seokjin said, shaking his head.

“I think you’d be surprised,” Jimin replied. “He’s… He’s let a lot of things slide. I know that Jeongguk has access to his mind, but he’s not doing much with it right now. Director Nam is letting things go unnoticed. He’s giving us a lot of leeway that we shouldn’t have. So I think he’s on our side.”

“So we really should just lay low,” Hoseok repeated. “Try to keep the status quo and see where it takes us.”

“See what Jeongguk has planned next,” Seokjin murmured.

“I don’t think we can plan ahead,” Jimin said. “But Jeongguk’s friends know. Taehyung, Namjoon, Yoongi—all three of them know what’s going on. And now you two know. So I think we may have an advantage. We’ll see what happens with this vaccine and see how TRACK responds, and then we’ll go from there. But if we can figure out a way to work together instead of fighting each other… we may be able to make a difference.”

“I hate that I understand what they’re doing now,” Hoseok stated. “I mean, fuck all of them. I mean that. I’ll say it with my whole chest. Fuck all four of them. They’re monsters. But I get it, and I hate that I’m actually willing to help them.”

“Join the club,” Seokjin griped.

“The unwilling heroes,” Jimin declared, snickering. “We’ll lay low. Play it by ear.”

Hoseok sighed. “Deal.”

“Fine with me,” Seokjin agreed.

“You still gonna sneak out to fuck Taehyung?” Hoseok asked point-blank.

“If he’s still going to sleep with Jeongguk, then yeah,” Seokjin replied heatedly, gesturing to Jimin. The three of them exchanged glances that felt more like a challenge, Seokjin to Jimin especially.

“Another round?” Jimin asked instead, lifting the bottle of whiskey. At the same time, Hoseok and Seokjin both thrusted their glasses forward, so Jimin poured the next round for the three of them, trying not to laugh. They drank in silence at first, but then Hoseok sat up and cautiously asked to see Jimin’s pyrokinesis skills. When Jimin had a good flame going, Hoseok joked that he was going to throw whiskey on it to see what would happen, and Seokjin snatched Hoseok’s glass away, all of them laughing.

Jimin knew that what he had done was crossing a line that he had never meant to cross. He knew that he had reached a point of no return. He knew that the status quo was shattered now, and that it would all catch up to him soon. But right now, in a tipsy state with company he trusted and the weight of the world finally shrugged off his shoulders for just a moment, the mayhem that had happened just hours before seemed momentarily insignificant. For the first time in what felt like ages, the screaming protests and nagging in Jimin’s mind were silent.

And there was something eerily comforting about silence.

Yang Jaeyong’s residence
Munjeong-dong, Songpa-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
21:49 PM

The apartment was small and dingy with grime in the corners of the windows and used dishes in the sink. The location was prime, but the state of the living space was expected; it was nothing Jeongguk hadn’t seen before, but it had a particular lack of appeal more than ever, given the apartment’s owner. 

Jeongguk flicked the knife from his hand again and watched as it lodged into the wall across from his perch on the couch. He held up his right hand and the knife dislodged and soared into his palm, small flecks of drywall raining down onto the carpet. Subconsciously, he lifted his free hand and traced over the scar on his face with one finger. Old habit, given the impending company.

Any minute now.

Jeongguk was a patient man. Most people he encountered found it difficult to believe that Phantom had patience and self-control, but Jeongguk had both in spades. His entire childhood had been robbed from him while he had learned to take deep breaths and wait. He was a planner. He liked to let his prey become ignorantly and blissfully comfortable before he even considered pouncing. Comfort was like hope for sinners—fleeting and illusionary. If Jeongguk ever found himself feeling comfortable, he chose not to sleep that night. Karma was merciless.

The lock of the apartment door beeped. Jeongguk just balanced the knife by its sharp point on his fingertip, staring at the X pattern he had created on the wall of blade marks. The door swung open, and a man stepped inside with a tired sigh, kicking off his shoes without turning on any lights. Jeongguk sat quietly as the man bustled around his kitchen, dropping a plastic bag of takeaway food (Vietnamese food, his usual) down and opening up the fridge to look for a beer after a long day of working with TRACK children who he couldn’t vaccinate anymore. 

Patience.

Jeongguk waited as the fridge closed, and then the man turned to set the beer onto the countertop as he flicked on a light and began to reach for his food. And that was when he took notice of Jeongguk sitting on his couch.

Yang Jaeyong let out a choked, strangled shout as he bent at the waist and staggered backwards, one hand fumbling as he tried to yank open a kitchen drawer. Jeongguk just held his hand out until he had the beer in his grasp, and then he cracked the tab open and took a sip as he heard the incessant click of a gun that wouldn’t fire.

“Well, now you’re just making a fool of yourself,” Jeongguk commented. “Put the shitty gun down, Yang Jaeyong. You haven’t used it in years, and I already tampered with it. Come sit down. Would you like to eat your dinner first? It will be your last meal. You might as well enjoy it.”

Jaeyong stumbled and gripped the countertop like a wild man, stammering senselessly and fumbling for air, and Jeongguk took another sip of the beer. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jaeyong throwing open drawers again, and then he staggered towards where his office nook was, but Jeongguk snickered.

“Are you looking for this?”

Jaeyong pivoted, face pale, and he stared as Jeongguk held up a small black earpiece that he had pinched between his fingers. Maintaining eye contact with Jaeyong, Jeongguk used his other hand to harness enough electricity to shock the earpiece until it sparked and burned, destroyed. Jeongguk shoved it through the open tab of his beer and into the liquid, and then he took a sip and set the beer onto the coffee table.

“Sit.” 

Jaeyong let out a pathetic cry as he stumbled and sat in a chair that flew from the kitchen table into the living room. He settled down against his will facing Jeongguk, and though Jeongguk could see the struggle in his eyes, Jaeyong couldn’t move. Jeongguk was keeping him glued to the chair.

“Would you like your dinner?” Jeongguk offered again. “Most death row inmates receive a final meal. This can be yours.”

“I’m—Y-You—You…”

“Yang Jaeyong. Forty-seven-years-old, medical staff at TRACK, still divorced, still pretending you don’t have enough money to pay child support for your seventeen-year-old son you never see, even though you’re just sitting pretty on that money to spend it on your shitty gambling habits. I didn’t expect you to change, but wow. You really are a piece of shit.”

“You—You can’t be here, “Jaeyong stammered. “You’re—you shouldn’t—my name isn’t—”

“Oh, right. Your name was never on any list. A lot of the TRACK medical staff were protected,” Jeongguk casually said, waving the knife around as he spoke. “But that’s the perk of being me. I know a lot of things.” He leaned forward, and then he smirked.

The other one is on my nightstand. If I can get it —

“The other earpiece?” Jeongguk said out loud, and Jaeyong’s face lost nearly all of its color. “The one on your nightstand?” Jeongguk reached into his pocket, and then he held it up. “This one? Yeah, the one in my drink is your spare. I’ll take this one with me for a little bit of research.” Jeongguk tucked it away in his pocket safely again, and then he pointed at Jaeyong with the knife. “I’m taking it that the earpiece means you know who I am.”

Jaeyong was visibly trembling, teeth chattering intermittently from the violence of it. His entire body was reacting in fear, and Jeongguk was delighted. His patience for all those years had paid off. Seeing the fear in his abuser’s eyes was so glorious that Jeongguk almost didn’t want to blink in case he missed a moment of the suffering.

“Use your words. You’re a grown man,” Jeongguk chastised in a mocking tone. Jaeyong stopped blubbering by force.

“I know who you are,” he blurted out, panting as he tried and failed to fight against Jeongguk’s weak commands. “Phantom. The murderer. The—The one—they told me that—you’re the one who…”

“I’m the reason you have those earpieces,” Jeongguk replied, taking pride in hearing his alias being spoken with such fear. “But it’s important for you and everyone else in your little inner circle to understand that while those earpieces may feel nice, they won’t protect you from me. I’ll always find you eventually. There’s nowhere you can hide from me. Now stop crying and control yourself. We’re going to talk.”

Jaeyong choked and turned red in the face from being forcibly silenced as Jeongguk sat back on the couch again. All he wanted to do was slice Jaeyong open and watch him bleed out slowly until there was nothing left. He wanted his abuser to feel his pain and his wrath simultaneously, but first, Jaeyong needed to remember.

“You know who I am,” Jeongguk softly said, narrowing his eyes. “But I need you to remember. See, I can wipe people’s memories without actually wiping their memories.” 

Jeongguk stood up slowly, and then he slipped his hands into his pockets and glanced around the dimly lit apartment as Jaeyong continued to sweat and tremble and whine without being able to move. Jeongguk turned his eyes towards the window, out onto the night.

“It’s this thing I do,” he continued. “A gag order command. That’s what I call it. I just find the memory or memories and shut them up for however long I want. That’s what I did to you and everyone else.”

“L-Let me go. I want to eat. I want to eat dinner,” Jaeyong stammered earnestly, and Jeongguk paused, snickering.

“No you don’t. You just want me to release my hold on you so that you can try to run out the door. You’re forgetting that I can literally read your thoughts as they happen,” Jeongguk said, still standing over his prey. That was what Jaeyong was now. “You’re not getting out of this alive, Yang Jaeyong. Diversion tactics won’t work.”

“No, no, I—I want to eat!” Jaeyong blurted out, but Jeongguk just ignored it. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the coffee table directly across from Jaeyong and stared at him. 

“I hate that I feel like monologuing,” he said, mostly to himself. “I should’ve just killed you when you walked through the door. Monologuing is so predictable. But the thing is… you’re the kind of person who deserves it. I need you to know what you did. I need you to know that you’re going to die. I need you to feel that fear.”

“I-I-I—I want—you—you don’t—”

“Time to remember.” Jeongguk reached forward and gripped Jaeyong’s head between his thumb and middle finger, palm nearly to his forehead. He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment until he found the dusty remnants of the gag order command he had left on Jaeyong’s mind almost eight years ago. Still there, still thriving. Lift it. He snapped his fingers with his free hand and then used the other hand to tap Jaeyong’s forehead right between the eyes, and then he leaned back.

[monsters (acoustic version)] :: ruelle

There was a moment where Jaeyong slumped in his chair, eyes rolling back. But then he shivered and came back to himself, eyes flying open in a panic. Jeongguk, who was wearing a face mask, pinched the fabric between two fingers and pulled it down to his chin.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked again, and Jaeyong’s reaction was one that Jeongguk saved to memory immediately; he flailed without leaving his chair, trying to lean back and escape but failing, turning his head, eyes wild. He had nowhere to hide.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he moaned. “No, you—not you, no, I—you can’t…”

They didn’t kill him. He isn’t dead. I should have killed him myself. 

Jaeyong’s mind was racing, and Jeongguk was thoroughly enjoying it. All the thoughts, all the memories that were flooding back, the sheer terror Jaeyong was feeling because he remembered what he had done to Jeongguk for all those years… and Jeongguk was going to use it to his advantage.

“You—no. You don’t—now, come on,” Jaeyong said with a nervous laugh, eyes still wild. “Come on, Jeongguk. Come on, now. We—You—You don’t have to do this! W-We’re both adults, here. Both of us! You—Be sensible. We can talk about this. Let’s talk. Let’s talk!”

“Mm.” Jeongguk narrowed his eyes again, and then he leaned back and pressed his palms into the coffee table. “I did a lot of talking and asked a lot of questions in my therapy sessions with you, but you were never sensible. You never wanted to talk. Why should I have an adult conversation with you?”

“You—Because you don’t have to do this!” Jaeyong said with another laugh, slowly becoming more and more unhinged as he spoke. “This is unnecessary! I-It’s been years! How many years since you left TRACK? Eight years, eight years, wow. You’ve—You’ve clearly grown. You’ve—You know that this is wrong. We can talk about this. Work something out. You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re right.” Jeongguk leaned in again with a small smirk. “I don’t have to do this. But I want to do this. I’ve been waiting patiently for so long, biding my time. I gave you the luxury of forgetting for eight years. I gave you so much time, and what did you do with it? Jack shit. I was too kind, waiting this long.”

“No, you—”

“Quiet,” Jeongguk commanded, and Jaeyong fell silent instantly. “I want you to look at me when I tell you this.” Jeongguk waited until Jaeyong’s eyes were on him. “You can talk. And you can bargain. And you can beg. But I want you to know that there’s absolutely nothing that you could say or do to save yourself. You’re going to die. I’m going to kill you. All the plans you have for the next week or so, whatever you wanted to do? Oh well. I want you to really let that sink in. I’m going to kill you, and you’re going to be in pain from start to finish.”

Jaeyong looked on the verge of fainting, and his teeth were truly chattering now, which was exactly what Jeongguk wanted. He would not be eating dinner. He would not be sleeping soundly tonight. Never again would he know comfort, and that was what Jeongguk wanted.

“I’ll spare you the lengthy monologue,” Jeongguk advised, even though Jaeyong looked out of his mind. “But I think it’s important that you know why I came back for you and why I’m going to kill you. Not for your sake—for my sake. It’ll bring me peace of mind to know that you know exactly why I’m going to make you suffer so much.”

“Y-You… Jeongguk-ssi,” Jaeyong whispered, and Jeongguk snorted.

“Please. You mocked me every day in a baby voice, and now you want to put the bare minimum respect on my name? Fuck off. Listen closely,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You spent all your time taunting me and torturing me and making my life hell because you were scared of what I could do if I was given the opportunity. You wanted me to look crazy so they’d kill me or send me away. But they didn’t. I kept it together. And we could have avoided this. But you did something that I told you not to do.”

“I—You took away my memory!” Jaeyong sputtered desperately. “What—No!”

“See, that’s what’s interesting. I took away your memories of me the moment I left, but you still fucked up,” Jeongguk recalled. “It’s all right there in your memory. I even warned you, and you decided to be the piece of shit that you are.”

“I’m—I don’t—”

“You were the medical examiner the morning that Park Jimin took his exit examination,” Jeongguk stated, and whatever color was left drained from Jaeyong’s face. He was still breathing, but he looked like a living corpse. “And I warned you. I said that if you touched a hair on his head, you’d regret it. That I would find you and make you pay. Well, here I am.”

“No!” Jaeyong gasped. “That’s absurd! W-Why—You can’t—not for him! I-If you’re going to—you should—it should be because—”

“You broke all protocol when he walked into your examination room,” Jeongguk continued, using Jaeyong’s memories against him. “He was already vulnerable and nervous, and you made him keep a chair floating off the ground the entire time you examined him. You made him cry. That’s unforgivable.”

Jeongguk stood up and stretched, and then he sighed in theatrical disappointment.

“I warned you, but you said it was an empty promise. That you’d push him to his limit and there was nothing I could do. Would you like to retract your previous statement?”

“You—This is—”

“This is fair. This is very fair,” Jeongguk interjected. “You made Jimin cry. I don’t care that you spent years taunting and torturing me. You and fucking everybody else. But Jimin was so good. He was my only friend. And you hurt him. You said he’d be a hero someday, and you wanted to know what I would be.”

“A monster. Y-You’re—You’re a monster,” Jaeyong gasped. “Let me go! You don’t have to do this! I’m—I’m a good man! I’m not like that! Stop this!”

“A good man,” Jeongguk repeated slowly, and then he shook his head. “Don’t lie. It’s annoying. Here’s what’s going to happen. Stand up.”

Jaeyong stood on command, and Jeongguk knew that the command alone was what kept Jaeyong on his feet. He would have collapsed otherwise.

“Over to the window. Go ahead.”

Jaeyong staggered over to the window, moaning and groaning the entire time, begging senselessly. Jeongguk considered a chair, but then he shrugged and walked over to the window as well, twirling the knife between deft fingers. 

“There are several places on the human body where you can stab yourself without dying. Immense pain, really terrible. But it won’t kill you. Every hour, you’re going to do just that.” Jeongguk smacked the knife into Jaeyong’s hand forcibly, patting him on the back a few times in encouragement. Then he palmed the back of Jaeyong’s head as he spoke, providing the command. “Every sixty minutes, you’re going to stab yourself. You’re going to find that special place where you can insert the knife without it killing you. You’ll bleed, but the blood loss will be slow. And it will be painful. You’re going to continue to stab yourself every hour until you run out of places to do so, and every single time you do, I want you to think about what you did to Jimin.”

“No, no, no, no—”

“And once you run out of places, you can slit your own throat,” Jeongguk declared, and Jaeyong wailed helplessly. “You can’t scream. You can’t call for help. And you most certainly aren’t allowed to do anything except use that knife every hour like I said. You’re going to stay by the window so that you can watch all the lovely people going to work tomorrow morning or going about their lives while you’re in here stabbing yourself to death because you made Jimin cry. And if you’re feeling really remorseful, you think about how you turned me into a monster. I am what I am because of you. I’m a product of your handiwork. You get to lie in the bed that you made.”

“Please, p-please, just—shoot me! Shoot me instead! Make it fast!” Jaeyong pleaded in desperation. “W-Why draw it out? Why? There’s no point! You won’t be here to watch! Just—Shoot me! I want you to shoot me!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jeongguk rhetorically asked, thumping Jaeyong on the back again. “I’d love to stay for a nice, long conversation, but I can’t fucking stand you. I’ve been waiting for you to die for years. I’ll sleep well tonight knowing that you’re in your own apartment in pain. And that there’s nothing you can do about it. Now be a good boy and do well in your therapy session.”

Jaeyong began to moan again. He rocked and swayed on the spot. He shouted Jeongguk’s name as loudly as he could under the circumstances. He sobbed. He tried to say that he had to sleep or use the bathroom or eat. He begged for Jeongguk to reconsider. He tried to appeal and say that this wasn’t who Jeongguk was, that he was better than this. 

The problem was that this was exactly who Jeongguk was.

Jeongguk waved his hand as he walked towards the door, blanketing the apartment with the suggestion that anyone who walked in wouldn’t bother to look for DNA. The leather gloves he was wearing helped protect him. To be safe, he took the beer he had drunk with him. Then, with a man he despised now locked in for an impending death, Jeongguk walked out of the apartment without turning back.

He was not better than this.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
17:57 PM

Jimin cleared his throat and crossed one leg over the other.

“But you haven’t noticed anything,” he carefully enunciated, and Director Nam nodded grimly.

“I haven’t noticed anything yet,” he emphasized. “But it’s been… quiet on that front. Although right now, I can imagine I’m not much use to him.”

“Probably not. Everything is chaos,” Jimin murmured, scratching underneath his chin for a distraction. Suddenly, the suit he was wearing felt like a restriction. Everything felt suffocating. He felt like just being at the DKR was a betrayal, but he had managed to scrape by on his own lies. That didn’t stop him from feeling guilty.

He, Seokjin, and Hoseok had barely gotten any sleep leading into their early morning briefing, but Jimin had managed to rope Jeongguk into rigging the situation in their favor. He had gotten a copy of Lia’s report to provide to the three of them, and then he had remotely placed hypnotic suggestions of the storyline into Seokjin and Hoseok’s heads while they were sleeping. Seokjin and Hoseok were still heavily wary of the entire situation and wanted very little to do with Jeongguk, and Jimin couldn’t blame them; Hoseok, though, had a lot of ammunition to throw at both Jimin and Seokjin, and though he had given Jimin a few looks, he hadn’t spoken negatively yet.

The name of the game at the DKR and TRACK was damage control. A message had already been broadcasted on the morning news program about the fire at TRACK Labs, because that was the cover story. All of the scientists were safe, which was the good news of the day, but the vaccine supply had been almost entirely destroyed with only a few spares, and definitely not enough to vaccinate several hundred trainees at TRACK. Jo Chansung had delivered a personal statement expressing his immense disappointment, but in that same statement, he had praised his team at the DKR for intervening and saving the lives of the scientists.

Jimin, Seokjin, and Hoseok had all written reports, but their reports were quickly dismissed in favor of Lia’s report. But once Director Nam, and surely Jo Chansung, had seen that the reports and stories all matched, disappointment had certainly settled in. Jimin could only imagine that Chansung was hiding from the public eye wondering exactly how none of his prized heroes had brushed up against Phantom at any point (all lies that had been fed), and why there was no security footage from the lab. Poor Lia’s head had been close to the chopping block before Director Nam himself had swooped in to calm the situation, saying that Lia had been no match for an omnikinetic.

“What I don’t understand,” Director Nam began, brow furrowing, “is why Phantom seems to be prolonging this. If his goal is to confront Director Jo, then I fail to understand his game plan. Countless people have spoken with Director Jo, including you. If this monster can access minds remotely and via proxy, why hasn’t he done it?”

“From what I understand, it’s not as easy as it sounds,” Jimin replied with caution. “I think it depends on the person. Even he seems to have limits. Director Jo must be protecting himself well. Even some kinetics are difficult for Phantom to access, from what little I do know.”

“Even God has his limitations,” Director Nam mumbled darkly, and then he sighed. “Right. Well, I appreciate that you’ve come to check in with me. I should be checking in on you and Seokjin and Hoseok after what happened at the lab. If I’m shaken after just bearing witness to it all, I can’t imagine how you three must be feeling.”

“Cheated. Helpless. Devastated,” Jimin lied. “But if anyone can recover from something like this, it’s Director Jo. He, uh… he has a talent for rising from the ashes.”

“And here I was thinking you were the phoenix,” Director Nam said with a wry smile, and then he gestured to the door. “Dismissed. Go home and get some rest.”

Jimin stood and bowed, buttoning his suit jacket, and then managed a smile, happy to hear that his boss was giving him the green light to duck out early. When he stepped into his office, he waved his hand as his laptop closed and hovered over his open bag before slipping in safely, his other belongings packing themselves. Jimin bent at the waist and then plopped into his chair to shut his computer down, but that was when his peace and quiet was disrupted.

“Good evening. We interrupt your regularly scheduled news broadcast to bring you this important segment.”

Jimin shoved his desk chair back and gaped, standing up and rooting himself to the floor immediately, because the television in his office had turned on by itself, and it wasn’t the anticipated six o’clock news. Instead, it was a man with wild black hair wearing a full face mask and clothing in one shade of black, and he was standing in front of a white background like a bizarre newscaster.

“My name is Shock, and in tonight’s episode, we’ll be meeting ten very important individuals who have become my unwilling but enthusiastic hostages. Please meet your hardworking and dedicated TRACK board members.”

The camera panned out, and there they were; ten men and women were strapped into chairs in two rows of five, and Shock was standing right in between them. All ten board members were gagged and visibly struggling, grunting, making desperate noises, eyes wild in fear, and Jimin’s stomach swooped nauseously. 

“As you can see, all ten are present and accounted for,” Shock continued. Was it Taehyung? Was this really his handiwork? It seemed right up his alley. Jimin covered his mouth with both hands and continued to listen. “This is my appeal to the general public of Seoul and to the government that protects our fine city. I demand the man you’ve lovingly dubbed as ‘Phantom.’ Bring him to me. Or better yet, Phantom—make yourself a willing participant. Bring me Phantom in exchange for the hostages’ lives. If I do not get Phantom, not only will the hostages die, but I will feel highly tempted to take a trip to TRACK and kill off children one by one until I’m satisfied.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jimin muttered, his closet already opening up on its own accord so he could change into uniform. He knew that the assignment was coming. It was only a matter of time.

“This live program will last for one hour. Bring me Phantom by seven o’clock, and the hostages will be released safely, and no children will be harmed,” Shock said, reaching over and patting one hostage on the head roughly. “Shall we meet our hostages? Let’s get to know them!”

Jimin abandoned the television. He burst out of his office, hearing silence in the bullpen as everyone watched the broadcast, and he rushed into Seokjin’s office, where Hoseok was already standing with his fingers laced and resting on the crown of his head in horror as he watched. Jimin slammed the door shut.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he quietly barked as Shock, on television, continued to speak and introduce each board member. “And we’re the only fucking ones who know that it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why is he demanding Phantom when they’re literally working together?” Hoseok added, horrified.

“That’s not him.”

Jimin turned to look at Seokjin, who was staring at the TV with his hands in his pockets, fixated.

“It’s not?” Hoseok sought clarification.

“No.” Seokjin still didn’t tear his eyes away. “That’s not Taehyung. I know his voice. I know how he stands. I’ve seen him naked. I know him. And that’s not him. It’s some lookalike. But who is it, and why are they demanding Phantom?”

“TRACK just lost their vaccine supply,” Jimin murmured, the lightbulb flickering on in his head after Seokjin’s revelation. Hoseok still looked stunned after hearing the word “naked,” and Jimin couldn’t blame him. “And Phantom’s their culprit. They may have lost whatever they were using to create a serum that would use Phantom’s DNA to replicate omnikinesis. And now they’re just trying to draw him out.”

“Jeongguk isn’t stupid,” Seokjin quietly said, eyes still on the screen. “He won’t give himself up for this. He probably wants these ten people dead. But it’s our job to try to save them, isn’t it? Jesus Christ.”

“It’s not—never mind. Spoke too soon,” Hoseok sighed, because the alert system began to sound in Seokjin’s office, asking all three of them to attempt to intervene. Jimin didn’t look back; he threw open Seokjin’s office door and ran around the bullpen right to Lia’s office, knowing that Seokjin and Hoseok were hot on his heels. He marched into Lia’s office, and Lia spun in her chair, already scowling.

“I know what you’re going to ask me to do,” she said preemptively as Seokjin and Hoseok joined Jimin to stand by his side. Out in the bullpen, the chatter was increasing, and phones were ringing off the hook. Jimin could hear Director Nam barking out orders. “But you’re not going to like what I have to say, and you might want to close the door.”

Jimin swept his hand, and the door slammed shut, locking the four of them inside. Protocol be damned. There was no protocol in situations like this anymore. They were all winging it.

“Seokjin-ssi, you can confirm this for me,” Lia requested, turning back to her computer monitors. “But the broadcast isn’t being hacked by an electrokinetic. There’s a very specific signature and signal and diverse line of code that electrokinetics use to hack into secure broadcasts like this, and it’s not present. I’m not detecting any electrokinetic energy.”

Seokjin stepped forward and bent over the desk, and Jimin didn’t miss the small sparks of electricity flying between his fingers as he bridged them on the desktop and stared at the screens. Then, with his tongue pressed into his cheek, he turned around to face Jimin and Hoseok.

“She’s right. This hacking job isn’t the work of an electrokinetic.”

“And I can’t shut it down,” Lia lamented, and then her expression turned grim. “Between the four of us, the only way to shut this down would be to work without restrictions and use raw fucking power. That’s the only way. And none of us can do that. This broadcast is going to stay on television, and I doubt that we can find Phantom and bring him to Shock.”

“Lia.” Seokjin took a deep breath and faced Lia. “I like you, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” He pointed to the one monitor where the broadcast was still playing. “That’s not Shock. That’s an impostor.”

“Hyung,” Hoseok said warningly, but Seokjin didn’t seem to care, and Jimin was both impressed and horrified. Lia, true to her unflappable nature, just raised one eyebrow and glanced at the screen. Then she turned and set her fingers on the keyboard, and a moment later, Taehyung’s mugshot was up on the screen as well. She leaned in and squinted, and then she clicked her tongue and sat back again, crossing her arms.

“Well.” She rolled her head to look up at Seokjin. “Someone has a good eye for detail.”

“Try being almost murdered by him,” Seokjin snapped under his breath, and then he walked away and began to pace in a small radius.

“Well, if there’s nothing Lia can do, and there’s nothing you can do,” Jimin said to Seokjin, “then what the hell are we supposed to do to help? We’ve been summoned to do something. To take action. Are we really going to be useless again?”

“They’re making us look like fools,” Hoseok complained.

“Who’s ‘they,’ exactly?” Jimin retaliated, and Hoseok’s expression darkened in understanding. Having a private conversation about everything that was going on behind closed doors had done wonders. But that same private conversation was exactly why Jimin gestured for Seokjin and Hoseok to follow him out of Lia’s office.

“Thanks for trying, Lia,” Hoseok said with gratitude.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell the government that the hacker isn’t kinetic,” Lia warned, sounding both bewildered and concerned. “This… Jimin-ssi.”

“Yes.” Jimin turned around.

“I think this might be an inside job,” Lia softly said, and when Jimin saw a white hot spark dash through her eyes, he knew it was serious. Lia didn’t often show physical signs of distress or adrenaline like Seokjin did, but when it happened, Jimin knew that she was troubled.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised emptily, and then they left Lia’s office and huddled together outside the door.

“You heard her. There’s only one way to cut this broadcast,” Jimin hissed. “Especially if it’s an inside job. We need an electrokinetic without restrictions.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hoseok whispered in disbelief, but Jimin’s gaze was fixed on Seokjin, and Seokjin was staring back. Jimin cocked his head to the side almost as a challenge, begging Seokjin silently to agree, because they were out of options. Even Jeongguk was not as powerful of an electrokinetic as Kim Taehyung was. 

“Wait. If we can cut the broadcast and save the hostages, we can get ourselves out of hot water,” Hoseok suddenly realized. “Not that we’re in deep shit or anything, but our reputation isn’t exactly spotless right now. It’s a damn miracle we haven’t been fired for being compromised.”

“Yeah, because we’re all kinetic and we can fight it, but we’re raising a lot of eyebrows,” Seokjin hissed. “And now you—” He looked back at Jimin— “want to go right to the top of the evil villain food chain.”

“Give me another option.” Jimin crossed his arms. “Honestly, hyung, we’re going down in flames either way. I can’t think of a way that this will end well. So we might as well try.”

Seokjin pursed his lips. He glanced at Hoseok as if Hoseok could save him, but Hoseok suddenly seemed to be on Jimin’s side. So Seokjin took a deep breath, tilting his chin up with his eyes fixed on the ceiling before he found Jimin’s gaze.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Taehyung’s residence
Cheongdam-dong, Gangnam-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
18:41 PM

Jimin had watched Seokjin do some of his best acting when Director Nam had asked where the trio was going dressed in their suits still. Seokjin had said that the three of them were going to find a good location where they might be able to shut down the broadcast and that Jimin was going to make a valiant attempt to summon Phantom. Skeptical but knowing that there was no other possible game plan, Director Nam had let them leave in one car with Seokjin behind the wheel. 

But Jimin had texted Lia asking her to scramble Seokjin’s GPS and signal, and she had happily agreed. So now they were standing outside Taehyung’s apartment door, according to Seokjin, all of their phones switched off, and Jimin couldn’t believe how calm Seokjin looked.

“We should’ve suited up,” Hoseok hissed, but Seokjin shook his head.

“We’re fine,” he insisted, and then he raised his fist and knocked on the door. Jimin heard an excited noise, and then footsteps, and then the door flew open.

“Have you come to watch the show? Oh. Oh, there are three of you! I can make more popcorn.”

Taehyung stepped back from the door and galavanted back towards the couch, and Jimin just stepped into the apartment and stared in disbelief. Taehyung was barefoot, wearing black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and he looked so startlingly normal that it was jarring. Hoseok seemed stunned. Seokjin was completely indifferent, which spoke volumes about his disjointed relationship with Taehyung.

“Come on in, come in. Have a seat if you want.” Taehyung plopped down on the couch and gestured to the television, and then, to Jimin’s horror, he pulled a bowl of popcorn back into his lap. As he shoved a handful into his mouth, he said, “This is so good.”

[devil’s playground] :: the rigs

“You fucking psycho, those are ten human beings being held hostage,” Hoseok snapped. The volume on the TV had been lowered, but Jimin stepped closer so he could turn and see what was happening. There was a timer in the top right corner of the screen now, and the hostages all looked sweaty and pale and one breath away from passing out. The ticker along the bottom said that TRACK was in full lockdown as a precaution, and that the entire city was in a state of panic. And there was the Shock lookalike, still standing in the middle of the group, chattering on happily as he killed time.

“Those, Jung Hoseok, are ten human beings who I tried to kill ages ago, but your bleeding hearts united to stop me,” Taehyung said with a sad sigh. Then he grinned. “Actually, I just wanted to lure Kim Seokjin to me, so my plan worked.”

Time was ticking away, and Taehyung seemed too entertained by all of the fanfare. Jimin marched forward, and then he crouched down right in front of Taehyung, and Taehyung made direct eye contact without shame, a small smile of amusement on his handsome face as he blinked expectantly.

“That man is impersonating you,” Jimin said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

“I know.” Taehyung pouted. “He’s not doing a very good job. I mean, he’s got the look, but this whole ‘give me Phantom or I’ll kill your children’ angle is so unoriginal. I’m much smarter than that. Whoever wrote this script should be fired.”

“I want to know why you think a non-kinetic is impersonating you to draw Jeongguk out of hiding,” Jimin snapped. He saw a flash of surprise register in Taehyung’s eyes at the sound of Jeongguk’s name, but Taehyung recovered quickly.

“Oh? A non-kinetic?” He sounded delighted. “Well, this just keeps getting better and better. You’re telling me that the piss poor impostor on the screen isn’t even kinetic?”

“The electrokinetic who works with me—Lia,” Jimin stated, and he saw Taehyung’s expression change to that of recognition. “She did some digging. Whoever is hacking this broadcast isn’t an electrokinetic. She thinks it’s an inside job.”

Taehyung blinked at Jimin, and then his eyes shifted over to Seokjin and Hoseok. When neither of them spoke, his face split into a devilish grin.

“Ya-a-a-ah, your government is really something,” he singsonged. “They’re that desperate for their buddy Phantom now, huh? All their kinetic adolescent death juice went up in flames and now they’re doing live theater on national television just to get Jeongguk to come to them? I’m impressed.”

“Stop playing around,” Hoseok snapped. “We’re running out of time.”

“Lia told us that the only way to cut the broadcast is for an electrokinetic without restrictions to intervene,” Seokjin continued hastily. “Someone with enough raw power to shut it down. And that’s you.”

“Oh-h-h, I see. So you want me to shut down the broadcast so that they can’t have their fun with these hostages and then are forced to release them because you think it’s an inside job, and then ultimately, they also fail to secure Phantom,” Taehyung worked out as Jimin stood back up.

“That’s right,” Hoseok said with a nod. Taehyung plucked up a single piece of popcorn, tossed it into the air, and tilted his head back. The popcorn landed right on his tongue, and he chewed with a grin.

“No,” he said cheerfully, reaching for some more popcorn. “I don’t want to. These ten fuckers deserve to die. If I can’t do it myself, then I’ll watch some clown impersonating me do it. It’ll be really interesting to see how they kill these board members or if they even follow through. This is getting exciting.”

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin said sharply.

“Yeah, babe,” Taehyung said as he shoved more popcorn into his mouth and reached for the remote. Hoseok raised both eyebrows, still looking at the TV and checking the timer as Jimin ran his hands down his face nervously. Seokjin’s ears turned red, but he just sat down on the couch beside Taehyung roughly.

“The three of us are already in hot water with the government, and now this is happening,” he said, and Jimin could hear in his tone of voice that he was pleading. “We got sent out on assignment to shut down this fucking broadcast, and if we don’t, there will be hell to pay on our part, and I have no idea what they’ll do.”

Taehyung lifted his hand and gently patted Seokjin’s cheek twice. “That’s not my problem, darling. Popcorn?”

“Fuck,” Seokjin cursed, rocketing to his feet angrily as he began to pace over by the kitchen, his tactics failing. Jimin glanced at the screen—three minutes to seven o’clock.

“You’re really not going to do anything,” Jimin stated, dazed. “You’re just going to let it happen.”

“Bingo.” Taehyung crossed one leg over the other. “I thought Jeongguk pulled your head out of your ass, Park Jimin. These ten board members have been around for about a decade now. They were sitting around a table with coffee making decisions about TRACK while we all suffered endless abuse. I don’t know who the hell wrangled all ten of them up like this, but I want to see the grand finale. You know just as well as I do that Jeongguk is sitting at home watching this with a smile on his face.”

“Fuck, oh my God,” Hoseok cursed, turning away with his hands on top of his head.

“Oh, wait, it’s getting good,” Taehyung said as he turned up the volume. “Look, what’s he doing? What’s that?”

Jimin dared to turn and watch the screen. Shock now had a box in his hands with a lid that could be flipped, and he turned and set it down on a small white table behind the ten chairs. The timer was down to one minute.

“Unfortunately for our board members,” Shock said, “time is up. And I haven’t received any news about Phantom, nor has he turned himself in. He’s proven to be as much of a coward as I thought he was. It’s a shame. I do regret it.”

“No you don’t,” Taehyung said with glee, leaning forward as on the screen, the board members all began to writhe in their chairs and bindings and cry, and Jimin couldn’t watch. He couldn’t bear to see ten people suffering in such fear knowing that he was supposed to help them but couldn’t find a way. He felt guilt, but the guilt wasn’t primarily because he was helpless; the guilt was because he realized that he just wanted it to be over.

“I’ll extend the time limit by ten minutes,” Shock said. “And every sixty seconds that I don’t hear from Phantom, one hostage will be killed. Ten minutes, Phantom. Ten minutes to save these innocent people.”

“Innocent,” Taehyung repeated, snorting. “Oh, this is awesome. They don’t make TV like this anymore. This is exciting. The tension is fantastic, and what a plot twist, adding ten minutes extra. Even cooler that this Shock impersonator might be someone from the government, huh? I’m on the edge of my seat. Will he kill these people on live television? Is he bluffing? Tune in to find out!”

“Shut up, you fucking maniac!” Hoseok shouted. “Shut the broadcast down!”

“No,” Taehyung said with enthusiasm, swinging his legs back and forth like a child on purpose. “I’m having too much fun. If he’s impersonating me well enough, he’ll do it. He’ll kill them. Let’s see. Oh, here goes the timer. Here we go! What’s he gonna do? Knife to the throat? Bullet to the head? What’s the method?”

“Oh my God,” Seokjin breathed, still pacing with his head tilted to the ceiling, because he, like Jimin, had realized that begging or pleading or bargaining with Taehyung in this situation was useless. Taehyung wanted these ten people dead. It was that simple.

“OH-H-H-H-H-H!”

Jimin covered his mouth with both hands and closed his eyes for a moment as Taehyung’s delighted laughter filled the room.

“Did you see that?! Did you see that? That’s fucker’s dead! Holy shit!” Taehyung laughed gleefully, throwing his arms up in the air in what had to be victory. “Did you see that? Tell me you saw that!”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Hoseok said mostly to himself, pacing over by the door. Taehyung was on his feet now, grinning. He jabbed one finger to his own chest.

“That was straight to the heart,” he said in excitement. “To the heart, can you believe it? God, look at him dying, he’s in pain, this is so—oh, he’s dead now. Yikes, that must’ve hurt. You know what? Let’s not fire the screenwriter. That was a shot of potassium chloride injected right into the heart. Immediate cardiac arrest with a hell of a lot of pain, and then death. That’s some professional shit right there. You’re right.” He addressed the television, waving one hand like he was dismissing concerns. “Guns and knives make things messy. Potassium chloride to the heart is brilliant. Showstopping.”

“Oh, God,” Hoseok breathed, crouching down on the spot and covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God, this isn’t happening.”

But now Jimin was watching. It was clear that Jeongguk wasn’t going to phone in like some telethon. They were going to watch ten people die in real time on live television, and suddenly, Jimin didn’t feel the same horror or guilt as before. Seokjin had stopped pacing. Hoseok was crouching still. But Jimin, as the second minute passed and Shock reached around and injected a dose of potassium chloride (according to Taehyung) right into one woman’s heart, quietly sat down on the couch next to Taehyung.

“Now what am I supposed to watch when this is over?” Taehyung said, still eating popcorn. “I’m going to get post-show blues. You think it’s being recorded? Will there be a replay?”

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin snapped, but this time, he just sounded tired.

“It’s time for the terrific trio to stop thinking you can save everyone,” Taehyung said as he relaxed and crossed the other leg instead. “And just enjoy. These ten people don’t mean anything to you. You just wanted to save them because it would have made you look good. Couldn’t save the vaccine supply, but goddamn, Park Jimin, you must’ve really wanted it destroyed.”

“Shut up,” Jimin sighed, exhausted. The timer was ticking down again. This was already a mission failure. What more could he do?

“And now you can’t save these ten useless board members who sat around and authorized our abuse,” Taehyung pointed out. “They approved funding for our abuse. And they approved the vaccine that will mutate the kinetic gene and kill children. If Jeongguk’s not phoning in, then neither am I. Doesn’t it suck to know that I’m the one person who could shut this broadcast down, but I won’t do it?”

“You really fucking enjoy other people’s pain, don’t you?” Hoseok asked faintly.

“Without question,” Taehyung agreed. “Especially people like—oh, shit, he’s having a hard time with it, look at him flail. Looks like a demon’s coming out of him. Anyways, yes. This is pure entertainment for me. Why shouldn’t it be? These people made me the man I am today. I could say the same about you three. You’re all a product of TRACK. Congratulations. Popcorn?”

A fourth board member was injected right before Jimin’s eyes. His vision blurred as he blinked and attempted to look away. Hoseok was just sitting on the floor now in a daze, but Seokjin was in the kitchen, and he had pulled out a bottle of what looked like whiskey. His hand was rock steady as he poured a glass for himself without even offering it up to anyone else, which only told Jimin that he had visited Taehyung’s apartment one too many times already.

“Taehyung.”

“Yes,” Taehyung said as he fished for more popcorn. Jimin shifted on the couch.

“That’s not you on the screen.”

“A very brilliant deduction from the government’s finest.”

“And the public doesn’t know that you and Jeongguk work together,” Jimin continued, ignoring Taehyung’s amused sarcasm. “And that man pretending to be you is demanding Phantom. I think it’s because they want Jeongguk’s DNA. They’re getting desperate.”

“They’re idiots,” Taehyung said as if he was clarifying. “They clearly know nothing about Jeongguk if this is how they chose to handle things. Did they really think Jeongguk would just knock on their door and give himself up for ten board members’ lives? Jesus, I’m the one who tried to openly kill them in a plane hijacking. They’re obvious targets who aren’t worth saving.”

“But then,” Hoseok began, his voice weak. He still couldn’t look at the television. “If the people hacking the broadcast and killing these board members on live TV isn’t you and it isn’t a kinetic, then who the fuck is orchestrating all of this?”

“Look no further, my geologically-inclined friend, than the very government you work for,” Taehyung said with enthusiasm. “Yah, the fallout from this is going to be wild. Wonder who the new board members will be. Obviously they’ll pick ten people who are up Jo Chansung’s ass. You’re doomed.”

The fifth board member died in real time. Seokjin continued to drink. Hoseok stared off into space before closing his eyes. The word “fallout” echoed mercilessly in Jimin’s head as Taehyung continued to chatter happily with live commentary.

If Jimin, Seokjin, and Hoseok had been skating on thin ice for this long, then the ice was about to crack, and they were about to plunge into freezing cold water with no hope for survival. It was only a matter of time. 

The sixty-second timer on the television hit zero again. Jimin closed his eyes.

National Intelligence Service
Naegok-dong, Seocho-gu
SEOUL, South Korea
08:58 AM

It had only been a matter of time.

Jimin discreetly picked at his fingernails as he stared straight ahead with Seokjin on his left and Hoseok on his right. Only twelve hours had passed since all ten board members had been murdered on national television, but the headline was international. The world was talking about it. The entire city of Seoul—the entire country, for that matter—was in a state of panic. And now Jimin had been called in for a court hearing first thing in the morning with his friends by his side.

A court hearing.

Upon returning to the DKR last night, the bullpen had been silent as the grave. Jimin, Hoseok, and Seokjin had gone straight to Director Nam to reaffirm their lies and admit to failure. And that was when Director Nam, with a pale face and pursed lips, had handed each of them summons for legal questioning before the director of the NIS, as well as the newly appointed board members who had been installed at the eleventh hour.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” That was what he had said to his prized trio. Jimin had gone through hell trying to sleep last night to the point where he had considered calling Jeongguk and begging for the issue to be swept under the rug. He wanted Jeongguk to make everyone forget. Make it all go away. But Jeongguk could only do so much, and perhaps Jimin had to face the music at some point.

“Park Jimin. Kim Seokjin. Jung Hoseok. Right this way, please.”

Jimin stood up and buttoned his suit jacket, and he followed the man who had summoned the three of them. 

“I’ve been informed that the questioning is to be brief,” the agent said, and for a moment, relief flooded through Jimin’s body. But then he remembered that there was a laundry list of reasons as to why they were being summoned for legal questioning, and none of them were good. His flicker of hope died instantly.

“Just keep your cool,” Jimin whispered to Seokjin and Hoseok as they walked together. “And if things go wrong, throw me under the bus.”

“What? No,” Seokjin hissed.

“What’s happening now is my fault,” Jimin hissed back as they approached the doors of the small courtroom. “Deny everything. Blame it on me. Let me take the fall.”

“Jimin, for once in your life, shut up,” Hoseok snapped, and then he fell quiet as the agent opened the courtroom doors. There was a creaking echo, and then Jimin kept his head held high as he walked in first.

Immediately upon entering the courtroom, Jimin could tell that the entire room was lined with kinesis dampeners. He could physically feel his brain revolting at the mere feeling of being stifled. Kinesis dampeners always brought about a strange kind of ringing in the ears and then a hollow emptiness that Jimin couldn’t describe. He supposed that it made sense, though; in a courtroom, everyone had to be on equal footing.

“Please take a seat.” 

Jimin filed in and sat at the small table across from the raised bench and tabletop, where the government officials were all seated. Ahn Jongchan, director of the NIS himself, was seated off to the right, and Director Nam was on the far left. Jimin didn’t recognize the man who was meant to be leading the questioning, but his nameplate said MOON SANGYUN. There was an empty seat to Sangyun’s right, and Jimin had a sinking suspicion that that seat was meant for Jo Chansung.

“Good morning,” Sangyun said the moment Jimin had settled in. “Three individuals employed with the Department of Kinesis Regulation have been summoned for legal questioning regarding recent events that have unfolded. Please state your names and aliases for the record.”

“Park Jimin, alias ‘Phoenix,’” Jimin began, since he was on one end of the table.

“Jung Hoseok, alias ‘Prism,’” Hoseok added.

“Kim Seokjin, alias ‘Flare,’” Seokjin concluded.

“Thank you. The record will show that three individuals were summoned, and three individuals are present,” Sangyun declared. “Questioning will commence. The NIS and the DKR have received detailed and timely reports from the three of you pertaining to several recent events. The events in question are as follows: a report from Park Jimin, alias ‘Phoenix,’ regarding the torture and deaths of Song Seokhoon and Lee Taesuk. Reports from Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin, and Jung Hoseok regarding the breaking and entering at TRACK Labs, followed by the destruction of the vaccine supply meant for trainees at TRACK. Reports from Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin, and Jung Hoseok regarding the hostage situation and eventual murder of ten TRACK board members. Have you, to the best of your knowledge, written and submitted reports for these events?”

“Yes,” Jimin answered in unison with Seokjin and Hoseok.

“Very well.” Sangyun checked the paperwork before him before proceeding, adjusting his glasses. “You have been summoned for legal questioning this morning because the government has voiced their concerns over the recent actions taken by the three of you. With several mission failures consecutively, all of them catastrophic, your integrity and your ability to perform have been called into question, as well as your ability to adhere to the strict rules and guidelines set before you by the government you serve.”

TRACK spent thirteen years training you for a very specific purpose, Jimin. To serve and protect our country and use your abilities for good and for good only.

Jo Chansung’s words were hollowed out in Jimin’s mind. What use was adhering to rules if he could only use his abilities for “good” according to the government? Who were they to decide what was good and what was bad?

“It was recommended that we provide each of you with an opportunity to give a defense of your actions,” Sangyun stated. “However, given the nature of the events and the, as I said, catastrophic outcomes, such defenses have been bypassed. Instead, before brief questioning begins, you will hear a statement from Director Jo Chansung. To protect his safety, he is not physically present here, but we have him via phone conference. Director Jo, if you would.”

There was a brief silence and a crackling sound as Jimin’s heart leapt into his throat. He saw Hoseok clutching one hand in the other beneath the table. Seokjin was shaking one leg repeatedly.

“Good morning,” Jo Chansung said, and Jimin gritted his teeth quietly. “I will be brief in my statement before I proceed with my questions. The recent series of events that have unfolded have thrown into sharp light the very crux of the issue that has been plaguing our country for a long time. We have a trio of heroes, three men who were trained and brought up in TRACK to serve our country for good and protect our citizens. However, it has become increasingly clear that the trio of employed kinetic individuals who serve with the DKR currently are simply not suitable for work. Their actions have proven, unfortunately, what we fear the most—that kinetics cannot be trusted and are not reliable employees of our government.”

In his peripheral vision, Jimin saw Hoseok’s jaw drop slightly in shock. Seokjin’s leg stopped shaking. A pin dropping in the room would have sounded like an explosion.

“We trust these three men with complex field assignments,” Chansung continued. “And until recently, all three of them have shown exactly why they were chosen by the DKR. They have been shining examples of how kinetics can integrate with society in the best way. But with new adversaries running around our streets, it’s become clear that this trio cannot handle the difficult challenges that field work requires. Time and time again, they have failed. We cannot accept such failure any longer. Many changes have quietly been given, but last night, ten men and women lost their lives to a monster, and Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin, and Jung Hoseok were unable to prevent such an atrocity from happening.”

“This is a joke,” Hoseok whispered without moving his mouth, stunned. Jimin could only blink in utter disbelief.

“The lives of the trainees at TRACK were put at risk by the actions of a madman,” Chansung continued. “And instead of rushing to protect them, our trio chose to make fruitless attempts at shutting down a live broadcast and contacting a psychotic murderer with mind control capabilities. Their judgment is severely impaired; the government believes that all three men have been compromised and are unfit to serve. With permission from the court, I would like to ask one question to each, with potential for a follow-up question.”

“Permission to proceed,” Sangyun said.

[scared of the dark] :: lil wayne, ty dolla $ign, xxxtentacion

“Jung Hoseok.”

“Yes, Director,” Hoseok said evenly, though if Jimin listened closely enough, he could hear his friend’s rapid heartbeat. He stared straight ahead with his hands folded on the tabletop as Chansung’s voice rang throughout the quiet courtroom full of witnesses.

“Have you recently witnessed Park Jimin, known as Phoenix, engaging in questionable interactions with the enemy known as Phantom?”

“No, Director.”

Jimin almost choked on his own breath, but he held his composure. Hoseok had not even hesitated. He was supposed to throw Jimin under the bus and shift all the blame squarely on his friend, but instead, he had spoken with immediate conviction and confidence, and he had lied.

“During the assignment located at TRACK Labs, when you were present with Jimin, did you witness him engaging in behaviors that were in direct violation of the code of conduct, and therefore the law?” Chansung pressed.

“No, Director,” Hoseok replied again. There was a screaming silence, and then—

“Are you aware that Park Jimin is classified as an anomaly?”

A murmur spread throughout the courtroom that was swiftly stifled when Sangyun, scowling, raised one hand in a call for it to cease. Jimin was not just staring stoically anymore. He was shaking in rage, his jaw clenched, because Jo Chansung had just divulged to a room full of unknowing listeners that Jimin was an anomaly—a piece of information that was supposed to be classified.

And now he wanted an answer from Hoseok.

If Hoseok said that he was not aware, then he was playing the game correctly. He wasn’t supposed to know. Jimin being an anomaly was something that, up until thirty seconds ago, only Director Nam and Jo Chansung (and Jeongguk) had known. If he said that he was aware—

“Yes. I am aware.”

Jimin closed his eyes and took a quiet deep breath. The courtroom was silent again.

“Quite frankly, I believe that Jimin being an anomaly would be an asset to our team, but I digress.”

Jimin’s eyes shot open, but he didn’t dare to turn his head. Hoseok, Jung Hoseok, the man who had been the most in the dark up until just recently, was now making passive aggressive comments to the government that he had been loyal to for years. He was essentially digging his own grave, and Jimin could see the looks on all the faces in the courtroom, including Director Nam’s—they all knew it.

“And quite frankly, I expected better from you,” Chansung said, but Hoseok just sat back in his chair and kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. “Park Jimin.”

“Yes, Director.” Jimin’s voice came out strong, though he was surprised that he was next.

“I will be brief. Have you or have you not recently engaged in the illegal use of your second kinetic ability?”

“I have not,” Jimin lied with ease.

“Have you, or have you not, been engaging in unsupervised interactions with Phantom?”

“I have,” Jimin agreed. “In the interest of protecting my colleagues from mind control. But I was reprimanded and told that the job came with risks that include possible death, so now my interactions are supervised.”

Jimin’s words had a bite to them, and he was unapologetic. If Hoseok had just opened Pandora’s box, then Jimin was going to make it a spectacle. He had always known that they would go down in flames one day. 

“And have you, or have you not, purposely sabotaged several assignments in recent days in order to push a personal agenda that directly violates government policy?”

“I have not,” Jimin lied again with a flair of confidence.

“Very well.” Chansung sounded disgusted now, and Jimin was certain that he could hear the nails being hammered into their coffins. They were all either going to be reprimanded to a breaking point or fired. There could hardly be an alternative outcome. “Kim Seokjin.”

“Yes, Director.”

Chills erupted on Jimin’s arms the moment Seokjin spoke. He didn’t sound professional or composed—he sounded calm. Too calm. Eerily calm.

And that meant he was angry.

“Perhaps you, as our veteran, can speak some sense and shed light on the situation,” Chansung said with a touch of hope. “Have you, Seokjin, witnessed Park Jimin engaging in behaviors that are in direct violation of the code of conduct, and therefore the law?”

“No, Director.”

“Before this hearing, were you aware that Park Jimin is classified as an anomaly?”

“Yes.”

“Kim Seokjin,” Chansung said, and Jimin could hear that he was at his wit’s end. This was it. This was the make-or-break moment. “Do you feel, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the actions that you have taken recently on assignment have been justified and have been performed to the best of your ability?”

“Yes, Director.”