Jonghyun still hadn’t waken.   Lil’ had taken great pleasure in describing possible reasons to Taemin as to why; they'd disabled him with sedatives earlier, which had probably only added heaviness to his drooping eyelids in the aftermath of his collapse into unconsciousness. Lil’ had explained that, apparently, passing out at pain was an inherent sign of weakness, that Jonghyun was just too fragile to withhold any proper defence, and had found it easier to succumb to a realm where reality didn’t matter, where it barely existed.
Taemin had listened silently, his own hurt a meagre whimper as it gently subsided.   To his surprise, Lil’ hadn’t actually tortured Taemin further, seeing it as a near pointless activity, but he was beginning to become bored. He paced from his table of equipment to the door and back, fiddled with his hair and occasionally clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Finally, he resumed to his plethora of equipment – a plethora Taemin had no way of viewing – and murmured to himself, “Maybe I can wake him up.”   Dread seeded once again within Taemin. He heard Lil’ begin to work, the clatter of metal against wood signifying that he was preparing something, something with a pain to bequeath that would spike Jonghyun back into reality. He hummed to himself, off-tune yet uncaring, a song Taemin barely recognised – ​neomu areum daun-daun-daun-daun view.
The quietest of scratches was heard from the corridor outside.   Taemin shot his head up, staring at the open door out of curiosity. He'd been so focussed on listening to anything but Lil’, that he'd heard the near-silent tapping. Lil’, enraptured in his own world, had heard nothing. Eyes trained on the door, Taemin awaited what he hoped he would appear – his hope being anything that could save Jonghyun.   As he watched, his stomach convulsed when the perpetrator of the noise appeared. A man’s frame appeared awkwardly at the door, a shadow that was hunched and could barely stand, knees bent, as if he wanted to curl in a ball that couldn't be prised open. The light showed his sharp features, his pale clothing, but shrouded him in an eerie darkness as Taemin held his breath, knowing to remain as silent as possible, lest he expose the silhouette. Lil’ continued on, oblivious.   The figure limped in, silently, eyes locked on Taemin’s sternly. In his one hand, he held something that glinted in the light. His other hand had been long since disposed of. As he moved, Taemin screwed his eyes shut, knowing one misplaced sound could end the man. The silhouette wobbled on his feet slightly, heading for Lil’ with his favourite machete in hand.   ​Be quiet, stay quiet, please, please, Taemin inwardly urged, clenching his fists and praying as Lil’ began to speak again.   If he turned around now, Jinki would be dead.   Taemin craned his neck to watch Jinki, who shot him a reassuring smile, as if to say don't worry, I've got this.   He was only a few feet from Lil’ now, blade in hand, his lower lip nervously, and Taemin’s heart was thumping, thumping, thumping-   Jinki’s legs crumpled beneath him and he cried out in pain as he clattered to the ground, too weak to walk any further.   Lil’ turned in surprise and then everything was happening in a flash. Lil’ snarled, glaring at Jinki as he lay at his feet, and lifted his booted foot to slam it against Jinki’s head. Before the impact, however, Jinki used his last dregs of strength from the ground, and swung the machete at Lil’, hacking into the tall man’s leg with the blade. Lil’s foot managed to slam against Jinki’s head and then the skeletal male out, but not before Lil’ was on the floor, screaming at the spray of blood that had left the leg now hanging on to him by only a tendon.   He fell silent quickly – dead, unconscious, Taemin didn't know, but whichever he was, this 'inherent sign of weakness' was enough to give Taemin a chance.   His breathing was heavy and his eyes clouded as he extended out his foot. The machete lay, bloodied, only a ruler’s length from him, a