Kyungsoo sat in the shadows outside of the tiny corner mart they’d just robbed, the puddle of illumination from the weak streetlight lapping at the toes of his shoes. The elderly shopkeeper had been watching the news when they’d walked in, the ubiquitous little bell above the door jingling in welcome. She’d jumped up immediately, thrilled to have customers until she spotted Korea’s Most Wanted cleaning out her shelves of steamed buns. Kyungsoo had tried to press a few bills into her hands, but she’d beat him off, wailing in fear, and hobbled away, the payment fluttering to the floor in her wake. Chanyeol had paid the shopkeeper zero attention, leaving the store with his pilfered goods even before she’d managed to lock herself into her small storeroom. Kyungsoo didn’t have the heart to break down the door and scare her more, so he’d simply cut the phone line running along the ceiling and pocketed the cellphone she’d abandoned on the checkout counter.

An empty wrapper skittered through the pool of lamplight, evidence of another carbohydrate casualty, the eighth Kyungsoo had counted in as many minutes. On the other side of the streetlamp, Chanyeol wolfed down a bun in two massive bites, cheeks bulging as he ripped open the next package. Kyungsoo snatched the ninth wrapper as it rolled by, harried by the stiff breeze. He stared at the flimsy piece of cellophane pinched between his fingers, still bearing the creamy innards of its former occupant, and a giggle bubbled up in his chest. He fought it down, masking the sudden sound with a stern throat clearing, but the little bun wrappers just kept coming. The tenth blew by, red bean paste smeared along its edge, and Kyungsoo smothered another snicker before giving up entirely. Laughing hysterically wasn’t exactly the proper response to their current situation, but there really wasn’t anything else he could do.

He finally had proof that Chanyeol was innocent. It was basic thermodynamics: every fire cost him literal calories and Chanyeol had to replace them somehow. Fuel up with a plate of ddukbokki, and light a match. Light up a motel, and halmeoni’s bakery section pays the price. But there’d been no binge before or after the prison fire. In fact, between initial sneak attack and the days he’d spent in the hospital, Chanyeol hadn’t eaten anything. Chanyeol’s first law: if there is fire, there must be food.

Not that it mattered anymore. What sane court of law would believe them?

He’s innocent, Your Honor. Because thermodynamics, Your Honor.

No, not every fire, Your Honor, just the one that killed my best friend. To be fair, he was probably provoked into starting the other ones.

By who? A super-secret, ultra-prepared, scarily connected organization that’s apparently dedicated to killing him. Ha-ha, Your Honor. Good one, Your Honor. I’m being serious, Your Honor.

Kyungsoo let the empty wrapper flutter away, his attention drawn to the grimy oil staining his palms. He wrapped his fingers together, making a small fist, but it felt unnatural. Jongdae had always been the fighter in their trio, Yoondae brought the charm and scathing wit, and Kyungsoo was the quiet one with clever hands. He opened his hand again, flexing the joints until they popped. He remembered the strain of raising the police van above his head, the twinging pull in his back and shoulders of lifting something far too heavy but not quite beyond his limit. He remembered the surge of roaring ferocity when he’d launched the van at the line of dumbfounded police. He remembered the unadulterated glee that fizzed through his veins as he’d snagged Chanyeol’s arm to drag him away in the tumult. Another Kyungsoo had come out to play, and he was reckless, strong, and a little bit cruel.

It scared him how easy it had been. But not as much as it should have.

He pulled out the shopkeeper’s phone and dialed the number that had always been number one in his speed dial. His heart pounded in his throat as the phone rang, seeking. Pick up, he begged silently.

“The customer you have dialed—” The wave of disappointment was so strong it took his breath away, “is not available right now. If you would like to leave a message, place one after the tone.” Beep.

“Hyung.” Kyungsoo let the phone drop to his knee as he took a breath to steady himself, scrubbing his palms clean against his jeans. He didn’t know what to say. After everything that had happened, what if Jongdae was done with him? “What do I do now?”

~~~

As people crowded into the conference room, Jongdae glanced surreptitiously down at the phone between his knees, its screen dimmed to barest visibility to avoid notice. Unsurprisingly, not a single bar. He’d ventured to the facilities’ highest point, the edge of the underground parking lot, in search of signal last night, only to find the entry tunnel blocked off by a steel gate. Nothing he tried would make it budge, not even the magical blank keycard that had gotten him out of Level Four. Jongdae eyed the card’s former owner as he pocketed his phone. Baekhyun was slouched so far underneath the conference table that only his head was visible, apathetic teen disguise firmly in place. He stood out like a beacon in the sea of dark suits and business faces, his hair sparkling with just enough glitter to be noticeable, bobbing his head slightly to whatever was pumping through his earbuds. Yet, he received no judgmental looks , no double-takes, no sideways glances; instead people’s gazes slid over Baekhyun like he wasn’t even there.

Director Choi entered the room, instantly quieting the chatter and interrupting Jongdae’s scrutiny. His tie was loose and his thinning hair wisped about his head as it he’d been tugging at it in frustration all night. As if that wasn’t alarming enough, he was trailed by another, much taller man clad in a bespoke suit that dripped money from the hand-stitched seams. Career soldier, Jongdae’s instincts told him. Career commander, he amended as the man settled confidently into a parade rest by Director Choi’s side.

“Our teams in Korea have been lost,” Director Choi said without preamble. Dismay rippled through the room, and Jongdae’s heart dropped into his stomach. “The militia squads stationed here will be dispatched to Korea within the hour to track down and neutralize the vivus threat.”

A black-uniformed guard from the overkill brigade raised a fist, her tactical gear rasping with the motion. “Are we still being paired with quarantine teams?”

Director Choi’s mouth twisted as the impeccably dressed commander stepped forward to speak.

“Up to this point, the primary objective of this operation was quarantine and containment. To that end, militia and quarantine teams cooperated with local forces to locate and capture the rogue vivus subject. However,” the suited soldier threw an unmistakable sneer in Director Choi’s direction, “due to the very public escalation of the situation, and the extensive losses on both sides, the militia will be taking sole responsibility for Operation Phoenix from now on.”

Phoenix. Jongdae remembered the outlier codename, and the bits and pieces he had overheard began slotting together. Phoenix is that damned arsonist. But that means Kyungsoo…

Director Choi’s jaw was jumping in irritation as he picked up a presentation remote from the table and pressed a button. A grainy video lit up the wall behind him, paused on an unfamiliar Seoul street illuminated with the waning twilight and the neon signs of nighttime businesses.

Through gritted teeth, Choi began, “After the militia team staged an poorly planned raid on Phoenix’s location—”

“A raid based on intel from your Guardian network that suggested Phoenix was alone and incapacitated at the time,” the commander interjected.

“A raid that completely neglected all rules of engagement regarding Phoenix including the most basic directive: don’t threaten his life—”

“But would have succeeded if he hadn’t been warned by his accomplice when intel clearly said he was alone—”

Jongdae slammed his fist onto the table as he rose to his feet, the sound startling the two feuding leaders into momentary silence. “What happened to Kyungsoo?” he demanded.

Choi pressed another button on his remote, and stepped to one side, letting the video speak for him.

In the middle of the street stood a lone figure too far away to make out clearly despite the camera wielder’s attempts to zoom past the row of police holding back the crowd. The SWAT team leader’s shouted commands echoed off of the buildings, the tension in the street palpable. Then, from offscreen, a massive disturbance. Shouts of alarm ripped through the quiet, and the crowd surged away from the unseen threat. The camera whirled dizzily in its search for the source of the confusion, catching a man holding the police van over his head.The video froze in the split second, the guards and analysts in the conference room murmuring in surprise at the feat. Jongdae sank back into his seat, goosebumps snaking up his arms as he absorbed the man’s face, a little muddied by the low resolution but still clearly visible and most importantly, instantly recognizable to anyone that knew him.

“Kyungsoo would never…” Jongdae trailed off as the man on the screen swung the van back and forth like it weighed no more than a wiffle bat, clearing a path, clobbering a few cops who weren’t fast enough to dodge. The van went flying toward the SWAT team a moment later and mayhem erupted onscreen as everyone scrambled to get out of its path.

“Those people were like family to us. A brotherhood.” Jongdae’s voice caught in his throat as the shock began settling deep into his bones. “Kyungsoo would never…” he snapped his mouth shut when he heard himself. Repeating it over and over wouldn’t make it true.

“He’s not the person you used to know anymore,” Choi explained, a note of sympathy in his voice. “We suspected it from the beginning, and his recent behavior confirms it - he’s been infected.” Across the table, Baekhyun looked up for the first time, locking eyes with Jongdae.

The commander strutted to the center of the room.“Phoenix is once again an imminent danger to society, and with an accomplice in the mix, all previous rules of engagement are rendered null and void.” He tapped his forehead. “Give no warning and aim right between the eyes, ladies and gentlemen. Our enemy will not allow a second shot.”