“You can run all you want, Jongdae. But you can never hide for long."
Those were the words that were drilled into his mind. He knows he can
never escape from his husband; this is all a game to him andJongdae
was going to play it as if his life depends on it. Literally. 

The January cold was more unforgiving than the December winds, Jongdae had to learn once again. Sitting on his makeshift perch near the mountain walls, he loaded his rifle and scanned his surroundings, adjusting the visor. He was pretty sure he saw movement at the opposite mountain slope. Taking his time, he calmly scanned everything again, lingering on some spots a bit longer, index finger always pressuring the trigger.
There it was again and just a few seconds later, a single gunshot echoed from the mountains and somewhere some birds were roused from the noise. Jongdae thought to himself that it was ‘very cliché’ when he still had his rifle trained on the dead body, but he was sure the man wouldn’t stand up again; it was a clean headshot and he saw the man’s brain mass explode when the bullet penetrated the skull and exited at the other side of the temple. The wolves would come and get rid of the body, it was nothing worth his time.

“You can run all you want, Jongdae. But you can’t hide for long.”

That’s what his husband used to tell him all the time. ‘ing , “husband”.’ Jongdae snorted to himself when he climbed down the perch hidden in a massive, old pine at the mountain slope. Shouldering his rifle, he started to make his descent. He should hunt down a rabbit, his mind wandered off, very well aware of the fact that his meat supplies started to decrease. He was on the run for actually a bit more than one and a half years, he guessed, maybe more, but time became irrelevant to him, only the moons counting for him. He didn’t even know which date it was most of the time if it wasn’t for the small radio transmitter he had in his hud he shared with the hermit that died a few weeks back of old age, an old native of the region. Jongdae had to swear to him that he would sacrifice his intestines to the spirits of the mountains and his body to the forest spirits. He couldn’t even remember how often the man explained the rites to him, the panic and fear in the man’s eyes to displease the spirits. But Jongdae did as he was told, drilled to comply without resistance. The man’s name he never knew, the man who only was known to him has angakkuq. Jongdae knew what the man was, a shaman, very aware of the fact by being born at the border of Alaska and growing up there, his father teaching him everything he needed to know after his mother died from childbirth. His father always told him he was weak as a child, to the point his father asked an angakkuq to heal him. The Inuits accepted them and they started to somewhat live with them, but always in the mountains, visiting them once in a while, bringing herbs or animals in exchange for the education of Jongdae and medicine.

That was until one day Jongdae’s father was found dead in Anchorage, a youth announced his passing after the man was missing for more than five days. The world broke apart for Jongdae, having no one left. He surely was an adult with eighteen years, able to stand on his own legs, capable of making money, but not being accustomed to humans outside of his second family. Jongdae and one of the elders went down to Anchorage, to take the body with them and honouring the dead with an appropriate burial, but Jongdae was never able to fulfil it. Once at the police station, someone was waiting for him, a man he never saw before, a man claiming to be his father’s ‘friend’. It wasn’t adding up to him, how was the man supposed to be his father’s friend when he was sixteen years older than him. His father was murdered at the age of 46, Jongdae was born when his father was 28 that means that his father must have been twelve when the man was born. Jongdae had no contacts with people outside his father until he was six, after that he met the Inuits. His father was never gone longer than a day, too short to get off the mountains and come back the same day. Jongdae was wary. He knew the man was lying, but the police seemed to believe him more than Jongdae and he knew soon why. A man wearing a heavy pelt coat, the shoes too shiny, the face too well groomed, the eyes dark and cold; the man was reeking of death and lies. The shaman was calling on restless spirits that came with the man, imminent doom approaching at a fast pace. Jongdae had a feeling it was concerning him, the looks the angakkuq was giving him spoke volumes. He knew it was time to be completely on one’s own, not being able to trust anyone besides his second family by bond, not blood.

He never got far, the men already waiting for him.

“Since your father wasn’t able to serve us, we had to kill him, so you’ll be his substitute.”

Those were the first words he heard after he was beaten up so badly he was sure some ribs were broken. Even being bitten by a wolf was less painful than the brute strength those men housed.

“Well, to be honest, your father worked for my father until he ran away with his pregnant
girlfriend at the age of 27, but I was bored, I wanted to see how he’s doing. It wasn’t easy to
track him down, but when he saw me… well, he wanted to run, but without my permission.
I don’t like people running from me without permission.”

It was the smile Jongdae couldn’t forget, never once in his life had he seen such a dangerous smile, it was screaming danger. Not the usual ‘stranger-danger’, but dangerous for his well-being, his life. He obeyed.

During all those years, being ‘married’ to his so-called husband, Jongdae hated living at the sunny and warm coast of Florida. He hated everything about it, the people, the warmth, his husband. He tried to run a few times, never getting far enough. The farthest he went was actually the Blue Ridge Mountains, but they got him before he reached Kingsport. He was devastated. Living as a male , pet, toy, whatever for the er of a mafia boss who claimed a ‘special interest’ in boys of Asian heritage. But they never took away his official papers, his passport. It was all a game to his ‘master’, as he wanted to be called. Jongdae just stopped speaking after a few years, just nodding his head, planning everything in secret, saving money, selling his own body to make more if he had too. He knew his oppressor was watching, but never saying anything. He knew he couldn’t do anything, his sign burned onto Jongdae’s body. The first night after the marriage, like he was some cow on a ranch, the boss branded the skin on his inner thigh. Jongdae never screamed in his life, but that was the first time he did, the smell of burned skin haunting him for months and he couldn't eat meat without vomiting. He cried so much he was hoarse for a few days after it.

“You can run all you want, Jongdae.”

He tried, he did countless times. He managed to stay hidden a couple of times, but he wasn’t sure if he slipped somewhere or if the man implanted some sort of transmitter under his skin.

“But you can never hide for long.”

It was a transmitter actually, Jongdae discovered after an old scar of his at his waist suddenly started to inflame. Like his body was finally trying to get rid of something. He cut it out himself, his eyes not being able to believe what he held between his fingers. It was his ticket to freedom. Two years ago, when he set his plan of escape when it was about time, he took the statement literally.
He carried the transmitter around with himself for some time, until he could escape. His husband took him along to Seattle.
Jongdae got his husband to visit a parade with him, first big mistake. Second, only taking people with himself who even Jongdae could recognise with disguise after twelve years of captivity. Third, being open to the hide and seek play.
Jongdae was gone faster than the man could turn around. Considering before if he should hitchhike or take the train, he knew he had to cross the border nonetheless. He opted for the train, being thankful for the Canadian passport he still had in his possession and a bit over four hours time of travel. He got everything he could get for the travel, the most difficult part would be a rifle for hunting. If he would try to travel by foot to the Kluane National Park, it would take over a week minimum, at least two. And from there, it would be another twelve-hour car ride to Anchorage. He was thankful for having enough money on himself and for somehow maintaining a bank account hidden from his husband, with the money his dead parents left him.

Now he was almost in his second year of hiding. When he somehow magically reached the cabin he lived with his father, he had found it destroyed. After twelve years, no maintenance and various changing weather conditions and the ravages of time take their toll on all building fabrics, even everything in the hidden cellar fell victim to the time. Escaping in the summer helped him with the reintroduction to the environment until he fell ill his first winter back in the wild. 
He didn’t remember much of that season, but apparently, the hermit found him, with an old wolf by his side who nudged him over and over again while he was unconscious. He still couldn’t believe that the wolf didn’t feast on him. He knew he saved a young pub from a trap and nursed it back to health before he was abducted, but a wolf didn’t normally live for twelve years in the wild, half the age was more common. But in his seldom phases of consciousness, he got acquainted with the wolf that always roamed near the hud of the hermit, sometimes even bringing killed rabbits or even a young deer. The hermit fed the wolf in gratitude, explaining to Jongdae that he found a young wolf near a destroyed hud around ten years prior. It was near Jongdae’s and his late father’s cabin, he learned after the wolf passed away in spring, his muzzle hiding in Jongdae’s side, seeking comfort.
He lived together with the old man over a year, until he also passed away in December the following year.

He was surprised by the man still searching for him two years after he escaped, having the search narrowed down to the south of Yukon and Alaska. Jongdae changed his location every season, to some extent always on the go. He only visited cities for medicine or first aid kits when he had to, trying to stay clear of Anchorage to some extent, but being pretty sure that the people wouldn’t even remember him, same for the natives living near there. He was extremely thankful for the dense and thick beard growth Mother Nature bestowed upon him. It made him less recognisable, with a beard reaching his chest and the long hair he had. It made him look older as well. And it was an extra layer of potential warmth. Even the damned Private Pilot License he received at the age of sixteen was saving his from time to time, and the fact that the people around these regions weren’t keen on strangers were helping him immensely. Currently, he was staying hidden at the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, but he decided it was about time to visit the tribe after fourteen years. He was still wary about his decision, keeping in mind he was still on the run. And slowly but surely, he turned from prey to predator, he didn’t even know how many deaths already went on his account. Somehow it was apparent from the strangers crossing his paths who belonged to the demon and who did not. He had to make sure none of the bastards was able to escape his grasp, a few close encounters with the enemy included.

Securing the rifle at his trekking backpack, he pressed snow into his water container so it could hopefully melt it a bit so he could cook it off later. Walking alongside the road towards Anchorage, he let his eyes wander over the scenery, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The sun would set in a few hours and for a change, the weather started to clear. He would reach the tribe’s location a bit after the breaking of dawn, hopefully, someone would remember him and would be able to tell him his father’s final resting place.

The Inuits were surprisingly welcoming of him when he started to talk with them in their tongue. Talking to someone after years was unwelcoming of his throat and remembering the language after fourteen years restrained his ability to think, the words rolling off his tongue felt heavy. The angakkuq seemed like he was about to pass out when Jongdae appeared on his doorstep, the man unfamiliar with him eyeing him suspiciously. The long unruly beard, the long hair full of knots, the weather-beaten face, the rifle bound to his backpack on the right, on the left mountaineering equipment, the knife dangling from his belt, the dead rabbit in his hand,  his grown body under the mass of clothes warming him up, but still the same feline eyes when he smiled that lost all their life.

“Anirniq.”

‘Breath’, spirit. A word Jongdae was still familiar with after all those years. The shaman believed to see the spirit of Jongdae before his very eyes.
He was led to his father’s grave, Jongdae dropping down to his knees, submerging himself in a prayer for his father’s soul, not moving for an eternity, head held low. The old man couldn’t watch any longer and approached him after some time, being supported by a cane and a youth by his side. He spoke in hushed voices with Jongdae until he persuaded him to come in and take a bath and get some food. One of the old women of the tribe helped him clean himself, brushing his hair, trying to brush out the knots. They decided to cut the hair shorter, past the knots. His hair was still falling over his shoulders, the unruly locks refusing to die down. His beard was left untouched, but he actually tried to comb it, afraid that maybe at some point pine needles or anything like that could have been stuck in it. They talked until late into the night, until the old man fell asleep.

Jongdae had struggle falling asleep.

The next day, an Inuit came back from Anchorage. He brought with him information about Americans that reeked of danger and Jongdae automatically shouldered his backpack. The angakkuq called out for him and rearranged for someone to get him to the Canadian border. The Inuits gave him everything he needed so he wouldn’t be slowed down, the angakkuq praying to the anirniit to watch out for the spirit of Jongdae. They could have a lead of up to seven hours if they would start right away since he hasn’t been in Anchorage since he was abducted, no one could have seen him or heard anything about him, the only information the Americans could have could be his last location. It was a four-hour drive to the Alcan Border and an additional three hours until Destruction Bay via the Alaska Highway. From there on Jongdae would advance by foot back into the mountains, and in the end, he decided to part ways with the Inuit in Burwash Landing. Starting from there, it would be a twenty-five-kilometre hike until his designated point and to the cabin he lived at. He was sure that if his husband was catching him, he wouldn’t live to see the break of the next day, not after he killed so many people who got in his way. He was punished when he ran off, but apparently, his material value was too high to get tired of him. Not this time. It was a game to his husband, but the tables Jongdae’s. This time it was the endgame. It was his husband’s mistake to let him travel with him around the States, letting him take every opportunity to go for hikes that could take up to three days sometimes, even if he was most of the times under supervision, that way it helped him immensely to stay fit and accustomed with the mountains he called his home.

But if he should let a bullet grace the man’s scalp, everyone would be out for a hunt and Jongdae would gladly play along, too addictive the feeling of being the predator. He would reach his cabin in the early evening and would plan right away, setting up the traps and everything he needed.

The cold, harsh winds in the mountain passages felt welcoming and soothing, backing him up. Everything in his cabin was left untouched, an even layer of dust collecting throughout the cabin, the firewood next to the small fireplace dry, the conserving jars and cans still on their places on the makeshift regal. His personal safe haven he shared with no-one, but himself alone. It seems like this would be hopefully his last hunt before he would be set free if the rumours are true. This hunt would end his misery, releasing him from his demons. He stepped outside the cabin, cherishing the first few rays of sunlight breaking the horizon, when he chambered a round in his rifle, a smile spreading across his facial features.

“You can hide all you want, Jongdae. But you can never hide for long.”
“Not if I catch you first, dear ‘husband’.”