A/N: By far the longest chapter you're going to get out of me. Sorry it took me so long (almost a week aaaah!) to get it out. Right when I thought I was ready to wrap this er up and post it, I was hit with another bout of writer's block. Perfect. Timing.

/sarcasm

Anyway! I do hope you enjoy this first chapter~I worked really hard on it for you guys because I felt so guilty for not coming through when I said I would. Hopefully, I won't happen again. YIKES!

See ya next chapter~Enjoy!

Spice~❤

You find yourself at the center of a derelict husk of a metropolis at high noon. The shells of empty buildings surround you like the prongs of a broken crown, like dry brown teeth springing up from sickly gums. The bodies of the dead litter the streets; fires bloom wherever they please much like writhing orange weeds and a glittering sea of abandoned vehicles go on for as far as you can see in either direction.

You move stealthy between the cars, keeping an eye on the readouts flashing on the screen of your visor as well as your general surroundings.  As empty as the city is, you know you're not alone. This is a battle of wills between you and your adversary. Who has the patience and skill to catch the other off guard first and turn the tide of the stalemate?

Something clatters at your feet; you jump and raise your massive gun, a reflex honed by hours upon hours of practice. It's only an empty soda can you discover a split second later. Before you can relax, the sound of your opponent's cackling suddenly fills your headset.

"Why are you so jumpy?" he crones.

 He can see you.

You jerk around and scan the area for any signs of him.  There are none, or rather, none you can discern.  Here at ground level and surrounded by skyscrapers you're at a hell of a disadvantage.

"Show yourself!" comes your sharp reply.

"If you say so...." His sigh fills the headset with a rush of static.

A red blip springs up on your radar, much too close for comfort. Eyes wildly scanning the area, you finally spot him about ten feet away, perched atop an eighteen wheeler.  Your thoughts race—how the hell had he managed to hide his presence from you? Had he been there the whole time?

MOVE, your instincts scream. You comply not a moment too soon and take off running—a moving target is harder to strike—as the staccato of gunfire fills the air.

"Cheater!" you screech. Bullets fall down on your like rain. Only a few manage to do any damage before you duck back into the safety of a nearby building.

"I'm only using what's been provided to me." You hear his footsteps behind you; he follows you in.

You jerk around, gun poised to pump him full of rounds, but he is nowhere to be found. A sudden realization hits you like a blow to the gut and you gasp accordingly. "Are you using modifications?!"

"I'm not inclined to answer that question."

This is not a battle you're prepared to fight, so you flee. You pound up flight after flight of stairs, checking and cycling through your weapons on the way up. Your footfalls reverberate with a sharp metallic clang. "I'm going to paint the walls with your brains!"

A bullet hole the size of a grown man's fist explodes in the wall by your head as if on cue. A shocked noise escapes your lips and the crowing of your adversary booms forth from your headset.

"You don't know who you're messing with! I am a master, punk!" comes your eloquent rebuttal.

You burst through the door at the end of the staircase and onto the rooftop overlooking the desolate city. The sun burns bright in the dome of the cloudless sky, its rays glaring and blinding. You shift so that it's to your back. Your vision clears just as the door slowly swings open.

Then there nothing but silence, save for the wind howling like a specter about you.  

You let the tenseness fester for a moment longer before you assert your authority.

"I know you're here, Yejun!" You punctuate the statement with a torrent of rounds from your firearm.  "Stop being a coward and come out of hiding!"

"And give up my advantage? I have too much at stake to even consider something so idiotic."

A grenade flies at your face. You curse, caught off guard of course, but not one to easily beat. He's underestimating you again, it seems. You bat the explosive away with the barrel of your gun without a second thought. It denotes in the air and the shockwave from the explosion rock you on your feet. Suddenly, you find yourself on your back, having been struck down by your unseen foe.

Snarling, you lash out but only strike empty air.

" You look like a fool!"

"You're definitely going to pay for this!"

Just as you roll back to your feet you are knocked back by another blow to the stomach.

The kid's being cocky, you note with an edge if distain. Playing with you. He could easily finish you off. He's at an advantage. You can't see him. Can't block. Can't strike. He could end this right now. But he doesn't. He continues to box you around, cackling and goading you on knowing very well the position of power he's in.  He leaves you disoriented. His attacks come from every direction with no rhyme or reason. The little cheat.

In a fit of blind rage, you strike out, fully expecting to have your fist sail through empty air. Imagine your (pleasant) surprise when you fist meets the resistance of something solid.

A vicious smirk twists on your lips.

The moment Yejun preps his gun to fire and finish you off, you hear it. So now he's getting serious? Far too late. You send the muzzle of your own gun up in a sharp arc and just as you'd suspected, it collides with his weapon and sends his ammo flying harmlessly into the sky.

"You got sloppy in your arrogance! Let's see your little mod save you now!"

It's all a matter of quick thinking and spatial awareness, but your gauge the distance between your gun, and his in relation to your bodies and kick him squarely in the pit. You hear his weapon hit the ground with a satisfying clatter. But you're not a cocky little punk. You know this isn't over.

Once your opponent is disarmed, you immediately reach out where you know his chest should be. Bingo. Your fingers curl around the sturdy material of his vest and you yank him toward you. Over your shoulder he goes. When he lands, a cloud of dust rises around him. You welcome the sight with a rush, but you don't linger. Your own gun had been foregone in your one-sided grapple, but you still have your field knife tucked into the side of your boot.

You feel your enemy struggling against you, but it's of no use. You unsheathe the blade. Its wicked edge gleams in the sunlight as it bears down upon where you know your enemy's throat is.

Game, set, match.

The game declares you the winner of the match with fanfare.

"Yejun, I win!" you boast unabashedly, your fists flying spastically through the air in your glee.

"You cheated!" he declares from the next room. You hear his bedroom door slam behind him and his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.

"I cheated?! Oh, that, rich!"You close your laptop and stand to face Yejun who appears in the doorway moments later, his dark hair tousled and gaze sharp and accusatory beneath the lenses of his glasses. "You got sloppy and I took advantage of that! It's hardly cheating! You, on the other hand, used a game mod! If anything, this fiasco speaks volumes of my gaming prowess!"

"Tch. Another round!" the 11-year old demands.

You scrunch your nose at him with a scoff. "That's what you said last time I creamed you."

But Yejun is insistent. "Another round, noona!"

"No. A deal's a deal. You agreed to go to bed if I beat you."

His slim shoulders slump. "But—!"

You press a hand to your chest, feigning wide-eyed hurt. "Oh now I can't hold you on your word? I feel so betrayed!"

Yejun's lips meet in a firm, unamused line, but with his honor hanging in the balance he concedes. "Fine." He huffs and rubs at his eyes with a yawn.

 You affectionately ruffle his hair. "Look at you! You're sleepy anyway!"

"It's tiring going up against such a bad player," Yejun teases with a sly smirk.

"Ha. You're funny. Now off to bed with you before your father comes home and catches you up."

Yejun groans and shuffles back to his bedroom. You follow merely to make sure he's comfortable in bed before tucking his blankets around him—which he protests, much to your amusement—and turning out his light. You close the door softly and pad into the kitchen for a bottle of victory coconut water.

You glance at the clock hanging on the wall next to the fridge—it reads about seven minutes after midnight—and sigh. Yejun's father is running late again for the fourth time this week alone, and while you don't mind spending time with Yejun,  this overtime isn't in the conditions you'd stipulated when you'd agreed to the job months ago. You're paid by the hour until nine o'clock which is when Jeong-nim is supposed to make it home. The matter of compensation beyond that has never been discussed and you figure that it never will be; he never makes an effort to pay you more than the contracted amount.

Undoubtedly, the entire situation is rather bothersome—you have other responsibilities to tend to after all. Your second job at a department store in Seoul. Your studies, while not fulltime, taxing in their own right . They all leave you too drained at the end of the day to suffer through 3+ hours of unpaid labor.  Admittedly, it would make sense for you to just quit, but the money you do manage to make helps your financial situation.

You also have a soft spot of Yejun and can't bear the thought of up and leaving the little booger.

With a heavy sigh you settle down in the living room with your water and English workbook open before you. A few exercises and forty five minutes later, you hear the front door opening and muttered cursing. You go to meet Yejun's father only to find that he reeks of alcohol. It takes every ounce of self restraint within you to bite back the first few comments that spring up in your head.

"(Y/n)," he slurs as if he's surprised to see that you're still here.  

Jeong-nim towers above you, a handsome man of impressive stature. He's what many would consider dashing, but  there's really nothing more to him. He's not exactly a family man. His wife up and left him some time ago when he chose rising through the ranks of his career over her and Yejun. Her decision to leave her son behind is a questionable one, but none of your business so you don't dwell on it. That being said, it's more than obvious that he hasn't learned his lesson. You're sure you see him more than Yejun does....

"Would you like me to get you some aspirin?" Your tone as flat as an idol's washboard abs.  

Your employer waves dismissively at you and messily slips out of his shoes before stumbling into the living room. He shoves your laptop and bag unceremoniously to the floor and flops over on the sofa with a grunt. "Where's Yejun?"

You kneel over to retrieve your things. "Asleep."

"Uggggh."

You eye Jeong-nim with some sympathy. He looks like a mess. If he's eu du gin is anything to go by, he's had far too much to drink and will definitely feel it in the morn.

"Are you sure you don't want any aspirin? Or water?"

"No," he groans, a hand over his eyes. "Just...stop talking and turn out the lights."

Well then....

You do as you're instructed as quietly as possible. You figure now's not the most opportune time to inquire about your day's pay so you simply throw a sheet over Jeong-nim's unmoving form, gather your things, and slip out the door.

You pray he remembers to pay you, though.

The train ride home is inconsequential as it always is. Every once in a while you end up next to some sick , but it's hardly what you call excitement and it doesn't happen tonight. When you think about it in retrospect, your life as a whole isn't too exciting.

Born and raised in Yeongcheon, you've always lead a quiet life, not that it's ever bothered you. You lived with your parents and elderly grandmother on a small farm that your family had owned for generations. Aside from helping around the home, you went to school and studied.  That was it. Your existence wasn't one you regretted, but you couldn't help but want more. You wanted to see the world beyond the vegetable fields you grew up with. You wanted to know what it was like to have a city thrum, alive with activity, all around you. But most of all, you wanted to follow your dreams. So you left home the first chance you got. Not on bad terms—you had your family's undying love and support—but with an aching in your heart nevertheless. Even thinking about it now, almost a year later, you feel your eyes moisten.  

You call back all the time, but really haven't gotten the opportunity to visit. Your life in the city is far too hectic, and your funds are a laughing matter—yet another thing you don't like to think about often.  Your family doesn't pressure you in any way shape or form, but you feel as if you've failed them as a daughter. You left home with Seoul on your lips and stars in your eyes....Sadly you haven't been able to live up to the hype you yourself had built. You hadn't even landed in Seoul. You ended up in Incheon.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep that leaves you in such a vulnerable state, but thinking about what you life is suddenly leaves you questioning yourself and you feel a depression creeping at the edges of your psyche. You tell yourself to shake it off. You're better than that. Your life isn't want you exactly dreamt of, but it's far from terrible....

 And you're too tired to do this to yourself.

When you disembark from the train, it's nearly 3AM. You try not to think of work in the morning, it's simply too much for you to bear. You just want to get home as pass out. You don't even consider a shower.

The February night air is brisk and stings your exposed flesh. You tug the strings of your hoodie taunt in response to shield your mouth and nose from the cold. At this time of night the streets in your area are empty.  The neighborhood is safe, nevertheless your pace is quick and unfaltering.

There's a parking garage not too far from the station, well lit and familiar. You often cut through it asthe shortcut shaves about a block and a half off the distance you have to cover to your apartment.  This time is no different. Naturally, at this late at night it's fairly empty save for a few cars scattered about the lot. Your footsteps resound off the concrete walls and you lose yourself in the rhythm of their echoes if only for a moment.

Something's not quite right tonight. No, there's nothing inherently wrong. The discrepancy makes itself known and sets the hair down your arms standing.

The sounds of what you presume is a fight reaches your ears and a chill runs down your spine. Yelling. Shuffling feet. Muffled grunts. You can't help but glance back worriedly as you pass; your fingers brush along the sleek lines of your mobile phone.  You toy with the idea of calling the cops. The decision is an easy one to make. Your pace quickens and you withdraw the phone from your pocket. You definitely don't want to be caught up in whatever's happening, but you certainly can't just let it go on without doing something.

You pull up the dial pad with a flick of your fingers on the phone's touch screen. However, before you can even begin placing the call, there is a shout behind you, a loud slam, and the screech of a car alarm. You whip around, your phone slipping from your fingers and clattering to the ground. A man dressed entirely in black lays on the ground; glittering shards of glass surround his form like a sunburst. The source of the alarm is the car above him, the side of which is crumpled—no, not merely dented, but a concave mess of rutted metal.

"H-Hey!" you stutter and crouch down to retrieve your phone. It slips once more through your fingers that shake much like your voice. "Hey! Are you okay?!" You take a cautious step forward despite your better judgment. The person in black doesn't move. "Shiiiit."

Then from the shadows of the staircase leading to the second level of the building, someone emerges. Tall and lanky with pale blond lamb curls, the young man doesn't look a day older than fifteen or sixteen. There is a strange glow to his eyes and inhuman precision to his movements. He regards the unconscious man at his feet with indifference and just as you question whether or not he sees you standing less than five feet away, he turns those glowing eyes on you.

A call to the police the furthest thing from your mind and your thoughts racing, you gape at him.

Wordlessly, he approaches.

This certainly doesn't bode well.

Anxiety chokes you and throws your body into action. You shuffle away from the young man and towards the exit. "S-Stay away from me!"you squeak without an ounce of the menace you'd hoped for. "I don't k-know what's going on he--stay away, kid!"

He doesn't heed your warning, and sounding as feeble as you do, you can't blame him.  Your only option is to literally get the out. But you have to be smart about it. No sudden movements. An unobstructed path. Knees that aren't knocking together....

More shouts. Louder and more frantic.  Closer.

Much like a frightened animal, you gawk wide-eyed and trembling toward their source. Seconds later, two more men in black come tumbling down the stairs. Dazed, one struggles to his feet and reaches for what looks like a weapon strapped to his thigh. Before he can draw, he receives a kick to the chest that sends him flying into a nearby wall. The deliverer of this mighty blow looks far too pretty to be able to hit someone so damn hard. Much like the young man before him, he's tall and blonde. Not exactly built, but lean with high checkbooks and fine features.  He holds himself with authority but when he spots you, an edge of panic creeps into his visage. He completely misses the stirring at his feet. Down he goes, yanked down by the second man he'd fell moments before.  

Yeah. You really should get going.

You jerk back just in time to see yet another black clad man approaching you, his hands poised to grasp your neck. He'd been centimeters away from getting his mitts on you.

Beside yourself with terror at how quickly things have managed to get way, way out of hand, you shriek.

BAM!!!

And just like that your assailant goes flying across the garage and through the windows of the empty (gee! It would be empty now!) security booth.  He doesn't budge, but that's not what's important.

—that kid's beside you now with his creepy glowing eyes, and he wasn't there a second before, and you don't even care because he just saved now he's reaching for you this is insane does fear make everything feel like it's in slow motion this is way too much this is the last time you're going to take this stupid shortcut that one and a half block the exercise is good —

You smack the kid across the face with your laptop bag and take off. In the back of your mind you think I'm safe I'm going to be okay I'm going to get the hell away from here, but when is life ever so neat and simple? Anything that can possible go wrong often does in situations such as these.

A pair of hard arms encircle your midsection like a vice and you are quite literally slung through the air like a rag doll and draped over a set of strong shoulders.

Panic. It's all you can comprehend. It fills your ears with a shrill ringing, blurs your vision, and renders you incoherent. Mussed blond locks come into view. Your body, running on your primal instinct to survive,  screams for you to grab and pull. You do so and you do it hard. Hard enough to smack yourself in the mouth and split your lip.

Your captor drops you with a shocked exclamation and you land not too neatly on your . You don't really get a good look at his face in the heat of the terror and confusion or even catch what he's yelling but his voice is what leaves an impression. Deep. Raspy. Such a strange detail for your frenzied mind to latch on to, but really? Logic's the last thing you're thinking of now.

Adrenaline floods your system and before you can even realize what's happening, you're scrambling to your feet and are hallway across the street. A bright light blinds you, the sound of a blaring horn and screeching tires ring in your ears. A vehicle comes to an abrupt halt before you, so close that you can feel it's heat on your legs. You shriek and slap the hood more out of alarm than anything, but when you look back to the parking garage, you forget the car's even there.

The guy in the driver seat is yelling and cursing at you but his words fail to find a foothold in your reeling mind.  You stumble out of his path, nearly falling to your knees in the process, and run the rest of the way home without a single glance back. You don't know what you've just witnessed. The experience leaves you shaken for the rest of the night and rightfully so.

The sun is peeking from the horizon by the time you calm down enough to fall into a shallow and fitful sleep.