“Okay, so,” Minho’s elbow rested on the table as he adjusted his shirt, “The guards are problem one, but the ones in our wings shouldn’t be too difficult, right?”

Jonghyun shook his head, staring at the trees in the far distance beyond the fence, “There’s more than twenty in each wing. A lot of back up, a lot of weapons, a lot of shields. They make equipment for specific creatures. We can easily be contained again—or you could be killed.”

Minho nodded at Jonghyun’s knowledge, taking in how the problem was bigger than he thought it would be.

They spent the day at the free yard (AKA, a junk yard), sitting a good distance from everyone else to discuss how to get out. The first issue dealt with the guards, and so far, a way to slip past them wasn’t coming to mind that would perform successfully. This place had way too many of them to get past; and with weapons like theirs, there was no way to force their way through.

  “I don’t want to kill them, Hyung,” Minho sighed in exasperation, shagging his hair, “I’m not going to kill people like Onew and Luna.”

Jonghyun hadn’t looked away from the trees, shrugging, “Not all of them are like Onew and Luna, bud. A majority of these guards came voluntarily. Some were rejected from the military, grew up with the belief we’re all ‘demons’, or were forced here as babies and can’t have a change of heart like people in films have.”

Minho sighed, looking out to the trees, unable to come up with anything at all. He thought the guards would be the easiest to handle. If this was supposed to be the easy part, then actually getting out was going to be more than Hell.

  “There has to be something . . .” he sighed again.

Jonghyun closed his eyes, scrunching up his mouth, “If we think beyond the guards—if we think of another part of the plan—we could always think backwards. Something could affect them . . .”

Minho looked back to Jonghyun, “What about—”

Jonghyun finally set his eyes on Minho, tapping on the table urgently, “Not Onew. At least not now. I have no idea what a Ritro bite can do when infected. We’ll have to exclude Onew from any plans until Luna says so.”

Minho had thought about that the night before. Now that Onew was injured, he could have a lot of issues—including doing his every day work. It was almost mandatory to exclude him from every plan—that including seeing Taemin.

(Minho still admitted his heart ached that he couldn’t know anything about Taemin now.)

  “Let’s put it off for now,” Jonghyun told him sternly, “Yes, I know you don’t want to, but if we keep thinking now, we’ll be running in circles. There’s more to the system than we can see. I’ve never even bothered to look.”

The younger groaned reluctantly, hating the words of procrastination, but Jonghyun was right. They had to wait for the opportunity to get into the system. When that happens, then they could make a concrete plan.

So, maybe putting it off today wouldn’t be as bad.

  “Okay, question,” Minho perked, folding his hands, changing the subject, “Why do you call Onew ‘Hyung’? You’re older than him.”

To Minho’s relief, Jonghyun finally cracked a smile, shaking his head and mumbling some playful insults at Minho, “Onew’s twenty-six. By looks, I’d say I’m twenty-four. It just felt right to me—although, Onew does occasionally call me ahjussi.”

Minho was sitting in the same seat inside the god-forsaken room with SangJung again. They went through a couple sarcastic questions until it became a stare down. They were just staring at each other tensely and Minho was getting tired of it after the first few minutes. Didn’t the guy have anything better to do?

  “Does my visit have any significance?” Minho asked, sounding quite irritated.

SangJung shrugged, lighting a fresh cigar in his mouth, “You were never significant in the first place, but yes, I have my reasons for you being here. How’s your stay?”

Minho cocked a brow, rubbing his palms together, shaking his head, “More sarcasm?”

  “Whatever you see it as. More importantly, I just want to mention to you about the Taemin boy.”

Minho tensed, trying not to seem so alarmed by the mention of his name. He leaned forward of the chair, a dangerous look on his face, “What.”

SangJung had already known Minho was far too interested and tensed, so he mocked Minho by casually crossing his legs, puffing smoke as he took out the cigar, “He’s here.”

He’s here.

He’s here.

Minho’s heart sped up at the news, trying as hard as possible to keep from shouting demands at SangJung, letting his defense crumble down before him.

If Taemin was here, he had a chance to explain himself. To explain calmly was a large factor. He can’t scare Taemin—he has to convince him to not let go of everything.

  “The boy was hard to transfer here, Kapsoo told me,” the elder mused, tapping his bulky cancer stick, “But more than a month later, here he is. And his facial expression hasn’t changed since the day I saw.”

Minho stared at the wall behind the elder, feeling a flare inside, so intimidated, so teased by his words. His heart was in his ears and all he wanted to do was rip it out and give it to Taemin, just so he’d know his heart was only beating because of his name.

  “He’s very tempting to the others, you know,” he stood, “Lots of demons wanted something of his—would’ve ravaged him too if we didn’t have so many guards. The last thing I want is for him to get hurt.

  “And we debated if he should join the group after such incident.”

Upon hearing those sentences, Minho couldn’t help but to sharply meet the man’s eyes. No, he did not want that for Taemin. He’d rather Taemin forget about him and not go through Hell to live—to be in danger every day.

  “We decided not,” SangJung huffed a laugh, “He doesn’t have it in him to—”

  “Let me see him,” Minho said, his voice avoiding any emotion, “Let me see Taemin.”

The elder finally looked at him, straight faced, cigar between two fingers, rolling his eyes and scoffing with tight lips, “So impatient as a Daegrent. One day, boy. We’ve all got plans to do and places to be. You aren’t the center of attention.”

  “Then what was the point of telling me?” Minho demanded, curling his fingers into a first.

The man put the cigar back in his mouth, cracking his knuckles, changing the subject, “I’m examining him this week. For any results. Even injuries. You do know a being’s injuries from a Daegrent can last to half a year?

Minho rubbed his face. What would examination mean? Would it stop him from seeing Taemin?

They were quiet for a good moment as Minho was consumed by insecure thoughts. Already hearing Taemin was in danger was maddening—even though it was so obvious he would be in danger if he were brought here.

But where were they keeping him? What would they do?

  “Show me your wrist.”

Minho looked back at SangJung, a hard look on his face from the huge subject change. He said nothing and held out his right arm, showing him the burned flesh.

SangJung exhaled smoke and roughly took his forearm, gazing at the white blotch. Minho stared at him, watching his eyes roam over the detail, bringing his wrist closer to his face, “A man who thinks burning turns everything to ash,” he said, almost to himself, “Out of many things, he burned it.”

  “What?”

SangJung didn’t even bother giving eye contact, but oh-so nicely puffed smoke in his face, “He would know burning the skin only leaves a mark. But it doesn’t turn the skin or blood to ash.”

Minho furrowed his brows, slightly trying to bring back his arm.

SangJung tugged him forward, gripping at his skin, “The ones who lived back before the Joseon Dynasty—the beginning of the beginning—believed burning was to dispose of. To never see again or it was in little tiny pieces of ash. Ones that worked beside Daegrents.”

Minho forcefully took his arm back, rising and taking a step back, preparing himself, “What are you getting at?”

  “You lied,” SangJung said matter-of-factly, “About the man you lived with. Human? Most definitely not. What was his name again? Tops? It was so obvious from the beginning.”

Minho felt fear creeping up his spine. He didn’t know why he felt this way, but he was more-so confused. Seunghyun was human. He lived with a human.

  “Mr. ‘Tops’ is obviously a Toproai,” he chuckled, taking a few inhales to his cigar, smoke releasing as he spoke, “You’ve been living with a Toproai—and by that look on your face, you hadn’t even known. Such a er. And such a bad Daegrent, may I add; being very dumb. Daegrents are never dumb, but wise.”

Minho didn’t react to the insult, shaking his head in disbelief. This was literally monstrosity!

Seunghyun couldn’t be a creature—they weren’t the closest pair, but close enough to come clean and reveal himself.

Seunghyun wasn’t a Toproai. Sure, his cover name was Tops. But it was only a cover for emergency situations.

  “His name is Minho. His name is Choi Minho, got it?”

Minho couldn’t . . .

He searched the depth of his mind. There had to be something there. Something to prove Seunghyun was only human.

But if he wasn’t human? Where was the proof in that?

  “Got it?”

Minho shook his head again, denying everything, “He isn’t. He’s human. He’s only human—”

Seunghyun was human. There was no proof he was something of another nature. He was just a strict, tall, boney man. There was nothing too it; SangJung was only screwing with him to make him feel vulnerable—

  “I’ll watch over him well.”

He froze, eyes meeting with the elder’s for a long moment, his brain finally finding some empty bubble and filling up the void with truth. His brain recognizing that voice. That voice he’s ignored forever. The voice he never remembered to even remember.

  “Why?” Minho looked back at SangJung, leaning against the cold wall, “Why did you bring this up?”

The elder removed the cigar from his mouth, tapping on it as ash fell to the porcelain floor unceremoniously, “You didn’t think Taemin was the only thing we went to Namwon for, did you?”

  “What are you implying?!”

SangJung watched as Minho’s body shook, gray marks appearing on his skin as steam came off of him, “It wasn’t hard to find him—everyone knew Tops as Seunghyun.”

When he said his real name, Minho shouted. He shouted for him to shut up, to stop taunting him. He was getting so angry, so toyed with, that he was hitting his peak and ready to just tear him to shreds.

  “We did everything just as planned,” he went on, “You’ll never see that Toproai ever again, boy.”

Ever again.

Seunghyun. Minho plead, Seunghyun, don’t do this to me now. Please work, please hear me in the wind.

His body grew hot as he waited for Seunghyun’s message, some sort of contact. It was a long shot though; Minho never bit Seunghyun, he had no reason to, so there was barely a chance Seunghyun would hear him.

But Minho was a part of his parents, and his parents bit him. That had to count for something.

  “You’re not going to hear him, boy,” SangJung threw down the cigar, “It’s done with.”

  “Shut up!” Minho screamed, fire pulsing inside his blood, “Just shut up!”

SangJung slowly stepped towards him, a rude smirk on his face, “Getting heated up again, boy? Have you learned how to fight yet?”

Seunghyun wasn’t dead.

Seunghyun isn’t dead.

Seunghyun’s somewhere.

Minho growled and shot forward swinging his fist in front of him too fast for SangJung and popped him right in the face. SangJung flew back, hitting the wall hard enough to make a dent, coughing when he hit the floor, but the smirk never left his face.

Minho saw the door open, but didn’t stop. He hit SangJung with everything he had before the chains surrounded him and burned his skin each time he refused submission.

Minho faltered from the sting each time, but he couldn’t let up.

His only family member gone? Killed on purpose?

His killer was right in front of him. He had to rid of him.

The guards pulled back violently and Minho wanted to flap his wings to brush them off, but they were wrapped in the chains. He cried out, and emotional wave hitting him as his vision blurred, sobs escaping from his throat as he was pulled out of the room.

  “You’ll burn in Hell!” Minho shouted, “Where you belong!”

He watched as two guards checked over SangJung as they lifted him. SangJung looked up at Minho, that same expression on his face as he spat on the floor.

  “So blind,” he chuckled, pushing the guards off of him, taking his cigar off the ground, “So oblivious.”

----Note~---

Ohaidur.

So, I just wanted to put Minho in some agony along the way. >:D

But nah, really, this plays an important part in the story, and in the BTS, I'll be uploading the background to that. Maybe in an hour or less.

No, Onew isn't out of the picture at all. Just sayin'. He's not dying at all... But maybe Luna was convinced he was when she sees that nasty bite. ;D

So Taemin's in this mad hell house! YAY... no? Yeah, definitely something to think about. Is it really a good thing he's there?

You'll figure it out soon. I've got it aaaaaaall set up.

... But I'm still trying to get past this one chapter. So, delays in updates are in order.

But I hope you guys liked the chapter.

Thank you to any views, subs, or comments. <3

~FlaMinhoe