It was hard to fight back.

These chains—they weren’t normal. Every time Minho struggled, a chilling burn hissed against his skin and he had to retract from trying to escape.

So all he could do was slowly walk with them, eyeing each and every man down; especially this man called SangJung.

He was the definition of military and Minho deeply resented it. He wasn’t going to let up on Minho; he wasn’t going to give himself a chance to explain.

Minho’s hands clenched as a burning thought crossed his mind in the midst of his hatred.

Taemin.

His Taemin.

He thought deeply about what’d happened a little over an hour ago. His boyfriend was cowering, screeching in terror at the sight of him. His boyfriend didn’t want Minho anywhere near him and begged him to keep his distance.

This is why Minho wanted to just lay down in the dirt and die.

This is exactly what he wanted to be avoided and he stupidly let it all out so easily. He could’ve killed this Joon guy without Taemin even knowing and he hadn’t even thought to do that.

The emotional pain just watching him shrivel up on the ground and refuse to look at him was unbearable.

Minho squeezed his eyes shut.

But there was still hope. Taemin had removed his hands—Taemin was actually reaching for him! If someone hadn’t gotten in his way, he would’ve protested.

He would’ve told Taemin anything and everything he wanted to know if that were the case.

But he hadn’t gotten the chance.

He wanted to hold Taemin and tell him that everything was alright; that even though he wasn’t human, he was far from a monster. He wanted to Taemin’s hair and lull him to sleep with Taemin comfortable in his arms and feeling safe.

Minho didn’t want to feel thrown away. But now he was going somewhere far away from Taemin and he’d be force to leave Taemin alone.

Minho’s eyes snapped open, clenching his jaw.

No.

No, he wasn’t going to be forced to separate from Taemin. He had to get back to him—he couldn’t leave him by himself, that would be utmost selfish.

. . . But wouldn’t his presence be just as rude?

No, no, no. That’s not the way. He’s going to get out and find Taemin. Bars won’t conceal him and surely humans won’t. It’d be a last resort, but he’d kill if it meant getting back to Taemin.

He had to have Taemin. Life without him would be too hard.

  “Pick up the pace,” SangJung growled, steadily walking in front of Minho as they traveled up another mountain.

Minho growled at him, clenching his fists in utter annoyance, “How much longer?”

The man simply didn’t answer and led them on, pissing Minho off even further. He wanted to spit fire at him, but these damn chains were doing a good job on stopping him.

It was a painfully silent walk. He wanted to be left free so bad so he could hear Taemin’s breathing from the far distance to at least know he calmed down—or even better, to hear him talk and see if he was understanding.

But then there was an uneasy feeling that the men left behind with Taemin told him lies about who he was. Taemin was so easy to fool . . .

There was a tug on the chains, Minho realizing he slowed down. He pursed his lips and walked faster again, more questions arising. He stared at the ground, watching his own two shoes move without interest.

  “Who are you?” Minho finally asked.

No one even bother to just look at him.

  “Okay,” Minho sighed, “Where are we going?”

His questioned was answered with silence and he was fuming, completely aggravated with the lack of decency.

He was still something on this planet; they could at least just give out a damn breath.

They were suddenly progressing downwards, and Minho was startled. He looked up, eyes widening in shock as he saw the clearing.

It was ugly.

It was a prison—a rather large one—guarded by large walls and what seemed to be steel nets over the top. There were four layers of people outside of the large walls, most likely on a guard duty.

  “We’re very far from Namwon,” a very, very quiet whisper passed Minho’s ears. The whisper was so quiet that no way anyone else heard.

He looked around for anyone’s face to be heavily disapproving or strict about it.

It confirmed the theory.

  “This is Hell hole for people like you, unfortunately,” the manly voice still whispered.

Minho’s head had barely turned to his left—where the whisper had come from—his eyes shifting to the corner and trying to get a decent look at the whispering info-guy.

The man was no doubt a bit shorter than him, honey hair tucked under his hard helmet and wide almond eyes. The man blinked, occasionally shifting his eyes to Minho, signaling that, yes, he was the one talking to him.

One thing stuck to Minho. This guy said people like you. So this guy considered Minho human?

As flattering as it sounded, Minho kept his guard up. This person could be a complete traitor, someone who tries to get information in sly ways. He couldn’t trust this guy.

  “I’ll tell you something,” the guy went on, pretending to tug on the chain as if Minho was giving him some trouble, “As soon as they shut up with questioning, I’ll come see you. Don’t ask why, trust me.”

Minho said nothing to him, staring forward at the dark prison ahead of him, already ready to burn it down with his eyes. No, he won’t be kind to anyone. No one deserved his kindness because of what they were doing to him. Not even the guy offering something.

To say the place was a building was an underestimate—it was like its own world that no one seemed to find. They grew close to the rows of people guarding the gate, and the prison towered over them by many floors.

  “Open!” SangJung ordered gruffly. The four columns in front of them broke apart, creating a pathway for the group to walk to the gate, “And keep an eye out!”

Each man holding a chain tugged hard, causing Minho to slightly stumble in multiple directions as they led him to the gate. Each man in the rows, guarding the place, turned their eyes to Minho, looking murderous and cold.

  “Thanks for the warm welcome,” he murmured without looking at any of them. The extremely tall gate opened as soon as SangJung approached it, and now the chains led him through faster than before

As soon as they passed through, the gate immediately shut loudly, but not enough to startle any of these guys.

He was forced through the doors of the prison, the inside a completely dim lobby even with the light, the walls concrete and blackened in certain spots as if someone had burned them, cage-like bars separating the lobby from different wings.

SangJung approached the desk in front of him, a dark skinned woman about SangJung’s age inside the window with an expressionless face as she looked up at him.  She inclined her head to him, soundlessly asking about his return.

  “Daegrent,” he said, “Mark him M-six-oh-nine,” he then added as she looked back down, a dark pen in her hand as she wrote down the information he spoke of, “Place him in the S Wing, number twelve-ninety-one, as well.”

She nodded solemnly, not giving him a smile of understand, or any expression at all—cold, perhaps.

Minho stood there bound, staring the woman down, hoping she’d look up at him. Hoping at least this woman that couldn’t possibly be from Korea understood something about being contained. He didn’t know why her of all people, but it just came to be for no reason.

She snuck a glance at him, her large and rounded eyes sharp, almost cutting through him. Minho slightly recoiled, feeling a slight burn within him.

She looked back at SangJung with a quick smile and he repeated the gesture, knocking on her window amusedly with a short chuckle, “I’ll be back later.”

She nodded, “Until then,” she said in thick English, getting up and putting her paper in a file, turning around to put it in the file cabinet—

Minho’s eyes literally glued to her shoulder blades that were exposed from her tank top.

Wing scars. True wing scars.

He tried getting a more decent look urgently, able to make out the encrusted burn marks over them, seeming to seal them away . . .

He was going to ask a question, but he was pulled along right, the cage-bars lifting up into the ceiling, permitting Minho and the men through, SangJung following behind.

She had wings. That woman had wings and yet she wasn’t treated like him.

No doubt would he ask about her. No doubt he would ask why she was so special.

The walked forever down the dingy hallway, passing by metal, windowless doors. Each door had a classification above them, all of them marked with an N.

Some doors were completely quiet, others had banging on them, followed by gruff and demanding voices, or growls of what sounded like vicious animals. Some had claw marks dented outwards, or those claw marks instead were violent words.

Minho never felt so out of place before.

He was soon forced to stop walking, standing face to face with the wall at the end of the hallway, a list of letters N through Z on the left with buttons beside each letter.

Minho stared as a man’s finger pressed the button beside S, completely confused when nothing happened.

  “I’m staring at a wall, you know,” Minho told them, reminding them that it wasn’t even close to a door.

  “Poor thing,” SangJung chuckled without the amusement he had earlier with the dark woman, “So clueless of things you should’ve known when you were young. Let him through, boys.”

Suddenly, the men let go of the chains, letting them clang to the floor. Minho, completely dumbfounded, turned around to look at what in the world was happening.

As soon as he was met with SangJung’s face, the man pushed Minho forward.

Minho closed his eyes and tensed to hit the wall with full force, but he felt a gust against him and suddenly his chains were all being grabbed again.

Minho opened his eyes instantly, his mouth opening a little in even more confusion when he found himself surrounded by a new batch of men in a hallway labeled S.

He looked back at the wall, watching as SangJung’s body suddenly came through the wall as if it were a normal door, “Forward. Twelve-ninety-one,” he ordered, taking the lead of the new men.

He looked around again, now letting himself be pulled along as he was fascinated by something he should’ve hated. He went from a dingy hallway to a . . . cleaner hallway. Besides the fact the white paint on the walls was rundown, it was still a lot more . . . different than the previous hallway. It even had windows on the right wall—and damn were they high up.

  “This is not your home,” SangJung spoke, not even looking back, “Never will you have a home because you don’t deserve one. You will work for food, you will breathe when I tell you, you will speak when told to. You’re not here for leisure, boy, you’re here for containment and no way out. You may as well not try. If you go anywhere I don’t want you to, count on me snapping your neck but letting you live to feel the pain until it heals.”

SangJung stopped in front of a windowless door to the left, labeled S1291. He looked at Minho, walking up to him (and slightly looking up to his face) with a threat in his eyes.

  “When I find out if that poor boy is damaged because of you, I’ll be sure to punish you for what you did to him,” he threatened. He looked at the men holding Minho’s chains and jerked his head to tell them to put him inside.

When they opened the door, they removed Minho’s chains. He was shoved into the confined room without an apology for being rough with him. Minho finally let out an inhuman snarl as the door slammed close with a sound of a lock. His eyes traveled around, finding the walls were steel with chipping and cracking white paint, the window at the corner was small and barred, the toilet in sink looked ancient, and the bed was only a mattress.

He was ready to claw at the bars to get himself out and run, despite the height he was at. He didn’t belong here, he belonged with humans—with Taemin—in Namwon. Just because he was born of a different kind didn’t prove he was dangerous. If only he could explain this then some things may be different.

  “,” he groaned, sitting on the hard mattress. How was he going to get out of this? Should he even try? Taemin looked so . . .

  “No,” Minho shook his head, “No, he reached out for me.”

He sat there with a difficulty of getting comfortable. Despite it being a distraction, his thought process continued, Taemin’s smiling face in every corner trying to cheer him up.

----Note~----

So... it's not Saturday.

But I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to, so I'm doing it all right now. And even if I do get the chance on Saturday, I'll still update with another.

This was more or so of a foreshadowing chapter, and I hope no one's annoyed that Taemin's out of the picture now.

But feel free to unsub or anything for that; I'm just a writer. I do as I do. //shrug

How was your week? I hope it was nice. c:

I won't be writing FF much this weekend because of a scholarship essay and asdfghjgfdsdfghj it'll take forever to make it nice.

Anyone ready for another SHINee comeback? Why So Serious? I'm gonna buy that immediately. xD

So, have a nice Thursday and Friday and see you soon.

Thank you to any views, comments, and subs. Every one counts. <3

~FlaMinhoe

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