There was a harsh bang on the door and Minho jumped out of sleep.

He sat up, clenching his fists in irritation. The past week the same thing was happening, but no one came inside. No one came to talk to him. No one gave him food.

They could at least have respect for him sleeping at goddamn night to forget the hunger until dawn. His empty stomach churned of crying acid, causing him to cringe at its loud sound. It was such a nice noise, he had to admit. Besides the constant banging, his stomach proved a humane sound.

Was this how he was going to live? To sit there every day and wait for the solid door to open?

The door unexpectedly produced another bang, his room lights flickering on, and Minho swore out loud, shagging his hair with one hand and running the other down his face. What was the point in even banging on his door?

His ears then picked up the smallest squeaking and he snapped his head up. Little by little, the door was opening and Minho waited for SangJung to come in, ready to start his day—well, what seemed like two in the damn morning—as a living hell.

But no one did and the door wasn’t opening quickly; it was as if someone was sneaking in. Minho inched off the mattress. The floor was cold and he slightly recoiled before crawling to the door. When he was there, the door was slightly opened.

Someone could be seen through the crack—and said person gasped in shock and fell back, immediately returning, his narrow almond eyes staring into Minho’s as he opened the door wider.

  “Eat this quick, but don’t mention you did. I would’ve given you it every day, but my shift changed,” he quickly whispered, shoving a large ball of foil into his room, looking about and around the hall, “They’re bringing you in for pre-questioning today—I’ll see you after it, I promise.”

Minho opened his mouth to speak (he didn’t know what he was going to say, possibly a thank you), but the guy shut the door before he made a sound.

That whisper sounded the same as the guy a week ago.

It most likely was, too.

Suspiciously, Minho took the foil ball and sat back on his mattress while unwrapping it. He sighed in relief as bread unfolded from a ball with a block of partially melted cheese in the middle. His stomach cried at the look of it and he wasted no time; he wolfed it down, barely tasting much of it. He just wanted to kill the cries.

He chewed thoughtlessly as he straightened the foil out and folded it, hiding it under the mattress before laying back down and waiting for someone to come in.

His mind wandered off to Taemin (for the nth time of the week) as he swallowed the last mixture of bread and cheese. Was he coping well? Did he understand? Was he eating? Was he okay?

Did he . . . regret everything?

Minho groaned, trying not to think about that. That was the worst question of them all, and he’d rather face it later, not now.

He combed his hair with a hand, closing his eyes as the handsome blond smiled in his mind eye.

And yet, it wasn’t making him feel better anymore.

It was just making him even more worried.

He shouldn’t be thinking about Taemin if Taemin wouldn’t want him anymore; that wouldn’t be fair to Taemin.

But then there was that counterargument; Taemin reached out for him while he was being taken away. That clearly meant something. That clearly meant don’t go!

No, he wasn’t going anywhere for long. He’d be right back as quickly as he could. Just to be in his presence again; just to feel normal again.

Not like this. Not like some monster from Hell.

  “Dear !” Minho swore as the door’s bang was incredibly loud before it opened with four men surrounding the door.

They were all dressed in the same green attire, a tight line for lips, and staring him down like he committed murder. They each had chains in their hands, waving them a little.

Minho fought off the instinct to snarl at them, but that’d prove a point that he was inhumane. He had to keep calm; he had to figure a way out to convince them he wasn’t going to do anything wrong.

He stood, sighing as he held his wrists out in front of him, letting two of the men wrap the chains around them as the other two wrapped them around his waist.

They set out to the left, down the everlasting hall. It was the same as Minho had seen the first day and he still had to admit he was curious about the change in hallway appearances.

He looked out the windows of the hallway, seeing far down there were super bright lights in the midst of the dark. There were people—or what he thought were people—running, jumping, sitting, just doing something down there.

No one even looked energetic, to be honest.

They soon reached a part of the hall that split into two more hallways; one left, one right.

  “This way,” one of them huffed as he brought him left, bringing them into an oddly shaped lobby with blinding white lights above it.

Minho squinted, trying to see through such brightness, only to make out a brown door that opened, the same kind of men holding chains that lead to only a collar, not a body.

Minho tried to make out the figure that was bound by the neck, but all he saw was hair in three or four different shades pass by.

  “In here,” the same guy muttered, all of them shoving him into the room and releasing him of the chains, slamming the door behind him.

Minho blinked, finally able to see in the dimmer light, but he wasn’t relieved whatsoever.

Especially when there’s a single silver chair in the middle of the room and a guy in the corner with a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Well,” SangJung raised his brows, taking the cancer stick out of his mouth, smoke releasing as he spoke, “You gonna sit or just collapse from exhaustion?”

Minho stared at him for a moment, not moving at all, eying him down, waiting for him to flick the cigarette at him or something.

  “Boy, you better sit your down,” he shook his head, leaning back on the wall, “If you make me force you to sit down, you’re gonna need a new one.”

Minho unintentionally huffed, taking a seat slowly on the freezing chair (he could hear a sizzle), clasping his hands together as he watched SangJung stare at him, then around the room.

SangJung sighed, stretching his arms out as he started pacing around, “A living Daegrent . . .”

Minho kept quiet, watching the trails of smoke turn into a cloud below the ceiling light, just waiting for SangJung to stop stalling and ask things.

  “I’ve never seen a Daegrent since I was sixteen,” SangJung mused behind him, “And you can tell I’m far from sixteen, boy.

  “And the lady at the desk, boy?” he chuckled. Minho could hear him tap on his cigarette, hearing each and individual piece of ash fall to the porcelain floor, “You no needin’ much to hear about Trinity. But just incase you were wondering . . .”

SangJung’s mouth was by Minho’s ear; he could smell the ash in his breath.

  “You were right.”

Minho let himself be pulled in, turning to look at the man in the eyes, confusion crystal clear, his mouth unable to process a word to ask a question.

The elder put a finger to Minho’s lips with a twitch of a smirk, “I said you no needin’ to know about her.

  “But, boy, I wanna about you,” he raised a brow as he backed up, shaking his head as he brought a lighter out from his pocket, “These damn sticks don’t stay lit.”

He lit his cigarette once more before returning the lighter to his pocket, taking another smoke and staring at the clean white wall before running his hand over it, “Now boy, how old are you?”

  “Tell me about Taemin first,” Minho quickly fired at him, “I know you know about him by now, I want to know!”

SangJung didn’t answer him, just continuously running his hand over the one tile, “Soon, boy. Don’t get ahead of yourself. How old are you?”

  “Taemin,” Minho stubbornly answered.

  “Don’t play with me,” SangJung growled, his other hand holding the stick with two fingers, “I never said you won’t know, so stop being an arrogant child and answer me,” he looked at Minho, eyes incredibly sharp, “I’m not patient as you think I am. Let this go smoothly and you’ll know. Answer the question.”

  “Twenty-one,” he spat between his teeth, tensing as he tried to calm down; trying not to see blacks and whites, “We’re both fresh twenties.”

  “How long have you known you are what you are?”

Minho roughly pulled a hand through his hair, “Since I’ve had my first memory.”

  “Who’s been keeping you under wraps?”

  “I don’t know,” Minho almost lied too quickly, “I’ve lived with him all my life, but he’s only had me call him Tops.”

SangJung started pacing around, eyes avoiding Minho intentionally, “He’s never told you his name.”

  “I’ll be honest,” Minho honestly lied, “I looked for his name anywhere where we lived. Never found a thing.”

  “And yours.”

  “. . . Minho.”

SangJung dragged something across the floor; ear piercing screeches caused Minho to hold his ears, gritting his teeth as he knew the guy was only trying to hurt his supersonic ears.

SangJung had brought a chair, dragging it until it was in front of Minho, sitting down and leaning back on it, “You’ve been living undercover. Putting humanity at risk of your behavior.”

Minho groaned, “The only time I’ve ever combusted was when you all showed up!”

  “How can I be sure of that?”

Minho sharply gazed back at him, “Just ask Taemin.”

SangJung sighed, taking the cigarette back out and tapping it, “I mean in general, not in front of the lad.”

  “Only with Tops to learn how to control myself. It’s never happened in public; I haven’t combusted since I was fifteen.”

The elder clearly didn’t look interested, rotating his neck as if this were so casual, “Where’s your mark?”

Minho thought for a second.

A mark . . .

Mark . . .

Minho flipped through the pages of the damn novel in his head, trying to remember signs, trying to remember Seunghyun’s words. . .

Then there was the memory of burning.

  “Burned!” Minho suddenly spoke out, “It was . . . burned . . .”

The elder leaned in, nodding, “Tops burned it off, didn’t he? So no one would see.”

Minho repeated his action.

  “Where was it?”

Minho then went through his memory, where the burn was, what he cried about when he was too young . . .

Minho’s right wrist flinched.

SangJung was first to look at it and immediately took Minho’s right arm, exposing his wrist to him, “The right wrist has a white burn. . .”

  “I don’t know exactly what it looks . . . like . . .” Minho admitted in a huff, taking back his wrist forcefully.

  “Doesn’t matter, you’ll see it soon enough,” he said before rising from his chair and kicking it back into the wall, heading for the door, “My patience suddenly wore thin with you. I can’t question you without wanting to beat the out of your smug face. Later today we’ll do this again,” he opened the door, looking back as he took the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it to the floor, stepping on it, “It’s only three in the morning. Get more rest; I’ll feed you next time I see you. On the house.

  “Hey, you boy!” he shouted out the door, “Come take him back. He’s not doin’ anything.”

The door shut and Minho finally breathed, rolling his shoulders and neck, displeased he was awakened for such a short session with an —who hadn’t even fed him right then and there!

He tapped his shoe on the floor, picked at his pants—realizing for the past week he hadn’t even been wearing a damn shirt.

All he wanted was a blanket, for god sakes. Just give him that and he’ll shut up.

  “Hey,” a whisper called out to him, “Hey, get up, I have to put the chain around your wrists.”

Minho looked back at the whisper’s body, finding the same honey hair as the first day and same narrow almond eyes from this morning.

The guy bit his bottom lip, motioning to come close, “Come on, quickly please! Before he changes his mind and gives the job to someone else!”

Following his rather polite orders, Minho got up and held both of his wrists out, letting the man wrap one chain around them both and lead them out of the room. The man gripped the chain tightly as if pretending Minho was being reluctant.

  “. . . He didn’t hit you, right?” he continued whispering, looking out for anyone coming their way.

  “No—” Minho knew he spoke to loudly when the man tensed and eyes sharpened on him.

  “No,” he corrected himself and whispered.

He then nodded, a sigh following, “Good.”

It grew to be an awkward silence as they walked down the halls, neither of them showing any signs of forming some kind of relationship.

But it was Minho who broke it, “Why are you—”

  “I think Taemin’s okay,” he cut him off, as if waiting for Minho to start back up, “Kapsoo said he isn’t in deep trauma anymore, and thank god . . .”

  “He’s okay?!” Minho raised his voice, stopping his walk and looking into the man’s eyes with sincerity, “Please tell me—tell me more!”

  “Enough!” He venomously growled, tugging on Minho’s chain, now looking around, returning to a whisper, “Don’t do that—I don’t like using my voice like that to make it seem convincing that I despise you.”

Minho nodded, bowing a little to apologize before they stood in front of the S1291 door. Minho was put inside, and the man closed the door behind them both, keeping his hand on the bar.

  “I’m going to help you, Minho.”

----Note~----

GUESS WHO?

It's incredibly obvious by now. :P

A new character has entered the stage, and he'll have a whole significance later on in the story. c:

Time's really going to fly by inside these chapters after the next, so be sure to keep up and pay attention! I try to be as detailed as possible.

In about two chapters, the story will then be entering at its full potentional of all the action-intelligence-plans-of-blah-blah-blah.

How do you think Taemin's doing?

Who do you think Minho's going to meet on the way? Another creature?

(I'm just giving elementary questions for no reason.)

I know it's not Saturday again, but I won't have time tomorrow to do the whole uploading thing, so I may as well do it now.

I'd also like to tell every reader that I've been given an offer:

I've been offered to make my writing into an actual selling book. ETR is something I'm super proud of so far, and when I get over my obnoxious fear of letting my English teacher read over my stuff, I could possibly let this fic turn into actual fiction with a paper-back cover.

Now, that requires for me to delete the story on here, unfortunately.

But that, I don't want to do just yet. I'm not asking for the fic to become popular or something, but I'd ultimately appreciate comments and feedback. Those kinds of things are what keep me writing, and my pride for this fic becomes lesser when there's none given.

If you like the story, please leave a comment even if it's short. I don't want to delete the story if people really want to read it.

BUT YEAH.

I've been procrastinating with writing this, too. Ten more chapters ahead from now and I can't continue writing it. adsfghfdsfghf writer's block.

But don't worry. That means I have ten weeks to work that crap out.

So thank you to any views, subs, and comments. <3

~FlaMinhoe