Chapter 27: Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

Sound exploded across his eyes. Taut threads screeched. Goose pimples covered every exposed expanse of skin. Senses juggled by multiple bullet wounds to the cranium, it took a few moments before his surroundings became clear. 

Jongdae was met with The Blue.

Machines whirred. Violins sang together in harmonious symphony. Apologies bubbled to the surface when he caught sight of Minseok.

Suit black. Conscience seemingly clear. “Good morning,” he recited. “I’m told you’ve taken a liking to questions these days, John.”

Finding his voice warbling between disaffected belief and disjointed affection, Jongdae asked the obvious. Who. What. When. Where. Why. Minseok plucked the easiest from the batch.

“Recruiter: this noun comes closest to describing my work for the Society.”

The Seasonal Hunt first begins with the “random” lottery. Individuals selected during these “Hunt Pickings” are a new generation of Black Coats: children made servants to the Tower’s interest after regular testing by public institutions. Recruiters take root in residential communities to weed out the winners from the losers. Within a week, a list of lucky names airs across local broadcast systems. 

Orthrus was held in esteem for his high rate of success. White Coats whispered his name in reverence. Black Coats battled to claim a spot working by his side. Han’s boastful story of his 107 win streak paled in comparison to the pride painted over Minseok’s face.

However, the facts remained, “If life here was so marvelous, why run?” If memory served right, Minseok was prepared to die under a stranger’s hands. The suit fit him well. Thinking again, the better question was, “Why come back, Minseok?”

“Michael.” He corrected, flattening crinkled edges of black. Minseok. Shoe. Stray. Past identities like dust in the wind. Only one person could cause a current so strong. 

“This is about Fay, isn’t it?” Much to his chagrin, his brother hadn’t returned to save him — his expression all too telling. “Like Romeo and Juliet, you two revolve around each other. Dancing your endless circles to the music of our helpless dismay.” 

Alluding to his motives, Minseok acknowledged Jongdae’s plight, “We live with the choices we’ve made, brother.” Despite disregarding them in his subsequent statement. “She shouldn’t suffer the consequences.”

Implications galore underlay these words; Jongdae’s birthright wasn’t to blame for Fay’s current conundrum. “Angels of Haven. Saviors of the World.” Cerberus listed off. “You couldn’t expect me to turn it down.” 

I’m special, every cell in Jongdae’s body screamed the adjective atop wailing violins.

Minseok retracted his reasoning, nostrils flaring, “You have a spectacular knack for deconstructing a multi-faceted issue with self-referential pronouns.” He pointed to the x-ray hanging overhead. “Go save the world, Superman.” 

Upon Minseok’s departure from The Blue, Jongdae got a better look at the cranium depicted. Other than a thin basal fracture, the image was spotless. A White Coat attending him prescribed painkillers for the night. Hours later, Jongdae’s skull suffered only minor swelling near the left eye. 

The run-in with Michael the Recruiter garnered considerable attention. Numerous Black Coats bombarded the spoiled pup with whos, whats, whens, wheres, and whys. Volunteers for the position as Jongdae’s partner in the Seasonal Hunt remained lacking. Rubbing shoulders with celebrities could only get him so far.

To save his sanity, Cerberus decided he was too special; Johnny took an interest in the inane notion. 

“For argument’s sake, let’s say everyone’s an option.” With a wave of a hand, “Who’ll it be?” Johnny would solve all sides of the issue. 

Bitter. Beaten. Believing redemption should save a wretched soul, Jongdae said, “Minseok.”

Recruiting angels for Haven’s mighty war against an unforeseen enemy is no kosher job placement. The conclusive destruction of families equated to gainful renown. Minseok, a green-thumb who appreciated a weed’s beauty, was too good a man to profit from unrighteous means. Reasoning skewed, Jongdae shook off the guilt hitting him in the form of a well-aimed right hook. 

“Settle in, Black Coats! Debriefing on this season’s Hunt will begin after all confidentiality statements are returned.” 

Fine print went overlooked as each pair hastily requested pens. Managing small talk through a sore jaw, Jongdae summed up the terms and conditions to becoming Superman, “Rule #1: pay attention. Rule #2: every death is meaningful.” Minseok only hesitated for a second. Twenty single sheets of paper were passed to the front.

Like Cerberus, Orthrus was powerless. Not a Prayer Ticket to his name. Indebted to the Tower for funding the mad scientist’s innovative work. “Michael will sign; he always signs,” Johnny says. So the brothers set out on a five-day vacation to the wastelands the very next day.

While loading the jeep at the edge of the Haven’s walls, Minseok makes a declaration that frames his preceding selfishness. “Should I be faced with a decision split by frightful waters, it’s not a question of who would I save. Could safety be secured through sacrifice, I choose me — every time.” 

Rolling sand dunes stretched as far as the eye could see. Pulling tight at a tarp, Jongdae aided three Black Coats in camouflaging the last vehicle. Instructed to burn fuel until arriving at this abandoned outpost, they would continue northwest on foot. 

Some commented on the heat. Recommended waiting for sunset to embark. A majority overruled this reasonable proposition.

“We’re expected to pass under the golden gates by nightfall,” a brawny brother argued. His partner, similar in stature, convinced the others with loose jokes. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. 

Minseok merely mumbled, “Stupidity is contagious.” It seemed everyone stopped to listen. Still, they had faith in their Haven. The merry band wrapped black parkas and scarves to grip sweaty skin, braced against turbulent winds capable of collapsing entire concrete complexes, and followed a route outlined in — sparse — detail just yesterday.

Miles out, the pace began to slow. Preparing for the weariness of an endless trek towards an unknown goal is borderline impossible. Anyone could guess Shuck, the 11th floor’s bleater, would break first. Should the situation be anything but ideal, he cried wolf without shame. 

Sweltering sun. Dry air. Grainy smells. Complaints spiraled through the group with Shuck as the origin point. 

Tensing beside Jongdae, Minseok stalled. Sniffed. Stomped. Rule #1 came to mind.

Almost a year ago, he was promised “home.” The concept is hazy at best. This was the farthest from the abstract placebo. 

Ground opening to swallow him whole, Jongdae sprinted. Minseok was always faster. Screams of terror accompanied Shuck’s last words. Something about the Universe being out to get him. “Nonsense. He’s just a hunk of rock in Fate’s belt.” Someone said later that night. 

Taking refuge under the golden gates, Jongdae scribbled a note near the campfire: sandworms, 34° N, 118° W. Rule #2 haunted his nightmares. Not every death is meaningful.

A/N: Before you convince yourself you're missing something, the "why did Minseok attack Jongdae" question still hasn't been answered (though I'm sure you can guess it). More on the events (and purpose) of the Seasonal Hunt next time!