As soon as they're back in the studio, and Kim has stepped otuside to make his customary phonecalls, Jiho rounds on the bunch of them. He calms himself down when Taeil and Jaeyho edge away nervously; steps back, breathes through his nose. The other four just form into a neat line, hands at their sides, faces calm and expectant like a group of soldiers waiting for orders.

"Who told Kim that?" he says slowly. He expects this to be the beginning of a long, arduous process of cross examining, double questioning, general frustration, but instead - 

"I did," Yukwon says immediately. Jiho can't look at him. He didn't think he had an inch inside him left to shock but he's proved wrong on that point.

"Why?"

"Because he asked me." His voice is still, easy, casual. It's so nearly familiar, so brutally twisted. This isn't his fault, Jiho reminds himself sharply as Yukwon stares back, utterly passive. His face in its natural state is cool enough; with this added layer of self-possessed serenity it's so absent as to be callous.

"Didn't you think you might get us into trouble?" It's a pointless question - he knows that even before answering, but despite himself he can't stop digging for some remaining trace of humanity under these new shiny exteriors his friends have been painted over with. His heart gives a tremendous wrench quite suddenly and he thinks he'd give just about anything just to see Yukwon's eyes narrow and his eyebrows drop in that old sceptical way; for Kyung to sling an arm around his neck, drag him down to his height and call him an - anything rather than this. Even if they were ignoring him. Even if they were angry with him.

Instead, they all remain silent, still; they might as well be cardboard cutouts. Jiho swallows hard through a constricted throat as Yukwon replies: "Why would you be in trouble?" The conversation isn't even worth continuing so he turns away, clenching his damp fists and breathing heavily. Off to one side Taeil and Jaehyo are close together, looking almost as nervous of Jiho as they are of their empty-faced band members. They're whispering intently, and after a few edgy looks at the others, they slip over to Jiho, one on each side of him as he wrestles a bottle of water out of his bag with shaking hands.

"Jiho," Taeil whispers harshly, "didn't you notice?"

"What?" He extricates the water, tips half the bottle down his throat in one long swallow and shakes some into his hand to wipe over his face. Jaehyo's hand comes down on his upper arm, gently, bracing him with a familiar touch.

"Kwonnie answered your question," he says in the same urgent tone, and when he chances a look back over his shoulder they're all still standing there, on the opposite side of the room, unmoving.

"Yeah. So? They did what they were told," Jiho says sourly. He can tell he's missing something but he's not in the mood to guess about it, shifting irritably when Taeil and Jaehyo exchange a glance behind his back. "What?"

"Surely Kim would have told them not to tell," Jaehyo says, forefinger tapping at the crook of Jiho's elbow thoughtfully. "But Kwonnie told you straight away. And last night - do you remember? When you insisted Minhyuk had said something different, he said you must have been right."

"So?"

"So," the older boy continues, the tapping now turning into a soothing skate of long nervous fingers over his bicep. "They'll respond to you. Not us - Minhyukkie still said to Taeil that he didn't know. But to you."

He pauses again and Taeil rushes to fill in the gap, seeing Jiho beginning to grind his teeth in frustration. "There must be some kind of override thing where you're concerned. They'd answer to Kim normally but - but you're the leader of the band. So you still have authority over them. Do you see?"

Jiho stills entirely while his brain assimilates this. He looks over again: the four figures in their line, blank and straight backed as a row of dominos. "Hey, Minhyuk. Come here," he says casually - out of all of them, Minhyuk was the least likely before to have done anything just because Jiho asked him to. Today he's by his side in seconds, chin tilted questioningly.

"What did you want, Jiho?"

What Jiho really wants is to scream, throw up, or run away, but since none of these options are open to him he settles for pressing his eyes shut, hard, until the swimming feeling of nausea has floated back a little and he can focus again properly. So that's how it is, he thinks, and wonders with a chill of horror how it would have been if he had been the first to cause trouble. Would he have been used as an instrument, manipulated to draw his friends into the trap? Was this deference to him part of some wider plan Kim had in mind? Horrific as it is, he finds himself strangely thankful that Kyung had stepped in for him on that first day. Had he been the first to fall he shudders to think what might have happened.

A small shake of his arm brings him back to himself, and he squares his shoulders and steels his nerve, turning back to Minhyuk. "Tell me what happened yesterday."

"We had a talk with some people at the label," he says mechanically; Jiho can't believe it doesn't register with him in the slightest that he's saying the same words in the exact same way. But then, Minhyuk had never been particularly sensitive to the nuances of tone and expression. He shrugs at Taeil, who shakes his head, eyes quick and clever as he picks over the problem.

"I don't think that will work. I mean," and he turns his back and says it fiercely under his breath but still manages a touch of wry humour which Jiho has never been more thankful for, "it's Minhyuk. He never likes following orders. Try someone else - try Kyungie." He avoids Jiho's eyes as he says it, and Jiho knows why: he can't stop himself from looking outraged. He's been the leader of this band for years now; he's used to making decisions on behalf of all of them, to setting out deadlines and schedules for them, and it's never been a problem, never caused a hint of embarrassment even though most of them are older and, in some ways, a lot wiser than he is. But it's always been different with Kyung; over a decade of friendship and countless obstacles overcome together can't easily be put to one side even in the most strictured of circumstances, and even when he was at his most stressed and Kyung at his most obstinate, he's never once told him outright what to do. Using this power he apparently has now feels wrong - a dirty move, especially - as he assumes Taeil is implying - mixed with the fact that Kyung is his best friend, and far more likely to answer him honestly than anyone else.

"What about Jihoonie?" he suggests, just out of desperation, but he knows himself that it won't work.

"He's too scared of Kim. Always was." Blinking rapidly behind his glasses, Taeil turns his mouth down at the corners, biting into his lower lip. "I'm sorry," he says, and he really does look sorry though it doesn't ease the painful squeezing of Jiho's heart.

"It's alright," he says, a lot more decisively that he feels; it helps just to snap his spine straight and work the tension out of his shoulders. Then he heads over to where Kyung is standing, motioning the others off to one side. It still makes his whole chest hollow and ache, like someone's scooped his insides right out of him, to see Kyung stay so completely still: not smiling or wrinkling his eyes up where his contacts are itching or scuffing his trainers against the floor. His hair is lying flat and sleek across his forehead; his pale skin is practically glowing; his eyes are like whirling black holes, bottomless and empty. There's something so utterly inhuman about the whole picture that Jiho wants to snatch him by the collar and slam him against the wall, until he forces out whatever this thing inhabiting his best friend's body is.

He's never felt so slimy in his life, and Kim's words, punctuated by the curl of his lip, revolve in his head: "a similar change in you wouldn't go amiss" - but he has to do it, and at least he's choosing to do it. He can apologise later, he thinks, stepping in close to Kyung and drawing out every bit of the four or so inch difference in their heights, so that Kyung has to lean back to look up at him. "Kyung," he says, and wets his cracking lips, choosing his words carefully. "Can you tell me what happened on the night you went off with Kim? When you went to the warehouse?" 

He prepares himself to be told yet again about the meeting with the label, but instead there's a brief pause and then the colour drains out of Kyung's face so thoroughly and suddenly that Jiho readies his arms in case he faints. He stays upright, rocking gently back and forth, his face going through a series of fluttering twitches, eyes darting left to right in a way that makes Jiho queasy. "The warehouse?" he says.

"That's where you went, isn't it?" Jiho pushes a little harder with his tone, not taking his eyes off the other boy.

"We - we had a meeting," Kyung begins faintly; Jiho cuts him off with a brusque shake of the head.

"I want you to tell me what happened. I know you didn't go to the label headquarters. You went to some warehouse; tell me what happened there." He steps in a little closer, watches Kyung twitch again, clearly struggling with whatever conflicting instructions have been drummed into him. "Tell me," he insists, and then, hating himself a little more, "I'm the leader of this band. I'm ordering you to tell me." Kyungie, I'm so sorry, he adds silently.

"We went into a dark room," he blurts out at last. As soon as he does Jiho drops the menacing air thankfully, furrows his brows down and waits for him to continue. He breathes out shakily. "We went into a big dark room. Completely black. Kim said we were going to learn something new. Then - " Kyung shudders to a halt, heaves air into his lungs; his shoulders are beginning to tremble and despite himself Jiho is comforted. It's a life-giving sign of humanity, the first time he's seen this new found composure be shaken.

"It's okay," he says. "I won't let you get into trouble. Carry on."

"Then - someone grabbed me from behind. Held my arms back. They put something on the back of my neck," and he touches the spot with two fingers, "just here."

Immediately Jiho strides forward to inspect it. The sight is horrible: a circle of red, raised flesh with a puncture wound clearly visible in the centre. It looks almost like an insect bite but the centre mark is too large and fresh: it's clearly an injection site, and Jiho stares in awful fascination, wondering if it had been used since that first time. If the change was drug induced, they would only have to wait for it to wear off.

"Jiho," Taeil says suddenly from behind him, but he ignores it. He moves back, leaving Kyung still running his fingers over the mark wonderingly.

"What happened then?"

"We had to sit in these big chairs. Then - then everything got very cold. A bright light." His eyes cloud over, and he shakes his head. "I don't remember any more after that."

Jiho considers briefly pushing for a little more, but after the tale of the injection he fully believes that there would be no memory beyond this point. Besides, he has the information he needs. "Jiho," Taeil says again, more urgently; with his head buzzing with new information Jiho doesn't register the urgency of his voice, spins on his heel to snap back only for the words to die on his lips as he sees the open doorway, the telltale thick-knuckled hand propping up a looming figure: something breathing deep and scratchily, listening to him.

"Move," Jaehyo mouths at him frantically, but strangely Jiho doesn't feel sick or upset any more. The more he looks at his best friend - still staring at him like he has no idea what he's just said - the more he feels nothing but anger. Anger for what's been done to his friends; for what's been taken from him; for what he has been inches from losing entirely.

"I'm going to fix this," he says, sharp and assured for the benefit of the listening figure behind the open door but his eyes are burning into Kyung's, as intense as the other boy's are flat, and from somewhere under the wiped clean surface of his mind Kyung finds enough of himself to catch one of Jiho's hands in his. He doesn't seem to realise what he's done, continues staring as his fingers clutch Jiho's palm in a biting grip. As frightening as the not-Kyung figure before him is, the grip is so undeniably familiar that before he can stop himself Jiho throws his arms around him and buries his face in his hair. "I'm gonna get you back," he mumbles, and forces himself off and across the room, not wanting to see the expression - or lack of - that this has produced. He stumbles to the door, heart throbbing crazily, and throws it wide open. He wants to say something smart and swift and threatening, but the wave of hatred that boils up on seeing Kim's smoothly satisfied face stoppers up his mouth.

"You're asking some very difficult questions, Jiho," Kim says easily, stepping forward into the room and forcing Jiho back before him as he does. "It's not very fair to distress your friends like this, is it?"

"These," Jiho says darkly, "are not my friends. I don't know what the hell you did to them, but I'm going to find out and when I do -"

"When you do," Kim breaks in; the way he breathes out the words is close to deranged, filled with something that Jiho can only call pride. "When you do, you will understand why it has been necessary. You will see things from my perspective. I think you will be surprised by how persuasive the idea is, after all."

They're still close to one another, almost toe to toe. Jiho tips his head back, looks at the other man down the length of his nose. "Go on then," he says, and although he sounds cocky his insides are churning with fear. "Persuade me."

A slow, gruesome smile spreads across Kim's face, as predatory as a pike. "We're already prepared." He turns on his heel and walks off without another word. Jiho knows he's supposed to follow, and he does, but not before breathing a few hard words into Taeil's ear and giving Jaehyo a quick reassuring hug.

"Don't worry hyung," he says; Jaehyo just shakes his head, having some trouble letting go of him.

"Be careful," he pleads. That advice, Jiho thinks with a grim smile as he climbs into the car behind Kim, is about three years too late.

They pull up in the car park of the abandoned complex Minhyuk had described: four immense buildings, the brickwork tattered and patched with boarded up windows and signs covered in grafitti. A few metres away some tramps have got a fire going in a big steel bin; Kim glances over and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "This way," he says, and Jiho follows, wondering why Kim doesn't question his lack of surprise - and why his band mates hadn't questioned their location.

They enter the third building along; a sign proclaims it 'Han Lee's Furniture Emporium' but inside there's nothing but breeze block walls and echoing corridors. The front desk is occupied by a young woman in a headset - thin, tired looking; she glances up as they enter only to quickly avert her eyes back to her magazine. Jiho follows the manager down a long corridor, skin chilling at the reverberating sound of their footsteps in the still air. It's like walking through a meat locker. Jiho thinks of abattoirs and his stomach turns over.

"Wait here until you're called," Kim says, holding open a heavy door; it is with a dull thud of inevitability that Jiho recognises the doorway from his nightmare. He goes through into a big square room, impersonal as a surgery. There's a second door to his left hand, leading to the toilets, and a third doorway directly ahead of him, this one without a door but covered with a heavy rectangle of black fabric. There's a bench against the opposite wall, white and backless, and the room is flooded with florescent light and the distinct bitter smell of ammonia. As the door behind him falls shut Jiho goes straight to the curtained doorway and gingerly lifts the covering to one side. Beyond it is pitch black; in the light cast by the room he can just make out the gleam of a doorknob at the opposite end. He drops the curtain and gets his phone out: no signal. The heavy hum of an unseen fan blends into the sound of his breathing.

They leave him waiting for several minutes. With each that passes the temptation to walk out becomes stronger, but he knows without trying that the door he entered through will now be locked. This must have been where realisation began to hit his friends, and he shudders to think about it: had Jihoon pounded on the door and pled for release? was that dent in the plaster at the bottom of the wall the result of a hefty kick from Minhyuk? had Kyung tried to pry into the room beyond, unable to stand the mystery? By the bench he notices a tiny note scribbled in biro on the whitewash. The handwriting is unfamiliar; it says simply: "I don't want to go". How many bands have been here, he wonders, and who had allowed this to happen?

Before he can begin to formulate an answer there's a loud click and a voice echoes through the curtain: "Come forward. Wait in the entrance." He does so, slipping behind the heavy hangings and tapping his fingers against the walls as he's plunged into darkness. After a few more seconds the opposite door swings open slowly, and a thin beam of light snakes in and illuminates the tiled flooring; his feet in their heavy sneakers. "Come in," the same voice from before says. The first thing he sees - the only thing he can pick out distinctly in the meagre thread of light - is Kim's face, heavy and complacent, smiling in a way that could almost be genial were it not for his murderously calculating eyes.

"I've been waiting for this, Jiho," he says.