Things felt decidedly alike to the time Kris had lined the group up to yell at them about their inadequacy; Luhan deliberately positioned himself on the outskirts of the group, eyes glued on his scuffed jogging shoes, the condition of which was irritating, considering how pristine they'd been when they'd left Indion.

The scene in front of him looked like it had been transplanted directly from the past, cut and paste right before his eyes. Kris was stern, arms folded and eyes already dripping silent judgement. He'd tied his longish, dirty blonde hair into a stumpy ponytail thing on top of his head, and though he'd never say so Luhan thought it looked ridiculous. 

Just one detail was amiss— this time around, Yong, the man from the night before, was beside Kris, his tall and solid frame even more intimidating than his comrade's. He, too, gave off an air of dissatisfaction, despite the lack of action from the rest of them.

Maybe that came with being good at fighting, or whatever it was Kris was attempting to teach them. Self-righteousness, scary demeanour, an inflated ego, or maybe just a perpetual sense of disappointment. None of them really appealed to Luhan, personally, except perhaps the scariness. Intimidating people had always been a problem— his eyes were so naturally large that when he squinted or glared, he either looked like a disgruntled child, or simply a normal person. Absolutely no anger included.

Yong, it had been announced loudly over breakfast, was leaving the following day. He'd been commissioned to help Kris out a bit by his father, but looked a little too happy about it. Kind of like "helping" entailed beating the entire group up.

It'd been way too early when they were woken up, so much so that Luhan had barely tasted the porridge he'd shovelled groggily into his mouth down in the large, communal dining room. Thinking back, he now wished he'd paid a little more attention— after eating nothing but seafood congee in the morning for the boat voyage, something a bit sweeter should have been entirely enjoyable.

Yong had hurried them up rather obtrusively, and when they'd finished, some (Luhan included) still in somewhat of a sleep-induced stupor, he'd led them across the sprawling field of a back garden, further and further, walking along the edge of what looked like a sizeable pocket of forest on the back of their property, to a large, industrial looking shed. 

Inside, though, there was no farm equipment of machinery, as expected. No— it was revealed, Yong flicking the lights in as they all filed in, that the Huangs owned a huge gymnasium.

Kris, once they had gathered, had proceeded to bark out a few insults regarding their general uselessness, which Luhan had blocked out for his self esteem's sake. Next thing he knew, he was being shepherded into another smaller room, one that was lined, wall to floor, with multitudinous weaponry.

Chanyeol, he noticed, looked like Christmas had come early, face brightening more than Luhan thought possible at Yong's flippant instruction to "choose out whatever you want."

He strolled out casually to unlock another door, which Luhan moved to thankfully, the first room not made for twelve or so people. As he wandered out, he saw Kyungsoo in his original spot when they'd all been gathered, leaning against a wall with a brooding expression, in the shadows and a bit away from the group.

Luhan briefly wondered, as he made his way into the other room, whether the boy was Shifter or Walker. Or Defective. It was hard to tell; he expelled the thought as soon as his gaze landed on what he knew was to be his weapon.

A medium sized pistol, hilt slightly worn and all but begging for Luhan to pick it up, caught his eye, hanging dead centre on the wall immediately opposite him. He lunged forward to pluck it from its place on the shelf; vaguely, he heard that Kyungsoo kid arguing with Yong over how he’d kept the second room a secret. Yong seemed to ignore him, yelling to instead address everybody, voice easily cutting across the din.

“One knife each, at the very least, is mandatory. They're useful for just about anything.” Luhan could hear Jongin’s very audible sigh— the other had always been crap at anything combat related, or at least in human form. They didn't do that much of it, and while his friends (Luhan included) had been above average, Jongin was mediocre at best. His lack of enthusiasm was understandable; evidently, Yong deciphered it to be solely snobbery. “Taking another form is a powerful weapon— but frankly speaking, it shouldn't even be attempted unless one has complete control over their human one. If you can’t protect yourself while you’re vulnerable, so to speak, you're as good as dead either way.”

Luhan felt a slight pang of sympathy for his friend, before he moved on, reaching to pick out the sharpest, shiniest blade off the wall. He doubted he’d use it; might as well look good holding it, though.

As he left the room, weapon in either hand and in search of holsters, he caught Kris staring oddly at his pistol, confused, slightly uncomfortable. It was probably fair enough.

Firearms were rare in the modern world— used mostly by hunters as a last resort and for, of course, the age old sport of shooting. Treaties had been signed centuries back, prohibiting their use in modern warfare due to the high number of casualties suffered from the firer’s own side. It was, after all, hard to tell who was who when they all looked like animals. Licenses to own guns were hard to attain, only hunters who were skilled enough to make clean kill shots with minimal pelt damage seeking them out; apprehension towards the destruction and mess the weapons brought about had been kind of instilled into the populace since primary school.

Luhan personally thought it flimsy reasoning for their abolishment. 

“You know how to shoot that thing?” Kris questioned, almost in distaste.

Luhan was a fantastic shot, and it wasn't just him who thought so. He’d spent most winter breaks since he was a child at his father’s Issian summer home; somedays, he’d spend more than four hours shooting at (clay, of course) targets. 

That place was probably one of his driving motives in striving to save Issia, he supposed. It was huge, skies aways blue and weather pleasantly tropical year round, a glimmering private beach encompassing a section of the backyard. The shooting range was a little bit away from the shore, actually; Luhan had been practicing there for years, and it’d gotten to the point that he rarely missed a shot.

Modesty was, in general, out of character for Luhan. But as much as he liked boasting, he enjoyed awing people even more. Impressing Kris especially would be a huge ego boost. Keeping that in mind, he merely shrugged at Kris’ question.

“Isn’t that what you're here for?” Kris’ face collapsed into lines of contempt. 

Luhan sensed the presence behind him slightly too late; Yong’s hand me down heavily on his shoulder, accompanied by a dark, somewhat mocking chuckle that had Luhan wincing. “Fine,” he said, voice booming and far too close for Luhan’s sensitive hearing to handle. “I’ll call Jun—he can take you down to the range, teach you. What was your name, kid?”

Yong was probably no more than a few years older, so Luhan really didn't appreciate the condescension that dripped from his address; nonetheless, he gritted his teeth and sustained. “Luhan.”

“Luhan.” Yong repeated, a laughing quality in his voice, like Luhan’s existence was something of a joke. Then he walked away.

Yong was insufferable, it was then decided. Kris now regarded Luhan with a tinge of pity.

He lurked on the sidelines for a bit, leaning against the wall, watching. JinJu sauntered out, Baekhyun in tow, cradling his two knives awkwardly in front of him, regarding them with a nervous fascination of sorts. His companion, on the other hand, wielded a handful of small knives cheerfully, beckoning for Zitao, who’d remained out in the larger gymnasium area, and asking him for some sheaths. 

Luhan had taken to tracing his fingers in absent patterns along the cool metal of the barrel, when Jun shuffled in, his wiry frame stooped sourly as he darted inside the quietest weapon closet to retrieve a pistol of his own, before beckoning Luhan to follow as he stalked back outside.

Going off the withering glance he’d thrown Yong’s way, he harboured the same sentiments for the brutish man as Luhan did.

“So you want to learn to shoot?” Luhan shrugged as he caught up, his foot catching on a loosened rock hidden beneath the calf-high grass and consequently stumbling. Jun eyed him doubtfully, nodding, gaze then flickering to the gun at Luhan’s side as though he didn't quite trust the other to be carrying it.

“You shoot?” Luhan realised the question was close to rhetoric the second it left his lips. Of course Jun shot; why else would he be teaching him?

Jun smirked. “Whole family does. We were raised to be hunters.” There was something in his bitter tone that made Luhan do a double take.

“Are you a hunter, though?” He couldn't help himself— sensitivity was never a problem if Luhan wanted to know something. 

“Of sorts.” Jun didn't say any more, and Luhan decided not to push it.

They reached a