June 13, 20xx, 14:07

For a split moment, Jinki felt lost. Lost in familiarity. As if time had frozen in one familiar moment, too familiar to escape from, not familiar enough to understand. Or maybe too familiar to understand. Jinki didn't think he'd figured it out well enough to tell the difference. And then the man across from him spoke, and the split moment fell apart into pieces.

"No seriously, hyung. You can't keep running away from this."

The words washed over Jinki; he didn't pay them as much mind as he should've. They were familiar. Familiarity bred contempt, or something like that. Familiarity.

Jinki jumped up suddenly, a stray arm knocking over the cup of coffee. "Jonghyun!", he yelled in realisation. From across the table, Minho stared even as he uprighted the cup and tossed napkins onto the spreading mess. "It's Jonghyun," Jinki said earnestly. "He's—"

He's—, Jinki thought, and didn't get any further, sinking back into his seat with a frown. "Sorry," he mumbled, reaching forward to help mop up the spill. "You were saying?"

"Who's Jonghyun?" Minho asked, just as his phone rang. "Sorry," he said, turning away from the table.

"It's fine," Jinki said, throwing more napkins onto the table. Jonghyun. It was Jonghyun. There was this horrible blankness beyond that, but Jinki was sure that the blond man was Jonghyun. And he had to find him. Source code, he thought. That was important. It was definitely important. Minho would be getting off the phone soon, saying he had to go. Quick, Jinki, decisions—follow him, or not to follow him? Like a choose-your-own-adventure story book, he thought distractedly. No, focus—

The sound of a chair scraping back as Minho stood. "I'm sorry hyung, I have to go. It's work."

"Yeah, uh, call me when you're free?" Jinki resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, offering Minho a nervous smile instead.

"We'll talk about this later," Minho said. He reached out, a hand placed momentarily on Jinki's shoulder, before he walked off briskly. He watched Minho walk away, reaching unconsciously to the sudden gain and lack of warmth, before squaring his jaw and walking in the opposite direction. He didn't have much time. His eyes roamed across the store fronts, until he found what he thought was the right alley, wedged between a bakery and a boutique. He glanced over his shoulder—no screech of tires, no gunshots. Yet.

Jinki took a sharp breath, crossing the street. It had been behind the bakery. He ventured carefully to the bakery's other side, ducking surreptitiously along the wall. Someone was there—he dropped into a crouch, hiding himself behind a pile of crates. 'DECORATIONS', the label read.

"...soon...new place...ready or..."

"...don't know...risky thing to do..."

He strained forward, trying to catch pieces of the conversation. Two men, middle aged. Probably. He'd never been the greatest detective, even when they'd played at it when they were little, the three of them. The sound of a gunshot cracking through the air had Jinki stiffening every muscle in his body to avoid jumping in surprise—the screech of tires wailed by him. A flurry of movement, muffled voices. The sound of a motor backing up slowly.

Jinki inched forward, peering around the crates to see. A motorcycle, a cargo container tagged on behind it. He could just make out the license plate—a figure's shadow had him darting back behind the crates. He heard a yell and a struggle, and then the thump of something being struck. Jonghyun, Jinki thought idly. His heart clenched at the thought, an uncomfortable tightness just behind his gut, and it took all his self restraint to remain where he was. The sound of footsteps pounding against sidewalk, slowing. Jinki bit at his lip—Minho, probably. Find him, Taemin had said. Source code, remember?.

No, he didn't remember. And this was important.

Minho was talking—he couldn't make out the words. He wished he could. A long conversation, muted voices. And then a gunshot. Another. He didn't run forward—he was getting the hang of this, he decided. Minho would've made it out, he'd be fine. Definitely. Minho was capable, that much was clear. Jinki leaned forward as the sound of an engine starting up rumbled quietly, in time to see the lid of the cargo container being buckled down. Jonghyun, he thought emptily. The alley was empty. He stood, chased after where the motorcycle had been. 

It was cruising down the street, an unnoticeable pace. A muffled yell came from behind him—Minho stood there, clinging to a wall, gesturing furiously at Jinki. With a slow dawning of apprehension, Jinki turned, only to see someone jump down in front of him. He felt the explosion from behind, and a sharp pain from in front. A brief glimpse of Minho as he turned—

-

June 13, 20xx, 19:37

"9312," Jinki gasps breathlessly. The room, he's in the room again. "Motorcycle. Jonghyun's probably in the cargo container." His eyes are squeezed shut—he opens them slowly as he catches his breath, the movement still painful. The room is dark. Night. The screen flickers to life, a guiding light in a cage of black.

"Trace it," he hears in the background, low and urgent.

"Tell me," Jinki says, voice steadying. Taemin stares at him, lips caught between his teeth. "Tell me everything. Source code. Jonghyun. I know it, but I don't remember."

Taemin glances at a point behind him, waving someone over. Kibum, Jinki realises. The other man. Known as Key in most circles. More things he knew. But couldn't remember. If Jinki had been the sort to grind his teeth in frustration, he would have been doing that without a second thought.

"What do you remember?" This was Kibum. He's tilted the camera up towards him, Taemin effectively disappearing from view.

Jinki shakes his head. "Not much. You're Kibum. We need to find Jonghyun. Um, something about source code, but Taemin didn't say anything else."

Kibum nods briskly, Jinki's answer neither a surprise nor a relevation. "This is source code. You're in the source code," he explains matter-of-factly.

"What is source code?"

Kibum stares at him, and Jinki squirms under the gaze. "You don't know," he says blankly.

Jinki shrugs. "Maybe I've forgotten."

Kibum shakes his head, purses his lips. "Source code. When it comes down to it, memories are data. And data is code. Can be coded. Algorithm trees. You're in the source code right now, because it's the closest lead we have before we lost track of where—where Jonghyun is."

"I don't get it," Jinki says softly.

Kibum growls in frustration, and suddenly the camera is pulled down again, back to Taemin. "It's okay hyung, you don't have to. You have eight minutes though, that's all. You've probably noticed—nature draws to a lowest energy state, and within the confines of the source code, that's to return to, uh, the original ending."

"Original ending," Jinki echoes softly. "Death."

Taemin nods. "Second law of thermodynamics. Entropy. The measure of chaos, an increase in disorder, decrease in energy. Life is highly ordered, you know. But conversely, there are any number of paths a system can have travelled to reach the final state of least energy, highest entropy. Basic science." A pained look crossed across Taemin's face. Jinki frowned, confused, but waited for him to continue.

"When someone dies, there's an afterimage left behind in the short term memory circuits, because of the neurochemical responses that get altered—hyung—" this is to Kibum, who had taken to pacing back and forth like a caged animal. At Taemin's admonishment, he turns sharply on his heel and disappears, Taemin turning back to the camera "—An imprint. Like when you close your eyes and can still see whatever you were looking at before—sight works the same way, which makes sense since it's all part of the same physiological human system. We can use that imprint and write you into the source code, effectively exploring the eight minutes which were left behind. There's an infinite number of possibilities, as long as it starts and ends at the same point."

"But I can't change the outcome."

"Right. It's like an alternate reality, but the past can't be changed when it's already happened. Anything between is fair game though. I'm not sure about the details, those were - uh - anyway, something about quantum states and how it's all about probability anyway? So the individual paths matter less than the outcome."

Jinki drops his head into his hands, processing the information. "And Jonghyun?"

"'Kim Jonghyun, age 23. Was taken hostage at approximately 2:10 this afternoon. No demands have been made. The son of a cabinet minister, political reasons are presumed.' is what we have, officially," Taemin reads off a sheet of paper. "We don't know that much more, truthfully. We have suspicions of who's responsible, but that doesn't help if we can't find them." He clenches his fist, the paper crumpling under the touch.

"And Minho? What about Minho?" Jinki asks urgently. He swallows back a burst of nausea, willing himself to forget the image still burned faintly into the back of his retinas.

"Who?"

Jinki frowns, although he doubts Taemin can see it, dark as the room was. "Um, Choi Minho. I think he's a cop. He gets—got called to the location, looking for the man in a green shirt who's the one who kidnaps Jonghyun. He..."

"We'll look him up," Taemin promises. "Can we send you back in now?"

Jinki shakes his head, pacing to the screen. "Why did they take him?"

Taemin shrugs, shakes his head as well. "I don't know," he says, although his face, Jinki's sure, is saying something altogether different, if the way he's worrying at his lip, eyes downcast beneath a frown is any indication.

"Taemin."

"You have to find him, hyung. We don't have much time left. An hour, two hours at most. You're our only lead. I don't think Kibum hyung would be like this if we had any other way."

"I'll try my best," Jinki promises. "Oh, and one more thing?"

"Yes?" Taemin asks, tapping furiously at a keyboard.

"Who..." 's dead body am I occupying "am I?" he settles for instead.

"Not important," Taemin dismisses, and the floor falls out from under Jinki's feet again.

-

"I traced it," Kibum says, dropping into a seat next to Taemin. From the look on the older man's face, Taemin doesn't bother to ask if it had turned up any leads yet. "You didn't have to tell him all that," he adds next. "It's not like he needs to know."

"But he does," Taemin insists. His voice drags haggard and unconvincing in his own ears. "He does, hyung. I... I would want someone to tell me, if I were him."

"It won't help," Kibum snaps. "Every moment we waste is a moment that Jonghyun could be..."

He trails off, and Taemin cringes, willing himself not to finish the sentence. "I think you need a break," he says firmly. "You've been working for the past eight hours—"

"This isn't working. This is—"

"A break, hyung." If he were honest with himself, this isn't just for Kibum's good, it's for his too—Kibum's been getting on his nerves, and it's been eight straight hours of Taemin slowly feeling his own nerves thin. "Jinki hyung's still in there for another five minutes at least, unless something goes wrong. Again."

Kibum presses his lips together, pushing the seat back from the table. "He's good at that," he says, laughing. If it sounds forced, Taemin doesn't say anything.

Instead, he pulls Kibum out of the chair and gives him a shove towards the door. "I'll look for the motorcycle," he says. "I'm sure we'll find him."

"We have to," Kibum says.

"We will," he reassures. He just wishes he was more convinced himself.

-


Jinki gasped for breath, water blinding his eyes—

"Have you arrived?" The voice was robotic, masked. It did nothing to put him at ease.

"What did you want to discuss?" His own voice was clipped and more high-strung than he would've liked.

Ten minutes past the appointed time. He was the only one here.

—a strong grip around his wrist, his eyes fluttering briefly open to see a(n un)familiar face—

"You know what we want. And you know what we'll do if we don't get what we want."

"What do you want?"

"Oh, that's simple. You're supposed to be smart. Not as smart as we thought it seems. We want—"