Hands grabbed him, ripping him from a dreamless sleep to take him away. Darkness surrounded him, welcomed and embraced him, muddling his mind to the point he couldn’t grasp any one single thing, everything slipping through his fingers before he could even wonder. But he couldn’t try; the moment he tried to focus, pain engulfed him, horrible, heart-wrenching guilt crashing into him in waves that left him breathless and afraid. He didn’t want to feel that, couldn’t bear to feel that, and instead allowed the darkness to control him.

A silenced whisper filtered briefly through his muddled mind before a sharp wall flew up, not once asking questions as to the familiarity of the voice. He didn’t want to feel pain, and that voice brought nothing but terrible memories. He couldn’t.

Fingers tugged at his eyelids, burning palms running over his cheeks, rough hands dragging him away—things kept ripping him to the brink of disaster, leaving him at a crevice that left him staring down into the unknown. He wanted to hide in a corner, shroud himself in an obscurity that would help everyone forget about him, leaving him to the solitude he believed he craved. He didn’t want to be approached, he didn’t want to questioned. He didn’t want anything to remind him of the world, of what he’d done, of what was undeniably waiting for him—he didn’t want that.

Noises beeped around him, bodies brushing past him, lights flashing in his eyes, penetrating the walls that crumbled before he could even lift them—he was vaguely aware of what they were doing and where they were taking him, and no matter how much he tried to hide, persistence continued to wear away at him. A hard slap, a forceful tug, a loud shout; each attempt yanked him further from the abyss, pulling him closer and closer to the bottomless hell that was waiting for him. They were waiting for him, and the fear their mere presence brought was nothing compared to the fear of facing what he’d done.

He wasn’t strong enough. Escaping was the only thing he could do. He had nothing.

There was nothing left.

“Nothing bad will happen right? You’ll…you’ll still be here, right?”

“I will be here.”

A quick jostle brought him back to himself, his hand suddenly on fire as Won-shik held it firmly by his side. He stumbled as his hand clenched Won-shik’s like a lifeline, his eyes shooting around to find where they were. The white walls and blank faces brought memories he wasn’t ready to face back, and he retreated back to safety, the darkness greeting him like an old friend. He could faintly see Won-shik’s mouth moving but could hear none of it, his brain helpfully blocking the noise before it could hurt.

“You won’t leave me, right?”

He was dropped somewhere, a slap to the back of his head briefly revealing a white desk, blinking confusedly revealing a heavy gaze staring at him.

“You’ll remember me, right?”

His vision flickered when he saw Joon-myeon’s mouth begin to move, his body trembling at the thought of what foul things he would say.

“I will be here.”

“Sang-hyuk!” Sang-hyuk screamed when a loud bang echoed against the thick walls, jerking back in terror to see Joon-myeon’s livid eyes locked on him, his whole body leaning forward as he slowly drew his hand back from where he slammed it on the desk. He drew in on himself as Joon-myeon settled back in his seat, his mind in such a frenzy he could no longer retreat, stuck in the present and forced to withstand whatever the world wanted. He didn’t want to be here. Everything only gave pain, and his body was covered and destroyed with the scars of what he had already received. He felt as if just one more pinch would cause his body to rip at the seams, and he couldn’t bear to let that happen.

He couldn’t.

“Now that you’re finally with us,” Joon-myeon said slowly, his every word laced with irritation, his eyes matching his tone perfectly, “I expect you to stay. I will not repeat myself again.” He tried to hide, his arms flying up to protect his face as he squeezed his eyes shut, but another slam on the desk brought him painfully back. “Han Sang-hyuk, put your hands down and goddamn listen. You’re already being given special treatment, I don’t think I should have to bring Cha Hak-yeon here to help persuade you.”

It felt as if a bucket of ice was dumped on him at the mention of Hak-yeon’s name, shaking at how wrong it sounded on Joon-myeon’s lips. Hak-yeon was innocent; he had nothing to do with any of this, and he felt a rush of emotions his body was too tired to understand surge through him. He could already feel his mind beginning to shut down, unable to cope with the danger Joon-myeon emanated, but he struggled to stay alive, if only for Hak-yeon. Regardless of how weak and tired he was, he would never selfishly hide away if it meant Hak-yeon would pay the price.

Joon-myeon waited to see what he would do before continuing, his voice muffled but clear as it fell on Sang-hyuk’s tired ears. “X39’s memory has been completely cleared, thanks to you, so we have to congratulate you for that. All problems have been fixed, and it’s ready to start further tests. We do realize it’s a bit early to have you working alone since you know nothing, so they’ve assigned Won-shik to supervise you until you’re ready to work on your own.”

“…Won-shik?” His voice was wrecked, the sound raspy and weak. He wondered briefly what he had done to leave it in such a state.

Joon-myeon hummed, already ignoring him in favor of flipping through a few papers. “He’s the one who retrieved the borg from your father, and he’s already interacted with you quite a bit. They felt he was the best fit.” He glanced up, mistaking his question for disdain. “But don’t worry, we’ll all be watching you very closely so you don’t mess up. None of us trust you that much.”

He kept his head down, nodding only to get Joon-myeon to stop staring at him.

“That reminds me—I’m required to give you this option, so don’t feel too special just yet. But every person who’s been specially assigned to a cyborg has been given the option of working separately, outside the lab. The man who worked with X39 previously, Jung Moon-hyuk, had done so, and moved himself and X39 out into a secluded area in the country. Of course, he was still being watched and we made sure to have him checked on regularly. But we do take our people’s work environments seriously, believe it or not, and if you need seclusion and privacy to work, we will give it to you.

“So that brings us to the next question—would you like something like that, Sang-hyuk? Would you like to have a separate housing area to work? Of course, Won-shik would have to go with you for the first couple years, but you’d eventually learn enough to work alone.”

Sang-hyuk merely blinked, the last few minutes having reached his ears but the words too jumbled to be understood. He tried to imagine the faceless man living in a small house in the woods, leering over Hong-bin as he did countless experiments on him. His chest tightened as his mouth went dry—was that what Hong-bin meant whenever he mentioned his ‘master’? That man, Jung Moon-hyuk; had that been Hong-bin’s ‘master’?

…was that what he was going to be?

“Sang-hyuk!” Joon-myeon shouted again, slamming the desk again, and Sang-hyuk felt tears flooding his eyes at the sharp noise. He trembled in his chair as he fought the urge to cover his ears and hide, biting his bottom lip until it bled to keep him level. “Don’t you dare pass out on me. Now, I’m only going to give you the offer one last time, so what do you want? Do you want to work in your own work area, or are you going to stay in the lab?”

His own work area…away from this place, away from everyone…where no one could find him. If he did that, he would be able to take Hak-yeon away from here, keep him in a safe place where no one could hurt him. If he did that, he knew that nothing would ever be able to touch Hak-yeon; he could finally protect him, finally begin to return the debt that he would never be able to fully pay. He could do so much….

But then that was exactly what his father had done. Locked away in a little house with a freedom that did not stretch beyond the front door, he had been forced to live a life of isolation due to his father’s work. He had no doubt his father had had similar thoughts, believing he was protecting his family by moving out to a hidden house. Now looking through the same lens, he was able to understand his father’s choices, regardless of how that had affected him in the end. His father had only wanted to keep him and his mother safe.

In the end, his father had only wanted to keep them safe.

He wanted to keep Hak-yeon safe too, but he would never force his radiant, warm-hearted friend to live with his feet shackled firmly to the ground. He would never be the one to clasp the chains around his wrists, to wrap his fingers around Hak-yeon’s neck to keep him compliant and confined.

He would never.

So, with the strongest voice he could muster, he replied, “No, I would not.”

--

Won-shik was a little warier with him when he finally returned from his meeting with Joon-myeon, eyeing him carefully before slipping his hand in Sang-hyuk’s. He had no energy to push him away, finding something comforting in the warmth the other’s hand exuded, squeezing back gratefully. Won-shik’s gaze was sharp, his lips pulled down in a heavy frown as he asked bluntly, “You all there?”

Sang-hyuk blinked, feeling the faint brush of shame flush his cheeks. “Yeah, I…yeah.”

Won-shik seemed to relax a bit at that, his shoulders sagging slightly despite how nothing in his face changed. “Good. They still want me to hold your hand just in case, so don’t you dare whisper a word. I don’t need anyone laughing at me.” Sang-hyuk stared down at their feet when Won-shik tugged him along, unable to meet his eye at the other’s blatant warning. Despite the way Won-shik pretended to care for him at times and help him come to terms, he had not forgotten that Won-shik had been the one to kill his parents, let alone the one that had forced him and Hak-yeon here. No matter how much Won-shik tried to be friendly and play along, he knew what the other was capable of. And what he wasn’t.

Even then, he clung to Won-shik’s side as they walked down the hallways, flinching whenever anyone passed by. It was obvious the news of who he was and what he would be doing had spread, everyone’s eyes curious as they struggled to get a look at him. It made him incredibly uncomfortable, to know the real reason these people were interested in him, all of them expecting things he knew he couldn’t do. One woman even waved at him, flashing her teeth, and Sang-hyuk felt embarrassment rush through him when he instinctively pressed himself closer into Won-shik’s side.

He ignored the low chuckle rumbling in the other’s chest.

They rounded the corner to see a small group of people huddled around one door, Won-shik hissing softly at the sight before stopping immediately. Sang-hyuk looked to him confusedly before a sharp, female voice yelled something from the room, the people watching all shaking their heads disapprovingly. Won-shik clicked his tongue before tugging on Sang-hyuk’s hand.

“Come on,” he said, his eyes locked on the room, his lips in a low frown, “there’s nothing to see here.”

“W-what is it?” he asked, glancing back when the people hurriedly parted so a woman could storm out, watching as she stopped in frustration, running a hand through her hair. She glared at the people watching her before looking back inside, her voice hard as she ordered out,

“Chan-yeol, finish up with it and bring the reports to me. Don’t worry about being careful or anything. I don’t care anymore.” She shoved one of the watchers out of the way, not stopping as she walked right by him and Won-shik, muttering low under her breath all the while. There was a level of authority around her as she moved, her voice powerful and her presence strong, that no one questioned her, the crowd dispersing the moment she was gone. Even Won-shik seemed relieved when she left, letting out a sigh as he struggled to move his fingers from Sang-hyuk’s unknowingly crushing grip.

“Yoon Eun-ji…she’s a scary, scary woman,” Won-shik muttered silently, eventually grinning down at Sang-hyuk. “Don’t ever cross her path if you know what’s good for you.”

Sang-hyuk wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but he nodded regardless.

He had no plan to.

Won-shik glanced back at the door, humming softly before shaking their hands to get his attention. “You know, it probably wouldn’t hurt to get a peek. It’ll be what you and I will be doing.” Sang-hyuk’s eyes widened when he saw Won-shik begin to lead them to the room, immediately turning to check for the woman before stumbling along. He had no idea what was inside, but whatever it was had made that woman furious, and after seeing her face, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see whatever that could be.

Surprisingly, there was nothing scary inside, his eyes catching on the bed and the man sitting on it. The first thing he noticed was that he was completely , his skin decorated in large blotches as it ranged from pale white to deep caramel, the differences stitched together with black thread. His hair was a mess, certain strands much longer than others as it hung loosely around his face, the eyes that peeked through what caught his attention the most. They were empty, confused, and so resigned; they were exactly what Hong-bin’s eyes had looked like.

Another man that Sang-hyuk had missed looked up at the sound of them approaching, awkwardly adjusting the lab coat that was far too big for his shoulders as he mumbled, “W-Won-shik, sir…”

Won-shik waved his hand, snorting, “Hey now, I thought I told you already not to call me by all those fancy names. Just Won-shik’s fine.” Chan-yeol only mumbled a small agreement as he watched Won-shik casually walk into the room, all the while dragging Sang-hyuk with him, their hands still locked tightly together. Chan-yeol’s gaze immediately went to their hands and Sang-hyuk flushed in embarrassment.

“Is he going to work here, too?” Chan-yeol asked, glancing between the man on the bed and Sang-hyuk.

“Yeah, though he’s not going to be working with T52. Don’t worry, that’s still just you.” Sang-hyuk didn’t miss the way Chan-yeol’s shoulders fell in disappointment. “Sorry, but we need him. We can’t guarantee Eun-ji won’t kill him if we leave him with her. You know what I mean?” A hint of a smile pulled at the edge of Chan-yeol’s lips.

“Then why…?”

“Ah, well, Sang-hyukkie here has been assigned with me to work with X39.” Chan-yeol’s eyes widened at that, his mouth falling in shock, and Sang-hyuk wished he could feel proud. But how he got there, how he ‘earned’ that position—there was nothing to be proud of. “He’s still wet behind the ears, and passing by I realized it’d probably be good for him to see what he’s going to be doing. T52’s not been having too many problems, right? Besides the memory, of course.”

Chan-yeol scrambled to answer, grabbing a folder off the nearby desk to shove into Won-shik’s hand. “No, but then there hasn’t been much progress either. Doctor Yoon has been getting really stressed because of it.” His gaze fell back on Sang-hyuk, curiosity b in his eyes. “How did you-”

“Okay,” Won-shik said hurriedly, cutting him off before he could finish, “we didn’t come to interrupt you or anything. We’ll just observe as you work. Continue, Chan-yeol.”

Chan-yeol hesitated briefly before seeming to understand, letting them back away before sitting carefully in his chair, pulling up close to the sitting man. The room was incredibly silent as Chan-yeol awkwardly placed his hands on the man’s shoulders, pressing along and rolling small circles into the skin. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he worked, his eyes focused as if searching for something, his head tilting as his hands slowly trailed down to the man’s forearms. Sang-hyuk watched, mesmerized, as Chan-yeol grabbed his folder and noted down a series of numbers, his movements fluid as he went from checking the man to noting his findings with ease.

Chan-yeol was just about to grab the man’s waist when the man’s body suddenly seized, his head snapping back with his eyes blown wide, and Chan-yeol let out a loud growl as he chucked his folder to the floor. “Ah… me.”

“W-what happened?” Sang-hyuk whispered to Won-shik, watching as Chan-yeol slapped the man upside the head before begrudgingly picking his folder up. Nothing had seemed wrong, everything going fine until the man reacted, but he didn’t see how that was bad. He could see Won-shik shaking his head, waiting until the man lowered his head and blinked before looking back down at Sang-hyuk.

“He’s gotta start all over. Whenever T52 restarts, everything changes, so he’s gotta start the test over.” Sang-hyuk looked back to see Chan-yeol putting his hands on the man’s shoulders again, feeling along and running small circles into his skin again, and he shivered.

“T-that man…T52…is he like…like Hong-bin?”

Won-shik nodded, ignoring the struggle it took to ask the question. “Technically, yes, but it’s worthless.” Sang-hyuk snapped his head up to Won-shik in shock, and Won-shik only shrugged his shoulders. “It might sound callous but it’s the truth. Chan-yeol over there can testify.” Chan-yeol only let out a stiff grunt as he hurriedly felt around the man’s waist. “There’s nothing T52 has or can offer that makes it worth keeping around. It’s pretty much just a waste.”

“A waste that we have to put up with,” Chan-yeol muttered. Sang-hyuk worriedly looked to see if the man, T52, was hurt hearing such words, but it seemed as if he was completely used to it. There was not an ounce of hurt or sadness on his face, his eyes blankly staring at Chan-yeol’s hands. Sang-hyuk wondered sadly if T52 heard these kinds of things all the time, remembering how calm Hong-bin had been when talking about the things wrong with him, as if it was normal. He wondered if he had just assumed it was normal after hearing such horrible things every day.

“He can’t be a waste if he’s still here,” Sang-hyuk tried to offer as quietly as possible. Won-shik scoffed, but Sang-hyuk heard none of it when he saw T52 lift his head to stare at him.

“Oh, trust me, if everything works out it won’t be here for long.”

“But that’s not fair. You shouldn’t throw someone away just because they have a problem.”

Chan-yeol snorted, glancing at him briefly before moving down to T52’s legs. “He really is new. Does he even know anything?”

“Eh, he’s learning.” Won-shik looked down at Sang-hyuk with amusement glinting in his eyes. Sang-hyuk hated how everyone looked at him here, like he didn’t know anything, like a child. He knew he wasn’t the smartest, or the most worldly, but he was capable of learning and he was capable of understanding. While he didn’t want to be here and definitely didn’t want to do the work they expected of him, he was here now, and he would rather they treated him like it. “Now, Sang-hyuk, since you’ve been approved and are actually going to work here, you get to learn all the joys of failure. When you fail, you start over. When you fail, you get rid of the low points and focus on the highs. T52 over there is a failure, so it’s only right that we get rid of it.”

“How’s he a failure?” T52 was sitting there, completely aware and breathing; how could that be a failure? How could they stand there and say all those things when he was sitting right there?

“Well, T52’s been a problem since day one. It was always unpredictable and made testing a big pain in the .” He sent a small, withering glare at T52, though the latter was completely unaffected as he continued to stare at them. “It was emotional, and that made it dangerous. But it was the first, so we dealt with it. Then someone got the bright idea of wiping its memory—kinda like what you did to X39.”

Sang-hyuk hated how his whole body shivered at the mere mention of what he had done, remembering with alarming clarity at how the light had slowly drained from Hong-bin’s eyes the moment he pressed that button. He hated that he could imagine the same thing happening to T52, frustrated tears filling his eyes at how someone thought they could tame a human being by erasing everything that made them them. He could see how empty T52 was, how blank his gaze was and the way his body followed obediently to Chan-yeol’s hands, as if he didn’t know what to do otherwise.

They had erased whatever problems T52 had had, but they had destroyed him to do so.

Just like what he had done to Hong-bin.

“Unfortunately, nobody took into account about what side effects could happen, and well, now we’re stuck with this.” He waved his hand at T52, all of them jumping when T52’s body seized again, Chan-yeol slapping the man’s leg before pushing himself away, a triumphant smile on his lips.

“Finished! Wow, I don’t think he’s ever stayed that lucid for that long before. Thank god.” Sang-hyuk ignored him to stare at T52 instead, watching how his body fell slack onto the bed, his body twitching and his eyes glazed as they stared unwaveringly at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe how they were treating him, like a mere object unworthy of their time. He remembered how taken aback he’d been when Hong-bin hadn’t known what a hug was, but seeing this now, he could finally understand.

Though that didn’t make it any better.

He wanted to give T52 the biggest hug he could, though knowing his place could only rip his hand from Won-shik’s instead.

Won-shik snorted down at him, as if finding his anger funny. “Hey, don’t get angry. There’s nothing you can do, even if you wanted to. It’s not like we haven’t tried. We’ve tried for years to fix him, but we just can’t. That’s why X39 is so important. X39’s been responsive to everything T52 hasn’t. If you can get X39 to work, then we won’t need T52 anymore. Don’t put your feelings where they shouldn’t be involved. The only one who’ll get hurt is you.”

Each word dripped with venom, the apathy behind the meaning shaking Sang-hyuk to the core. So, despite how Won-shik tried to hold his hand again and promise to help, Sang-hyuk could only shake in suppressed defeat.

But any supposed anger was gone the second they stopped outside a door that was surprisingly familiar, Sang-hyuk’s eyes widening. Won-shik shouted in surprise when he saw Sang-hyuk’s knees buckle, hurriedly grabbing his hand and holding him steady. At that moment, he didn’t care about Joon-myeon yelling at him, about T52’s mistreatment, or even about his own—he didn’t want to go inside. He tried to reason with himself that he had to go, that there was no other option if he wanted to stay safe, but he could already feel his body falling limp, his mind retreating before there was a chance to get hurt.

He didn’t want to see Hong-bin.

Won-shik seemed to realize this, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him until Sang-hyuk blinked. “Don’t you dare, Sang-hyuk. Stay with me.” He slapped Sang-hyuk’s cheek lightly until he squirmed, waiting until he was properly breathing before letting go. “I know you don’t want to, but they’re not going to give you time to eventually ‘feel like it’. We have to; you have to.”

Sang-hyuk shook his head, already feeling tears prick the edges of his lashes. “N-no…I don’t…I can’t…”

“You have to, and you will. Now, there’s a few things you need to remember before you go in. You can’t start crying in front of it—you need to be firm so that it learns that you are the boss. It needs to learn right away.” All Sang-hyuk could hear was Hong-bin’s voice repeating the word ‘master’ over and over in his head, the sound cutting—master, master, master master master— “Second, you can’t call it Hong-bin. You have to call it X39.”

He frowned, subconsciously shaking his head. “B-but his name, he told me-”

“I don’t care what it’s told you before. It’s wiped, remember? It won’t remember. You have to call it X39.”

He shook his head harder, desperate. “No, I can’t. That name—that isn’t a name. I-I can’t-” I can’t do that to him. ‘X39’…that was so demeaning. Even if he was some kind of cyborg robot, he was still a person. He could still remember how Hong-bin struggled to smile, confusion in his eyes whenever he learned something new, staring at Sang-hyuk with a trust Sang-hyuk never thought he could break. Hong-bin was still a person; how could he call him by such a name?

“I’m serious, Sang-hyuk. If you call it Hong-bin, they’re going to have to wipe it again. And they’re not going to exactly be happy about that.” Sang-hyuk swallowed at the idea of having to wipe Hong-bin again, of watching the light fade from his eyes again, and eventually nodded. He would rather call Hong-bin any degrading name they could think of than watch that happen again.

Won-shik made him promise before he finally opened the door, and Sang-hyuk felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of Hong-bin. He noticed the room was exactly like T52’s, empty save for a bed and desk, Hong-bin placed at the edge of the bed in wait. He felt slightly uncomfortable at the sight of Hong-bin , his fingers grasping the edge of his shirt when he saw Hong-bin’s chest open with a cable plugged into it. He had never thought much of it when he’d seen Hong-bin plug himself in before, but understanding now what he was and why it was needed—it made his stomach churn.

“It’s not aware of anything you do when plugged in, so don’t worry too much,” Won-shik said as he walked past him and up to the desk, flipping through the folders. “For the most part, the technicians will leave it plugged in for you. Sometimes they’re lazy, and you’ll have to remember to plug it in when you’re done. Do you know how to unplug it?”

“I-I…yeah.” His feet felt like lead as he slowly made his way to Won-shik’s side, his eyes pulled to Hong-bin no matter how much he tried to look away. Everything…everything looked the same. Nothing on his face was changed, his cheeks still full and his eyes still thin. His shoulders were still broad, his chest still firm, his hands still soft…he was still the same. Suddenly, the ridiculous hope that maybe, just maybe, it didn’t work filled him.

Maybe, Hong-bin would still be there.

Yes, that was it. Hong-bin would look at him in surprise when he unplugged him, taking a second before smiling and greeting him like always. Then Sang-hyuk would ask him how he was, and he would get to see that terrified, awkward look pass over his face when he realized he was supposed to ask something back. Then they would laugh together, and everything would pass. He focused on that as his fingers wrapped around the end of the cable, waiting for Won-shik’s signal to pull the plug.

Hong-bin would still be the same.

Hong-bin promised him.

Hong-bin’s eyes snapped open the moment the cable was gone, Sang-hyuk taking that second of confusion to close his chest. He could feel his heart race as he watched Hong-bin’s eyes slowly focus, and for a second, he thought he could see a flash of recognition. He fought the terrible urge to shout Hong-bin’s name, his fingers itching to wrap him in a hug and apologize for ever hurting him. But Won-shik’s warning weighed heavy in his mind, and he stayed still.

Hong-bin was staring at him now, nothing in his face changing, and Sang-hyuk could feel himself begin to sweat with how empty his eyes were. There was nothing there. There was nothing there—but he was only pretending, right? He didn’t…he didn’t really erase his memory, right? Hong-bin promised.

Won-shik nudged him, bringing him back, and he awkwardly cleared his throat. “H-hello, X39.”

Hong-bin’s eyes narrowed at the name, something flashing, but it was gone almost as fast as it appeared. Won-shik took over then, pushing Sang-hyuk forward. “My name is Won-shik, and this is Sang-hyuk. Do you understand?” His voice was authoritative, strong, and Sang-hyuk doubted that he could ever sound the same.

“Yes,” Hong-bin replied, short and soft. Cold. Nothing like before.

“Your code is X39. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“We will be in charge of your tests from now on. We will start with conducting a physical test to make sure everything is functioning properly. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Won-shik turned then to Sang-hyuk, lowering his voice. “Okay. I’ll show you how to do the daily tests. It’s similar to what you saw Chan-yeol doing, though it shouldn’t be as difficult. X39’s pretty simple. You just have to feel around to make sure nothing’s broken and everything is attached correctly. You never know when a cable or bolt comes loose. Now-”

“W-wait,” Sang-hyuk rushed before he could stop himself, chewing on his bottom lip. “Can I…can I ask him something…? Just one thing…”

Won-shik’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“I just—” he turned to Hong-bin, grabbing his hand and squeezing his slimy fingers desperately. He had to—he had to see. No matter how much they told him, he had to see for himself. Hong-bin couldn’t really be gone, not when he was sitting here just like before. Nothing was changed, nothing was different. Hong-bin couldn’t really be gone. He had to—he had to see for himself. “—do you remember me? Me…X-X39, do you—”

“Han Sang-hyuk-!” Won-shik growled, grabbing his shoulder and pulling back—but that didn’t hurt nearly as much as Hong-bin staring at him with those empty eyes, stating calmly,

“I do not know you.”