It wasn’t long after Won-shik left that Sang-hyuk found himself running back to the small archive room, a desperation he couldn’t even begin to describe pushing him forward. He wanted to feel bad about ignoring Won-shik’s plea to drop it, but he physically couldn’t. With the secrets that everyone had worked so hard to hide suddenly available to him, and things that had always confused him now making so much sense—how could he stay away?

And that was how he spent his days in the following weeks, his presence in the small archive room becoming a common occurrence. With each time he felt Hak-yeon slipping through his fingers, with each time Hong-bin wordlessly invited him to take what Sang-hyuk knew he couldn’t, he escaped to the archives, where he had convinced himself he could return everything that had been taken from the cyborgs. As he flipped through each folder to find even the minutest of details about how the cyborg project had come to be, he let himself relish in the fantasies of Hak-yeon smiling brilliantly, profusely thanking him for bringing him back. Of Hong-bin dropping to his knees and openly sobbing, beyond grateful. Of T52 reclaiming his identity and becoming whole again. He focused on the idea that maybe he himself could be redeemed even a little from doing so.

He was well aware that Won-shik and Joon-myeon had to know what he was doing, and while he had initially wondered if they would stop him, he eventually accepted that they were allowing him to continue. He wasn’t stupid enough to really believe that just because the sponsors had openly acknowledged his work he was safe; but he was foolish enough to accept that he would probably be punished. He would never be given official permission, and he planned to do everything on his own and force everyone to accept the results.

No amount of sponsors acknowledging him would save him from that, and at this point he didn’t care. He would give back everything that was taken and make sure it would never be stolen again. That would be enough.

What he did manage to find was nowhere near enough to give him all the answers, but it was all so much more than what he had scrapped together in the past six years combined. There had supposedly been so many more projects before the cyborg one, though very few lasted longer than a couple experiments before they were abandoned. The only one he saw having a whole cabinet drawer dedicated to it was the one about androids, and Sang-hyuk wasted no time.

This…this was what his father had done to recreate his mother. His hands shook at the idea of his father sitting in this same exact room, searching for this very exact thing. To create human beings from nothing but metal and intuition, to create something that could seamlessly blend into society. The idea that, one day, it would be very possible there could be androids amongst us with no one the wiser. Even after it had been abandoned, his father had seen this as his only option—had used this to recreate a woman Sang-hyuk had never met and hope he could bring her back to life. The very thought had Sang-hyuk shaking, the pictures of his mother’s opened body still so vivid in his mind.

So he returned his attention back to the folder in his hands, at the pages upon pages documenting procedures that Sang-hyuk had no way of understanding. There were descriptions of how numerous materials had been tested to create the strongest base, so much research going into what could pass as human skin. He briefly wondered if his father had used this, unable to remember if his mother’s skin had felt any different. There were less details of how the robots were built with the startling likeness of real people, few blueprints that looked remarkably similar to the ones his father had made. These blueprints were eventually turned into real androids, ones that looked so real Sang-hyuk could barely tell who in the photos were real, and who were fake. They had been on the verge of putting those finished androids into special programs to observe people when something had gone wrong, something that was very obviously removed from the file, and the project had been dropped, all the people leading the program either moving to the cyborg project or…disappearing.

Sang-hyuk didn’t want to think about that.

The cyborg project was something he was more familiar with, and the terms used to describe the procedures and experiments made a little more sense to him. Not much happened in terms of progress before T52 had succeeded, though a small part of Sang-hyuk was disappointed to see that not even old printed files had T52’s real name. But it was enthralling to read the near palpable frustration and simmering anger that radiated in the report logs, these early records not as heavily doctored. T52 had been openly volatile towards everyone, having to be strapped down during sessions after brutally attacking people numerous times. Sang-hyuk remembered Won-shik mentioning T52’s initial behavior had partially been the reason for the memory wiping. It made sense when he was presented with countless pictures of T52 glaring at the camera, every body part strapped down so he couldn’t move.

He forced himself to read through each report, to feel every second of T52’s many experiments, losing more and more body parts until only his head remained. He forced himself to read through the confused loggings of the synthetic skin slowly disintegrating, of having to replace the bindings with stronger and stronger material as T52’s growing hatred allowed him to break them with his newfound strength. He forced himself to stare at pictures of T52 while reading captions of how ‘frustrating’ it was that the ‘borg’ was actively trying to mess up their work. He forced himself to suppress his anguish at seeing his father’s name signing off those very reports.

Hong-bin didn’t appear until years later. There was nothing about where he came from or how they found him, just that one day he was brought in. That was the first time Jung Moon-hyuk’s name had been mentioned. His reports were a lot more thorough than Sang-hyuk’s father’s had been, the descriptions sometimes overly intimate as they recorded how badly Hong-bin took to the lab, how scared he was of everyone, how terrified he was of himself. There were so many pictures of Hong-bin huddled on the bed, hugging himself while staring, horrified, into the camera.

There wasn’t much after that to indicate why the memory wipe had been ultimately used, months of entries missing. It was clear something had happened, the reports suddenly cold as they stated that Jung Moon-hyuk would be transferring to a separate working area with Hong-bin, and T52 would be left behind to deal with his resets. The only thing he found that mentioned the missing months was a folded, torn paper hidden inside an envelope, messy handwriting scrawled onto it almost as if in a hurry.

‘I won’t let this be forgotten. Jung Taek-woon—I’ll bring you back. Wait for me.’

It was this note he was holding when the door suddenly swung open, Sang-hyuk nearly jumping out of his skin. He looked over to see Chan-sik standing nervously by the door, looking just as shocked at his loud entrance. Sang-hyuk hurriedly shoved the note in his pocket as he slammed the file closed, scrambling to his feet.

“C-Chan-sik, what are you doing here?”

“Uh,” Chan-sik stuttered, his voice light as he panted, almost as if he was trying to catch his breath. Sang-hyuk took that time to quickly stuff everything back into the cabinets before the other could see what he had been looking through. “There’s someone w-waiting for you, in your office. I was told to come get you.”

“Oh,” he said intelligently, taking a second to slam the cabinet drawer shut, leaning against it to take a nonchalant approach. “Okay. Do you know who it was?” Chan-sik shook his head as he watched Sang-hyuk walk towards him, subconsciously taking a step back when he got close. Sang-hyuk couldn’t help but pause when he saw that, remembering how he had been so terrified of Won-shik when he first arrived. It hurt to think that the new interns, including Chan-sik and Seok-jin, now looked at him that same way. He immediately softened his voice, putting a kind smile on his face as he wrapped an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, leading him out of the small room. “You look like you’ve run a marathon; were you looking for me?”

“Yeah,” Chan-sik said slowly, peeking up at him out of the corner of his eye only to immediately look over at Min-hyuk, the latter shooting out of his seat to hurriedly bow politely at Sang-hyuk. Sang-hyuk winced, hoping the shaky smile and friendly wave were enough to get the other to sit down. No matter how often Sang-hyuk came here, the poor technician was always increasingly polite, terrified something would happen after each visit. Sang-hyuk wanted to tell him that wouldn’t be the case, that it would be his on the line if anything did happen—but Sang-hyuk knew that inherent fear, and knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. “They told me to get you as soon as possible. I think it’s someone really important, everyone was being super nice and kept asking him if he needed anything. Even Doctor Kim looked surprised.”

“Oh, really? Well, then I better hurry and get over there. Thank you, Chan-sik. I’m probably not going to see X39 today, so you can rest up once you finish everything.”

Chan-sik blinked in surprise before a rare smile grew on his face, one that Sang-hyuk hadn’t seen since everything went to hell. “Wow, thank you, Doctor Han! I’ll make sure to do everything perfect!”

Sang-hyuk waited until Chan-sik was long gone before he immediately turned around towards his office, his thoughts already running a mile a minute. While he didn’t know who was asking for him, he already had an idea who. Only a sponsor would garner that kind of response from people here, and there really was only one sponsor he could think would want to come here just for him.

…except it wasn’t Hak-yeon’s father standing awkwardly by his desk when Sang-hyuk opened his office door, Jae-hwan’s giant eyes sparkling briefly before immediately looking down to the floor. Sang-hyuk warily shut the door without ever taking his eyes off Jae-hwan, hurt and betrayal a sickening concoction burning deep in his stomach.

Sang-hyuk hadn’t gone back to the club since the sponsor demonstration, and hadn’t had a chance to see Jae-hwan—not that he would want to. While far from calling him a friend, Sang-hyuk had come to appreciate Jae-hwan’s presence at the bar, his bright, almost naïve, outlook on life so different from anything Sang-hyuk had seen. Jae-hwan had almost always had something positive to say, be it a joke or just kind advice, and Sang-hyuk had relied on it heavily in the days following Hak-yeon’s turning. So it wasn’t hard to imagine how hurt he felt when he learned that the one positivity he had turned out to be just as corrupted as everything else, his one solace another hell.

Jae-hwan seemed to sense his wariness, stuffing his hands in his pockets and bowing his head submissively. “Sorry for coming unannounced like this…I didn’t know how to find you and you wouldn’t answer my calls-”

“I got rid of my phone.”

Jae-hwan winced. “The only thing I could think of was to come here.”

Sang-hyuk ignored him as he walked to his desk, making sure to keep as big a distance between the two of them as possible. He sat down, and watched Jae-hwan hurry to sit in the opposite chair, his whole body rigid as if ready to burst. Sang-hyuk watched him squirm for a few seconds before letting out a soft sigh, never able to keep up an act as well as Won-shik. “What do you want, Jae-hwan? I thought we made it pretty clear that you and I are very different. You made that pretty clear.”

“I’m sorry,” Jae-hwan gushed, jumping to the edge of his chair and clenching his fingers desperately over his knees, looking as if he was doing his very best not to launch himself over the desk. When Sang-hyuk didn’t respond, shocked silent, he continued, “I really wasn’t trying to trick you or anything, honest! It’s true I knew about my dad and what he was doing, but I really did have that job at the club just to try and get to know everyone first. I wanted to see what it was like before I actually followed my dad’s footsteps. I never meant to hurt you or Won-shik.”

Sang-hyuk bit his lip, his voice betraying his hurt as he said softly, “Did you really know what your dad was doing?”

Jae-hwan hesitated. “I…kinda? He talked about the projects he invested in all the time, but he always kept it vague. He made it sound like it was some military investment, keeping the details super secretive. But he made it sound like some great achievement and how much he was helping the country by investing, and even my mom was super proud of him. I…I was excited when he said he wanted me to join him. He always made it sound amazing, I never thought it’d be anything but.”

Sang-hyuk ran a hand through his hair, unable to look the other in the eye. He never had been good at dealing with emotions, especially when they belonged to anyone else. “I didn’t know anything either when I started. I guess that’s why I liked listening to you when I visited. You made everything happening here seem…not real.”

Jae-hwan’s voice grew equally small. “If I’d known what was really happening, I don’t think I would’ve come. Or even agreed to help. That demonstration thing…does that really happen every time?”

Sang-hyuk hesitated, glancing to where he knew the cameras were hidden. He was sure they were watching since this was a sponsor, though he honestly wasn’t that worried if they were listening. What did he have to lose? Getting a scolding for answer questions that he’s obligated to answer? He didn’t care to stretch the truth like he was supposed to do.

“I think so. I only recently was…promoted, so that was my first demonstration. But I’m sure they’re all the same.”

Jae-hwan hung his head, his fingers now fiddling with the hem of his blazer, something that seemed so oddly placed on him. “I…I’ve never seen anything like it. The way everyone was touching the…” he struggled to find the right words, “cyborgs was so…strange. I-It was like they weren’t real. And with the skin thing and replacement limbs and-”

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Jae-hwan nodded fiercely, eyes b with emotion, and Sang-hyuk smiled wryly. “It’s something I’ve become accustomed to, unfortunately. Ever since I first started here, I’ve had to watch them replace skin and body parts and things you wouldn’t even begin to imagine. There’s no such thing as morality here.”

“…how did you start working here?”

“The same way you did. You could say I was forced into my father’s footsteps.”

“Did you know?”

“No.”

It fell silent as the two of them collected their thoughts, both wanting to speak yet both unwilling to be the first to try. Finally, Jae-hwan opened his mouth, voice shaking. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. It’s one thing to back some government science project, but this? Drugging? Experimenting? A-and that second one—I can’t remember his name—he looked like he didn’t want to be there. I don’t know if I can work with something like that, no matter how beneficial it’s supposed to be.” There was so much sincerity in his voice, Sang-hyuk wanted to believe him. Desperately. “But I have to. My dad; he’s so proud of me and excited for me to join, I can’t leave him.”

And yet, reality proved yet again to be a .

“It’s probably for the best, I’m not sure they’d be really happy if you quit after you’ve been to a demonstration. They’re pretty secretive about this stuff.” It was left unsaid about how true those words were, and that Jae-hwan would never be allowed to just ‘leave’. He had an idea Jae-hwan knew this as well.

“But it’s probably best you don’t stay around here too long. There are things the sponsors aren’t supposed to see.”

Jae-hwan blanched. “Worse than the drugging? H-how can it get any worse than that?”

Sang-hyuk just shook his head with a bitter chuckle. “So, so much worse. There are things I want to do to help, but most people here don’t look at the cyborgs the way I do. They’re willing to do a lot worse to get what they want.”

“What kind of things can you do? To help? I can try and help you!”

Sang-hyuk blinked, the words he’d been planning to say dying on his lips. He’d honestly only been mocking the higher-ups when he’d said that. He hadn’t expected Jae-hwan to actually believe him, let alone offer help. After growing up in a world that only looked out for itself and being continuously reminded that selflessness resulted in betrayal and pain, it was almost implausible that someone would willingly offer help. Especially someone who could possibly actually be able to help.

Jae-hwan took his silence as a refusal, and hastily backpedaled. “Only if you want to, I mean. If you don’t really, then that’s okay too-”

“You really would help?”

Jae-hwan nodded enthusiastically.  “Yes! Yes, yes yes! I would never condone anything that happened in that demonstration, and if there’s anything I can do to make it better, I’ll do it.” Sang-hyuk continued to stare at him unconvinced, and Jae-hwan dragged his chair closer, tapping the desk frantically. “Really, Hyuk, I don’t know how my dad or any of the others can sit there watching those poor people strip and be put up for show like that, but I can’t stand that. Please don’t look at me like that, I really would do anything to help. Please believe me!”

Sang-hyuk chewed his lip as he tried to ignore the other’s words, experience having taught him not to believe so easily. But Jae-hwan’s earnestness reminded him so much of how naïve he had been, appalled at the blatant disregard for T52 and Hong-bin’s wellbeing, confused how no one was upset at them being stripped of their modesty and autonomy. He took a long moment looking over Jae-hwan’s posture and shining eyes, letting only a small part of his highly constructed wall crumble to allow Jae-hwan a peek.

“…the cyborgs currently have no memories, it’s procedure to wipe their memories once they completed the tests.” That all sponsors knew, nothing special given away. “I’m not entirely sure how the process is done, but it’s partially the reason why the cyborgs have so many problems. Like T52 for example, the first cyborg you saw.” He watched carefully at how Jae-hwan flinched at the mention of T52, and he worked with that. “T52’s resets are because of the memory wipe; the procedure was still new and untested, and something had gone wrong.”

“I-I see…”

“There’s a…theory that this could be fixed if their memories are returned. We have no way of knowing if that’s true or not, but I want to try it. It has to be better than what we’re doing now. But there’s very little chance anyone will agree with me, especially with no one supporting me.” It was difficult, playing this game of baiting and waiting, never having a clever enough mind to lay traps in his words that he knew his opponent would be too foolish to realize. He was always emotional and irrational, reacting before planning, and trying to figure out Jae-hwan and tug him in the direction he wanted was nearly exhausting. But it seemed to work to some degree, Jae-hwan jumping from his chair and jutting out his chin confidently.

“I can do that. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but I’ll convince my dad about the memories thing.” Sang-hyuk again was left speechless as he blinked up at Jae-hwan, and the latter seemed to understand his confusion. Jae-hwan let out a shallow breath before rounding around the desk, easily pulling Sang-hyuk up and into a warm hug. Sang-hyuk jolted at the feeling of Jae-hwan’s arms wrapping around his waist, stiffly resting his chin on the other’s shoulder, and Jae-hwan let out a soft laugh at that. “You’re the most awkward hugger I’ve ever met.”

“S-shut up.”

Jae-hwan’s arms tightened. “I never in a million years would’ve imagined that this was the kind of job Sung-jae was telling me about.” Sang-hyuk’s breath caught in his throat at the mention of Sung-jae’s name, and Jae-hwan caught that. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can. Both for you and Sung-jae.”

Sang-hyuk finally gained control of his limbs as he slowly allowed himself to hug back, grasping as tightly as he could. “…thank you.”

--

Sang-hyuk found himself full of a restless, unbearable energy the moment Jae-hwan left, a swirling mess of despair and possible, heartrending hope leaving him unable to sit still. Too many times hope had burned him, his charred fingers slowly learning to curl away when the taunting fruit dangled before him. He wanted to crush that hope and accept that nothing would change, but even after everything he couldn’t stop himself from thinking what if.

What if Jae-hwan really meant what he said? What if Jae-hwan was really able to get the sponsors to agree to give their memories back? What if the higher-ups actually went through with it and gave their memories back? What if Hong-bin actually opened his eyes and was able to accurately describe what he was feeling? What if Hak-yeon…. What if…

Despite what he’d told Chan-sik earlier, Sang-hyuk went straight to Hong-bin’s room, not taking a second to think as he wrenched the door open and stumbled inside. Hong-bin looked up at his sudden entrance, unblinking eyes registering his arrival and his body sitting straight as always. Sang-hyuk felt some of the restless energy settle at the sight of Hong-bin’s silent gaze, a dopey smile finding its way on his face. Since that first day in a hidden office so many years ago, Hong-bin had always given off a strong, reassuring presence that Sang-hyuk had done nothing but appreciate; no matter where or how, Sang-hyuk found himself continuously returning to Hong-bin’s side if only to feel some of the safety the other emanated in waves.

He nearly skipped over to his chair with how badly he needed to just move, hands already reaching out and grabbing Hong-bin’s before he even thought to ask permission. Hong-bin mimicked his stupid smile before staring down at their hands, his voice lilting around his question.

“You appear very happy today. Has something happened?”

“Yes, but that’s not important right now. How’ve you been? You went through a test recently, didn’t you?”

“I am fine.” Even after everything, Hong-bin was still unable to answer vague questions. Sang-hyuk did his very best to ignore that as he instead linked their fingers together, swaying their hands loosely and smiling widely again, his body just unable to stay still. While nothing in his facial features showed signs of changing, there was a hint of confusion in Hong-bin’s eyes, no doubt confused why Sang-hyuk was acting like a lovestruck idiot. That only made Sang-hyuk giggle, bringing their hands up to his cheeks and relishing in the feeling of Hong-bin’s cold hands pressed against his skin.

“Are you alright, Sang-hyuk? Are you ill?” Hong-bin attempted to pull a hand away to check his temperature, and Sang-hyuk hurriedly tightened his grip.

“No, I’m not sick. I’m just full of a ton of emotions that I don’t know what to do with. Just bear with me until I figure out how to settle down.” He meant it only lightly, but Hong-bin’s brow furrowed in concern as his body shifted forward, leaning closer as if trying to study him.

“What happened to fill you with a ‘ ton’ of emotions? Is it bad enough to cause your face to crinkle like that? It does not look natural.”

Sang-hyuk sighed as he pressed their hands harder against his cheeks, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t know what I’m feeling, and I think everything’s just suddenly rushing together into some super high. I’m probably going to crash in a second, I’ll be able to explain myself better then.”

Hong-bin took what he said literally, falling absolutely still as he let Sang-hyuk cling to their hands, watching him carefully as Sang-hyuk took deep, steadying breaths. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was in a crazy high, the emotions and overwhelming energy that’d been coursing through him since Jae-hwan’s visit slowly draining through him until he felt like a wrung out towel, mixed together with the reminder of what he’d learned from the archive room leaving him suddenly exhausted. It was only a couple minutes later that he collapsed against Hong-bin’s sturdy chest, the latter wasting no time wrapping him in a comforting hug. Sang-hyuk would be lying if he said he didn’t completely melt in the absolute security those arms brought.

“Have you ‘crashed’?” Hong-bin asked, one hand moving up to cradle the back of Sang-hyuk’s head, and Sang-hyuk chuckled breathlessly when he realized the other still thought he was sick.

“Yeah…I’m good now.” Hong-bin’s response to that was to pull Sang-hyuk up onto his lap, his arms able to support his weight easily. Sang-hyuk lolled his head back to stare up at Hong-bin, his gaze momentarily distracted by how prominent Hong-bin’s jaw was, his sunken, waxen skin sharpening his features. He was suddenly very aware of the note that crinkled from where it was crushed between their bodies, and Sang-hyuk couldn’t help but wonder what Hong-bin would’ve looked like if none of this had happened, if he had been allowed to live a normal life. Would he have looked this sullen, this statuesque?

He found that wretched hope clawing desperately at his chest, forcing the words out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. “Hong-bin…have you ever thought of having your memories again?”

Hong-bin looked down at him, brow furrowed just slightly. “I do not understand. I do have my memories.”

“No—I mean, all your memories. Even the ones before Moon-hyuk.” When Hong-bin didn’t answer right away, he glanced back up to see Hong-bin staring ahead with wide eyes, gaze glazed over. Sang-hyuk moved to take Hong-bin’s hand, this time much gentler, and over his knuckles in the way he always did for Hak-yeon until the other eventually looked down at him. Hong-bin took a couple minutes to respond, lips parted slightly as his eyes watched their hands.

“I have never thought of a time before my master. I did not realize there was anything to remember.”

“But if you could, would you want them?”

“I do not know. Memories are something that is hard for me to fully understand. I do not know what kind of person I will be if I have memories from a previous time returned to me.”

“But you never know, there could be something that you would want to know—you just don’t know you’re missing it.”

“Yes, but the me that you know and are familiar with is the me that is sitting here now. With unknown memories returned, I could change to something so different we could not continue with what we are now.” When Sang-hyuk moved to protest, Hong-bin squeezed his hand. “You and I both know how you responded when you believed that my memories had been erased. I cannot imagine how you would react if I became a different person because of something avoidable.”

“But this is something that belongs to you. Forget about me; we owe it to you to return them. I had no right to take your memories before, that doesn’t count.”

Hong-bin frowned. “Sang-hyuk-”

“But if you’re worried about how I’d react, just remember that whatever happens, I’d never leave you. Whoever you end up being, that’s who you were before, but it’s not who you are now. It’s not like those old memories would erase what you are now. You’ll just be complete.”

Hong-bin seemed to think over his words for a long time, the silence stretching between them never overwhelming, only stifling in that Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure what to feel. The excitement and hope that had pushed him to bring the topic up in the first place died instantly, leaving a chilling dread that began to sink deep in his bones. He had been so excited about the possibility of returning memories and bringing them back that he’d never considered Hong-bin would refuse. Hong-bin was curious, yes, and he wanted to know so much, but memories and previous lives was something that just went far behind what he was capable of comprehending. Hong-bin, and T52 as well, had been raised in the lab environment for their entire lives, and only understood what they had seen. To willingly agree to have something put in him that he had no way of understanding, it was so much to ask of.

Sang-hyuk had been so caught up in helping, but would it really be helping if none of them wanted it at all?

“I,” Hong-bin finally started, his voice softer than Sang-hyuk had ever heard it, “I do wonder what it would be like. To remember the kind of person I was before I was brought to my master.”

“Would you want them back?” His voice was just as quiet, the world seeming to stop and allow them all the time in the world.

“…yes.”

And that was all Sang-hyuk needed.