Taehyung had not been given the security clearance by his father to see the political prisoner, though it was just one minor trouble in a series of troubling findings. He wondered what exactly was the importance of this political prisoner that even he was not allowed access to see this prisoner.

Mr. Kim seldom prohibited his son from accessing any resources or information.

His father, of course, had been notified that he was attempting to see the prisoner and therefore, he had passed along the message through his communication system that they will meet soon to speak of it. Soon, of course, was a rather arbitrary time designation and Taehyung had no idea what his father meant by “soon”.

During this time, seeming to realize that Taehyung may have been more invested in politics than he had originally indicated, was something that Hoseok capitalized on. It seemed that every other day, Hoseok was dropping information about the happenings in the secret circle of politicians that Taehyung was unsure how he had obtained.

“I have heard your cousin has been captured,” Hoseok whispered to him one day when they were alone. He decided to also helpfully supply, “You know, the one named Myungsoo.” He was getting ready to be dismissed for the day and couldn’t help but let Taehyung know. “He is not to be a political prisoner.”

What did that mean?

Taehyung didn’t indicate that he was the slightest bit affected by the news, although he was beginning to wonder what had happened and what will happen to his cousin.

He dismissed Hoseok for the day.

That night, as he went to bed while staring at the ceiling he laid under, he wondered for the first time in years how Jungkook’s mother was doing and if she was still alive. She reminded him of his mother sometimes because they had similar habits and speech, but it was given, given that they were friends..

He blamed the thoughts of Jungkook that occupied his mind. He wondered how he was doing and wondered if he should search the Estate for him (if it even were who he was thinking of); but thought again, because his father would be livid, and no one wanted to upset Mr. Kim for he never was anything but happy or neutral.

Taehyung turned a little on his back, now facing the wall instead of the ceiling. His thoughts consumed him.

Now that he was thinking about it, the familiar-looking scientist from District Eighty that was at the pre-elections event was someone he knew from his distant past. He shot up in his bed.

It was Jungkook’s father; his Jungkook’s father. Mr. Jeon was older and was not treated well by the passage of time—his hair had greyed, and his face featured much more wrinkles than one would expect for someone that was roughly sixty-years old. His features, from what Taehyung remembered, were difficult to recognize.

He did not need to confirm with his own eyes that the political prisoner was the Jeon Jungkook he knew. He knew it was him. He needed to see him.

However, looking dishevelled the next morning was not something he planned or desired, so he best get to sleep. He laid back down, his heart racing in his chest. He closed his eyes, counting slowly from one, paying close attention to his breathing and willing himself to breathe in and out deeply.

When he finally drifted to sleep, he dreamed.

-

It had been brief, but he saw him.

Taehyung woke up earlier than he usually did one day, his heart pounding in his chest from his nightmare (and he found it strange, for he never had nightmares or dreams). He laid in bed for a long time, contemplating his course of action since it was far too early for him to get ready for the day, evidenced by how there was no artificial light streaming in from the outside. Artificial light had cycles and only when the time was right every day; it very much attempted to mimic what Taehyung has learned to be the cycling of sun and moon (he had only seen photos in textbooks) before the Encapsulation Event.

Until, finally fed up: he threw off the covers that had swaddled him in his bed and embraced the chilling air that greeted him.

He got dressed for the day, again without the help of his bumbling assistant and once set, he decided to head down to the dining table for breakfast. Ominously, his door creaked in the silence of the Estate when he swung it open after he unlocked it. Teetering over the floorboards that groaned under his weight, he wondered if anyone was even awake and if breakfast would be even served.

He also wondered if he would see his father. His father always had breakfast before him and Taehyung woke up early. Lost in his thoughts, he started towards the staircase, aided by the path of lights that illuminated the hallway dimly. He did not walk fast—he needed to conserve his energy for when he saw the children at the orphanage today.

There was a crash, making him jump.

His growing curious nature did not help abate his wonder. Hurrying his previously lazy gait, Taehyung reached the staircase and descended the staircase, each step groaning under his weight. Finally, he reached the bottom, his breath slightly laboured.

And then he heard murmuring in the distance and someone yelling behind a closed door. He swung the dining room open and took in the site before him.

His father was there, looking every bit stressed, which was surprising to Taehyung. He was pacing back and forth, giving a dirty look to the person who sat across the table from him, tied and looking every bit smug. Jeon Jungkook.

His father got ready to yell again, evident by the opening of his mouth and a murderous expression—however, he halted in his actions when he realized they had company aside from the help. The murderous expression immediately dropped, although the very disgruntled look was barely hid. Aside from glee and happiness as well as a neutral expression, his father had never been too expressive in his other emotions. It was easy for people to talk with the slightest misstep.

He wondered what the person across from him had said to rile his father this much.

“Welcome to the party,” Jungkook smirked, leaning against the chair that he was leaning against. He drawled out the last syllable to his sentence, looking every bit like a proud lion who had corner his prey. It was quite ironic, given how he was the one at disadvantage and tied to a chair.

“What’s going on here?” Taehyung stupidly asked, eyeing both parties. His father’s mouth was drawn into a tight line, showing that he was unwilling to speak,

Taehyung ended up looking back and forth between his father and Jungkook—Jungkook, his best friend as a child. The best friend who had rolled down the hill on the other side of the city, the best friend who had always been there without fail, greeting him with a warm smile and the best friend who had been there when his mother died.

None of that was evident anymore for what came out of his mouth was very venomous. He scowled at Taehyung, “Your mother would be ashamed of you!”

At that, Taehyung was livid, and he was also very hurt. But all he managed to just choke out was: “Like you would know.”

It seemed that Mr. Kim was unhappy about it, but he decided not to react to it. He waved to the help that were on standby, their expressions carefully neutral. They didn’t even so blink.

“Take him back to his quarters. I will deal with him later.” Then he looked at Taehyung, a careful expression that was indecipherable. “I will see you soon.”

Taehyung watched helplessly as his father left the dining room and a swearing and struggling Jungkook was escorted out.

The door slam shut behind the two of them. Taehyung was left with some of the servants that did not step up to aid with escorting Jungkook back to where he was being held.

Silence.

-

Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung used to live right next to each other in the desolate and crummy apartments that flanked the outer perimeter of District One-Twenty-Seven. Their parents were employees of the nearby nanotechnology and environmental sciences company that was equally as rundown.

Taehyung could remember his glee, rolling down the hill near their apartments with Jungkook as children. That was all they could do to pass time, really, outside of school.

He remembered one particular memory. They had asked to go play at the hill and their parents relented, wanting to talk about something serious that they didn’t want to overhear. They were over the moon—their parents always came with them and this time they could do it without them. And they could finally do what they’d always wanted to do: roll down.

“I’ll race you down!” Taehyung squealed with delight as the two of them ran up the hill. Jungkook had always been the slower of the two, since he was much younger, and his legs were shorter. When Taehyung reached the top, he stuck out his tongue at Jungkook who was still struggling to climb up, trudging through the snow.

He could barely make out the other’s face in the darkness—artificial lights weren’t installed everywhere because it was said it wasted energy—and the government couldn’t be bothered to spend money on the poor or anything in their community. He could barely make out anything, to be honest but he saw a glimmer in the darkness and he knew that the younger boy was going to cry.

And he was correct.

“Wait for me!” young Jungkook sniffled, yelling in the distance so that Taehyung could hear him. Taehyung had always had a soft spot for him in particular, so he obeyed. However, before the younger boy even reached the top of the hill, he slipped on a patch of ice he didn’t realize was there and he began somersaulting down the hill.

He let out a scream and Taehyung, scared, began running after him, hoping that the younger boy didn’t hurt himself. Not because he didn’t want to get into trouble because he was the older one who was supposed to look after Jungkook—but because getting injured was a burden to the person who was injured and to the Jeons. They weren’t well off and really couldn’t afford it.

Taehyung could only chase Jungkook down the hill, with concern and worry as he watched more snow accumulate and encapsulate the younger boy. Taehyung, looking back now, could only muse that any third party watching the situation would have found it hilarious.

When Jungkook finally hit the bottom of the hill, the snow that had encased him as he was rolling down the hill split open and Taehyung, who finally caught up saw in the darkness a very dazed Jungkook.

“Are you alright?” he asked, waving a hand in front of the younger boy’s face. He blinked. Then he shot up, surprising Jungkook.

He was grinning from ear to ear, “I want to do that again!”

Taehyung had almost wanted to strangle the little boy right there and then. Jungkook giggled in response, knowing from just one look how annoyed the other boy was—and Taehyung dunked him right back into the snow for that.

The two children burst out laughing.

That was years ago—when their families still spoke to each other and their parents were working for the same company.

It had been so long ago that Taehyung could not be pressed for a name of the company that their parents worked at—it had gone bankrupt many years ago, losing its sponsors when unclean energy came back to style with his father’s work with coal mining. There was not much government money available then and now to fund research in any sector. Most scientists did so not because of the money but because they believed they could change the fate of humanity one day, even if they would not see it.

If Taehyung could point to a moment in time when his father had decided to become “evil” it was when his mother fell sick from the dastardly living quarters that they were living in that was always with stale and moist air and was home to those who could not afford better and were very sick with contagious diseases. She caught something that those in the hospital didn’t recognize; perhaps a mutant of some sort that slowly rotted her insides away, but the doctors were very nonchalant and didn’t care much for her—after all, she was not one of the elites and her life didn’t matter to them.

When she was diagnosed, she had at least three years left if she took her antibiotics—that costed an arm and a leg—all the time to slow the progression.

His father had wanted to give up all his dreams and passions then (and he heard his father cry during one of their fights when they thought he was asleep that he couldn’t live without her) and that was exactly what he did. He advocated for governments to stop banning the use of coal (it had been rationed at the time, only for severe emergencies) because it was clear that the energy produced by the solar panels and natural energy sources alone were not enough to power everything in the world and they needed coal.

He fought and lobbied for two long years, all along fighting with his wife for his lack of concern for the future (“But what about Taehyung and his children?” he had heard his mother cry during one of their fights), losing respect from his best friends, the Jeons, and finally—he sat on a pile of coal that made him richer than anyone else in the world. He’d gained control of most of the little coal mining companies in the world only because he was trusted by many citizens all over the world and the governments couldn’t be bothered to find someone else to do so in fear or riots by his loyal followers. It helped that he had boasted of a cleaner way to produce energy from coal, but it was not substantially better than the process that was originally used, if Taehyung had to be honest.

But gaining the coal mining monopoly didn’t do much for his father, ironically, even though their use was much more than nothing. It gave him money, power, riches.

Electricity was no longer rationed after he became the head of the coal mining company; many critics say his position was well-earned. He was hailed as a hero of some sort in textbooks—Taehyung sometimes wondered if he paid the publishing companies to insert an excerpt of him into their textbooks.

But no matter what his father ever accomplished, it never seemed to fill the empty void that his father had. Taehyung had watched not only his mother, who was sick, but also his father, who was not sick, wilt as time went on, like a dying flower. Taehyung didn’t know if that was a good comparison; he wasn’t too sure how flowers looked, much less how a dying one looked. But he’d learned in biology that freshly cut flowers were beautiful but became dull over time.

His father could be described as just that—when he won the power of the coal mining monopoly, it hadn’t been something that he revelled in.

All the lobbying, all