HENDERY

Warning: mentions of blood, violence, and feelings of worthlessness

A scream could be heard within the white walls of the cell SM bound him in. There was no track of time because he slept in the light and darkness. He was an ordinary boy who had wanted a normal life after living in such famine, begging people from the streets of Macau to give him as little as fifty cents. A lavish city with buildings of glass came dirtied reflections of the eyes of businessmen, gamblers, and the poor.

Hendery had no one. His parents died in a fire and his sisters disappeared without a trace.

So when the offer arose for $50,000 to be given in exchange to be treated like a king, Hendery took it not thinking he’d be imprisoned and forced to weakly fight against pixelated individuals who were much more skilled and stronger than he was.

He knew his stay at SM was timed if they knew they couldn’t get any use out of him. So to prove himself, he emphasized his sweet talking abilities. He was someone who knew his way with words to get what he wanted, luring stimulators close enough to stab them through the heart to finish their life smoothly without having to put in much physical effort.

This day, in particular, was a day without sleep. Every time he tried to sleep he was zapped awake by the floor underneath him. Shades of purple and pink surrounded the corners of his eyes.

Hendery looked around him. There was nothing but mirrors and white to keep him company.

One of the paneled mirrors opened seemingly magically as there was no crease within the glass to signify any sort of passageway. Six men entered in sync and harmony, their gaze facing the wall on Hendery’s side and bodies turning at exactly 90 degrees with their feet two feet apart and four feet away from each other.

“Please apply your specialties to the men before you”

He smirked. He would give himself another identity. A boy whose “cube” became his establishment. SM was his.

Hendery smiled meekly at everyone even though he thought he was boasting the proudest smile he could ever have. His gait changed, it was no longer one where he dragged his feet in broken sandals but one of cockiness as he kicked his heels outwards. The young man was no longer a boy but someone of grandeur; his outfit changed into one of a royal blue with the shirt underneath becoming an endless black and a rouge red tie to pull his scheme together—courtesy of the vision goggles that no one else had in the room.

The six men stood emotionless at his tactics and appeared to be lifelike robots than anything else.

I’m not quite sure how he’s going to fit in with the rest of WayV. If all he has is looks and air to mouth words then we don’t need him. Ten thought.

We will all see, gege. Winwin returned the thought.

Lucas had his multilingual ability and his strength to murder anyone in his way. Ten was what SM considered—rather, what Lee Soo Man considered—perfect. Ten could fight well, he was the perfect build, he could speak three languages going on four with Korean, and he had leadership abilities. Kun was his innocent, other half in combat that did his part in leading WayV and keeping everyone together and peaceful when he couldn’t. Winwin was an all-rounder and had balance to the way he executed his victims; he killed with beauty and hardly ever was knocked off his feet by anyone. He was the person Ten felt valued to. YangYang calculated an enemy’s steps and styles to make sure a killing session was statistically accurate in defeat of the other party in accordance with his own abilities; if not, he worked towards making it accurate by spending hours, if not more, in the training room by himself. Xiaojun was fueled with emotion constantly—mostly care and worry to the only family he had left when they would return home with cuts and scrapes, sometimes deep gashes underneath their gear. He was their medic, specifically, Ten’s medic. What did this person have that they did not?

Ten looked on emotionlessly into a space of oblivion, but he could hear and see Hendery’s antics out of the corner of his eye. The male was trying to attempt to con them in any which way he could.

No emotion.

“I can offer you freedom. Everyone wants freedom right? I’m sure you guys are trapped here like me. So why don’t we team up and do something about it? I have the money, and you all uh- have some sort of fighting ability,”

No response.

Hendery smirked, “Both parties can play that game, gentlemen. Don’t mind if I make myself richer then...”

He approached Ten who just happened to be the smallest member and seemingly easiest to pick on. He soon made way into Ten’s pockets which was soon proven to be a mistake.

Ten glared and gritted his teeth, “I don’t think so,” before shoving him harshly onto the floor bruising Hendery’s causing him to groan with his illusion shimmering away.

“If you wanna live, act like it. You will be assigned to physically train with Lucas. There are no questions to be answered.”

Ten stalked off with the remaining five members following after him.

“He’s nowhere near fit to be governor,” he muttered, finding his way to their weapons room.

“I say we just kill him,” Xiaojun shrugged

Yangyang rolled his eyes, “that’s your solution to everything”

No. Ten would find a place for Hendery. He’d be someone. He just didn’t know who. Maybe it was because he knew Hendery’s profile in which his family died protecting him that made Ten not want to give Hendery up to SM. The boy lost so much only two years ago, and here he was found by the government, specifically, Ten.

-

Meanwhile, Hendery howled in anguish as Lucas had him flat on his back and almost dislocated his shoulder from getting into a physical spar. He growled and kneed Lucas in the abdomen, knocking him momentarily out of air and took the opportunity to flip their positions over and punch him repeatedly in the face. Over and over. Lucas only grinned with blood seeping into the crevices between each tooth and sat up, grabbing his whole body to chuck him into the mirror. Lucas believed the most damage made the best prizes. Oh, and it did. Hendery’s body made no effort of movement but the defender knew better than to prod. He learned to recognize a fake dead from a real dead body, and Hendery was fooling no one.

-

As he approached his closet—a soft white halo blue— he opened the drawer to his knife collection and grabbed the sharpener to make their blades crisp and exact in their purpose—to penetrate and kill. Ten would prove SM guilty, he just had to. This life was death. He began to sharpen his knife harder. A piece of him died every time another person died because of him. Kill or be killed, they said. Like a coward, Ten chose to kill, but he would not allow Hendery to be the person at the end of his knife.

A hand placed itself gently on its shoulder. By this point, his breathing was shallow and his shoulders twitched with adrenaline as he sharpened the knife faster and faster. He wished he could take it back because now, he felt hardly any emotion when he sliced or snapped a person’s neck.