Minki shook in fear. He was hardly on the verge of tears as nothing but shallow breaths choked themselves from his throat. His mind was empty and his heart beat slow. He didn't shake out of fear of Han, or Aron, or God or himself; but he shook in fear that he would live. He knew of the life he’d had to face if he’d left there with his own life and everyone else was gone, and he knew how much it would pain him. He knew how much he would wish he would have died then and there.

            The blonde sat alone now. He was quietly sobbing against the thoughts and memories of what he could have done to make things different. He knew he couldn’t though. He was beyond help, beyond pride and beyond caring. The best thing now, or so he thought it would be, was to die, and he wished he could. He wished so hard that his prayers could be heard aloud, but he didn’t hear them himself. The only things he could hear were the crack of Dongho’s pistol, the shouts of Minhyun, the pang of the gun that he could only had suspected had killed Aaron, and the last whimpers left in Jonghyun’s voice as he bled to death directly in front of him.

            Minki wanted to cry harder in an attempt to let every last drop of emotion out of him. He would cry it all away and he’d never remember anything again. He wanted to think so hard about physically twisting his heart like wringing a towel out to dry. He would squeeze it so tightly that he wouldn’t be able to feel anything ever again. He wanted to cut his own throat so deeply that he would fall into the deepest slumber he thought imaginable.

            He reached a hand to his neck and scratched at it with the still polished fingernails. The skin grew red, but nothing happened. He tugged at the chains, but nothing pulled free. He had died already, so it hadn’t bothered him even a small bit if his body would die there, too.

            He heard the door creak open again, but he didn’t lift his head in question. He did hear, however, the faint shouts of Joonkin. He seemed to have been pleading for something with someone unknown. The only one Minki cared anything at all for at the moment was his manager, but he knew that it was useless to think of helping him.

            He didn’t raise his head as he felt himself being unchained. He didn’t twitch at the words of Han as he ordered whoever it was to take him wherever he wanted him to. Minki’s body was frail and limp against the large male’s shoulder as the tears continued to stream down his face. The slave-worker caressed his back gently, as if consoling him as if he knew where they were off to. He heard the clank of Rin’s heels against the hard floor and the scratching of a shovel and the grinding of rusty metal against rusty metal. He didn’t open his eyes as he felt himself being set on the floor as someone worked with something. He didn’t want to know anything at all.

            Minki brought a hand to his face and opened his mouth. He bit down hard on the flesh of his hand, wanting to relieve the pain and stress in a way other than crying; he was fresh out of tears now. It was then that he screamed. He opened his eyes, and with all of his might, he stood. He looked Han directly in the eye, and his tears respawned and continued flowing mercilessly down his still perfectly sculpted cheekbones.

            “Ren, Ren. I know.” the CEO smiled a horrible smile as he eyeballed him. He reached a hand out to his face, but the maknae smacked it away. Han only smiled once more.
            “Why?” was the only thing he said before being lifted again by the strong man behind him. Han only shrugged his shoulders.

            He closed his eyes tightly as he was laid on the warm metal and the door was slammed shut. He only lifted his eyelids enough to see the man through the door, waving a pleasant goodbye to him, but Minki didn’t care. If he had any life left in him, he would have used the last bit of it asking that question to which he’d never receive an answer.

            The metal grew hotter before he figured well enough to open his eyes. The box of metal he was now encased in was set ablaze, and the flames were coming for him now. He heard the crackling of the fire and the voice of his manager. He heard his own whimpers, but they weren’t loud enough for long. Soon, the flames raced towards him.

            He first felt the heat against his calves. Then the burning of his skin as it ran up his spine. Finally, it reached his head, setting his perfectly blonde hair ablaze. He kicked at the door for a while, any tears attempting to run from his eyes were boiled at once. He gasped for air, but only inhaled smoke. He gave up on kicking, soon enough, and laid completely still. Perhaps he was content with what was happening. He clenched all of his muscles and screamed only once more before he could not breathe any more.

            He remembered everything. He remembered his sister; the only he hadn’t talked to in ages, the one he’d never mentioned to anyone at the company. He remembered his mother, his father, and the way his grandmother would look at him. He remembered how she would always tell him that he looked just like his father. He remembered his audition tape and how much he would have given to be accepted by Pledis. He remembered the day he was introduced to Rin, and Joonkin and the rest. He remembered the moment he laid eyes on Jonghyun and how he watched him as he crossed the room. He remembered the feeling when they first kissed. He remembered their first practice as a group. He remembered their debut, their stage and their very first fans. Their second comeback and the stage then. He remembered the interviews and the fanmeets and the gifts he’d receive. But most of all, he remembered Jonghyun’s most favourite nickname for him; Princess.

            The flames were enveloping him now, but he fought. His body stayed very still, but his mind wavered in sadness, fear and hope. He hoped he would be saved, by anyone, really. He was very beyond repair at this point, and he knew that. His mind was blank. He couldn’t see light, he couldn’t see dark. He was warm, but he wasn’t hot. He could hear, but he couldn’t comprehend. He could feel, but he wasn’t sure what. He could sense a presence, but he didn’t know whose.

            Blank, that’s what he felt. Soon, he slipped from what he referred to as existence. With one last thought, he remembered,