There were seven of them in total. None of them had anything in common, besides their genders and similar ages there was nothing distinctive that connected them. That’s what the report says. Quite a shame really that seven young men were put through such trauma. A trauma that only one boy is haunted by. The others have no such worries. After all, there isn’t much to worry about when you’re dead. This lone boy, however, still suffers from the horrors of the week now passed and never to leave him. For the time being he sits solemnly silent and unmoving in a “holding place” of sorts. Though the boy is probably aware of why he’s being held here in the first place. He’s their only suspect in this case, or at least that’s what his coworkers think.

He knows better than to think this young man-this boy could’ve killed six others. Regardless it’s his job to find out just what happened in that place. The Godforsaken prison just on the outskirts of the city where they were held captive for an entire week. Though, according to the autopsies, not all of them even made it that long. He shudders. Just thinking about those boys being trapped there for a week no less makes his entire being queasy.

"You look like you're going to throw up." a colleague and good friend jokes. He looks up at the aged doctor with an uncomfortable laugh. Despite having a staggering age difference of ten years the elder has taken him in as student and mentored him, well, over the years. Now that he’s officially working with him as a doctor himself they’re now colleagues without the formalities of student and teacher.

"I think I just might." he replies tapping his fingers incessantly on his thigh, anxious habit. Honestly this whole ordeal is incredibly nerve wracking; more so than he'd like to admit. He's the youngest on this team of experts, barely in his mid-thirties and marginally younger than these aged professionals. This is his first major job-well, assignment as a versed but fresh psychologist. The number one priority of this case is to discover what really happened. Details that will prove if this boy really is responsible for the deaths of the six others he was trapped with. Boys he never knew and will never know beyond post and a few pre-mortem pictures. Each looked so bright with so much potential ahead of them. Unfortunate that they've lost the chance and are forever lost in a sea of fading names and forgotten faces.

"Are there any other updates or leads?" he asks trying his luck for even the slightest bit of hope. Others have admonished him for becoming too attached to this case, attached to the lost boys and broken one awaiting him. How can others be so indifferent? He would think that some of the elder doctors, ones like his friend, would show some sympathy or at least pity. Yet, they read over the case and study the boy like an experiment, a thing. Perhaps being in this establishment with so many deaths and murders has jaded them, this case just one more monotonous file to be completed. Isn't that worse than caring? Worse than treating this victim, regardless of his "suspicion," like a piece of work rather than the human-young human being he is?

"Nothing groundbreaking, just more bits and pieces of where they've been." the passive doctor replies with a shrug. Bits and pieces mean nothing to him or the case. All they have to go off of is the boys' bodies, vague marks and indicators of where they've been, and pieces of paper no bigger than his palm with illegible, more likely incomprehensible, scribbles and symbols drawn on them. In his opinion these notes are the most significant discover they've made so far. If they can crack the code to read just what these black marks upon marks mean then just maybe they can begin to grasp just what happened in that death trap of a prison. That's where he comes in. If he can get this boy to take to him, maybe even translate those notes, then he can help clear his name. This is why he's still a part of this horrid case to help this boy. His conscience won't let him move on without ensuring at least the boy's mental state is sound.

"-don't really understand why this happened but, we'll figure out soon enough." the doctor rambles on, patting his shoulder. Despite having caught only the conclusion of his spiel he's heard it enough to know the doctor is just as exasperated as he over their lack of evidence. Surely that will change soon, hopefully today.

"I'll be going to the boy now." he announces, rising out of the stiff metal chair just beyond the holding cell where the boy is held. The doctor's face wrinkles in surprise, graying brows rising quizzically.

"Already? It's quite early. Nevertheless if you’re that eager to start picking at his frazzled brain I’ll alert the others then." he muses with a pleased grin. Must be growing bored of such slow progress he decides, somewhat disturbed that this is a source of entertainment for him. Will he be this way as twenty, fifteen, or even ten years pass? He certainly hopes not. With his colleague rounding up those of importance he gathers his files in his hands and sends a quick prayer to any deity that will hear him the boy will speak.

Stepping out into the bare and overwhelming white of the sterile hallway he’s brusquely pushed past by seniors in charge of the case that don’t bother to give him a second glance. Suppressing a sigh, or any form of frustration, he follows them into the much broader hallway over. For observation purposes a large one way glass window is set to keep an eye on the boy. There isn’t much to watch. The boy, as he deduces, is in state of shock, probably stuck in the middle of his own tormenting thoughts with nowhere to put them. He doesn’t seem the type to express his troubles though, which makes his job all the more difficult. Other doctors involved with the case have had their fair share of failures when trying to coax words from the expressionless boy, hours of prompting resulting in nothing.

What makes them think he, a newbie, can do any better? He’s not sure. Maybe they want to reassure themselves they’re abilities are up to par while watching the newly acquired PHD flounder as much as they. He could just be here as a joke, some relief to alleviate the situation with so little accomplished. The reason doesn’t matter to him; he just wants to help this boy.

Approaching the metal door separating him and potential failure he turns to his seniors getting comfortable with notepads and recorders with a curt nod. Getting the permission he needs he punches in the pass code and enters the uniformly white room. If the white in the hallways are bare then this room is downright desolate. The overbearing reflective black glass of the one way window makes up the entire right wall that engulfs the room in a distorted echo within it. A single metal cot and chair are set in the room, the rest just empty space and white. Shutting the door quietly behind him he studies the boy briefly before pulling up into the chair in front of him. The boy sits with his head hung, staring at his open palms in his lap. From what he’s heard others say the boy will stay in this position for hours on end. Astounding just how rigid he is for such a youth, barely in his twenties, it rivals a statue’s stillness. Yet even a statue couldn’t match the lifelessness of this boy, the emptiness of his eyes that lead to no soul.
 

His own thoughts begin to unsettle him, the fact he's being watched with no way to see his overseers daunts him all the more. However he needs to make an impression and remains cool and collected, like the professional he is. This is his first major assignment and he's not about to blow it.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Pak. I'm here to talk with you, if you're willing." he greets, peering down awkwardly at the frozen boy. Not to his surprise the boy doesn't respond, his form never stirring. Decidedly adamant he refuses to be deterred by his lack of response and continues on. "I know you've been through a lot this past week and, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions," he looks down at his chart quickly finding what he's looking for, "Woohyun."
He's a lot less informed than he'd like. When first brought aboard this case as the last to join he was immediately in the dark with all that had been discussed over the past few days. Fortunately his friend had managed to bring him up to speed with a general summary of the case, their progress, and approach.

First were the autopsy notes. Each boy had died in a different way and he didn't have time to memorize their names. However he could remember their faces and causes of death. The first to die had been a boy with curiously red hair, he only lasted two days. His abdomen had sustained multiple puncture wounds but the ultimate cause of death was a broken neck. After him only an approximate order of deaths follows. A dark haired boy whose hair hid his left eye died of shards of glass lodging, with horrible irony, in that same eye to his brain as well as other parts of his body. Surprisingly enough the strongest boy physically of the group was next, falling two stories to his death, skull shattered and bones broken. More surprising was the youngest who almost survived until the end, falling just short at day six of a slit throat. The eldest soon followed, found near the younger's body, affixation taking his life away painfully.

The first to be found and last to die is where things spiral downhill for Woohyun. This boy was found mockingly close to the exit where Woohyun was found, face down on the ground with his hand outstretched, freedom just out of his reach. He had taken several hard blows to the face, abdomen, and some form of harsh bruising to the neck that mirrored Woohyun's own injuries. However the wounds on the other boy have all been identified as Woohyun's work. It seemed farfetched to him that forensics could surely place him as the attacker but, further investigation proved the deep set scratches on both boys came back as a match to the skin samples from their nails. Woohyun had fought the other boy, won, then, as his colleagues outside think, killed him to save his own life. Their theory is plausible however one major component is missing to prove it true. The other boy wasn't beaten to death; he was stabbed in the back of the neck with a jagged piece of metal, severing his spinal cord. From the evidence they have so far they can't place the weapon in Woohyun's hands. As they sit here tests are being rerun on the rusted metal to find such convicting evidence.

Second was the little evidence they had. The indecipherable notes, the items each boy had on their person, and anything else they deemed of significance. It didn't amount to much and major holes were left in the web of a story they tried to string back together.
Third was his assignment. All he had received was the basic outline of what he was expected to accomplish. He didn't even receive a copy of Woohyun's file until an hour before deciding to speak with-to him. Less informed about the case assignment he is indeed.

With a desperate glance at his watch he notes that an hour and a half has passed with no results. All the while Woohyun hasn't moved a muscle, frozen in place with eyes leading into an endless nothingness. He can almost feel the unimpressed stares of the audience outside, sneers and mutters of mockery traveling from one merciless observer to another. Sighing heavily he rises and tucks his files under his arm.

"I understand you don't want to speak to me, that's your own decision and I'm willing to adhere to it. Just know I will return until you are ready to talk. Farewell, Woohyun, I will be back for you tomorrow." he says disregarding the aftermath of his empathy sure to come.

"How long?" the boy suddenly asks voice hoarse with disuse. He stops in his tracks turning around while trying to control the level of surprise on his face. He's certain the audience outside is going insane with frantic hands scribbling hasty notes. Perhaps he's not as hopeless as everyone thought.

"What do you mean?" he replies turning back to face him. He's finally moved his pale face up visibly with his empty dark rimmed eyes on his. Very nearly does he break their gaze, the void of his black eyes unnerving but, only nearly. Instead he takes his place back in front of him, reseating himself with open files once more.

"You know what I mean." he says now looking down at the file in his lap.

"Well, you were in that prison for a week and it's been three days since then." he replies eyes flickering to the file. Is that what he was asking about? He hopes so.

"I know that. How long do you plan on detaining me?"

He pauses, thoroughly unprepared for his question. He was right; he does know why he's still here.

"That's not for me to say, that's up to you. If you tell me what happened-"

"Why should I? What do you people have to gain from keeping me in here? Locking me up isn't going to bring them back." he spits glaring at the window. Despite seeing only his reflection he's certain Woohyun is staring down the spectators outside.

"Did to know them well?" he tries with more certainty in his words than he feels.
At this Woohyun's anger dissipates sinking back in his cot with a worn sigh. "I didn't know any of them." he mutters staring at the ceiling.

"What about," he flips quickly through the file, "Kim Myungsoo? From what we know the two of you tried fleeing together." Woohyun visibly tenses, slowly lowering his head.

"He should've been the one to get out, not me." he breathes barely audible.

"Why is that?" Now they're getting somewhere.

"I'm a coward."

"Apparently not, seeing as you survived." He may have pushed his luck with that last comment.

"I should've died. Myungsoo should be here, not me." he restates burying his face in his hands.

"Could you tell me why?"

"Because I have nothing left to live for."

***

There wasn't much going on that day. It was a bleak and murky Monday, all Mondays are. He had cut class, again, with no intention of going back regardless of what his parents would say. He's too smart for his own good they say, too overconfident with his abilities. He has every right to be and ditches school because he can. Being a pretentious always has its perks at nineteen, especially when no one would dare accuse such a perfectly innocent face. He even dyed his hair blonde to stand out, he likes the attention.

Lee Sungjong, top student retaining an IQ too high with an ego equally large to top it off. Not that he or anyone else cares, certainly not the idiots he calls peers. They depended too heavily on his willingness to help them, for a high but generous fee that is. A business of sorts, one that flourishes with each procrastinated assignment and last minute essay. Life is good and will only get better the instant he leaves for Korea's most prestigious university.

***

Monday's are boring, nothing ever happens on Mondays. Absolutely nothing and it drives him up the wall. Seriously, why can't Mondays be more fun? That or Mondays just shouldn’t exist. Especially when running three hours late for school in the stupid rain. He was so screwed. The instant he stepped in halfway through a lecture he was going to get so much crap from his professor.

Jang Dongwoo, an over excited boy with a wild shade of red in his hair that sticks up in a mess of directions was late again. As per usual he's running to the class he was forced into by his parents as quickly as he can through the persistent drizzle. What were they thinking putting him in freaking business economics? Days of heated arguments and blatant threats ended with him finally giving in, sick of the fighting. It kept his parents happy, despite his own reluctance, and he accepted he’d just have to deal with it.

***

Finally, it's Monday. Most people hate Mondays but he loves them, they're his favorite day of the week to be honest. Mondays are when he can head down to the little hole in the wall bar, whether the rain kept up or not, and sing to his heart's content. It's his calling to move on to bigger and better stages to sing, he knows it. There's a passion in him to become a famous singer, to let the world feel his passion through his voice.

Kim Sunggyu, fresh out of university and ready to tackle the world with all he has. As a practical music major with his heart set on singing with the voice to accomplish such feats, he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of his dreams. His entire career was planned and set in stone in his mind. Even his auditions to various companies were scheduled later in the week. He was ready to get his life started.

***

Mondays are the bane of his existence. Seriously, why does Monday actually have to be a thing? It happens every damn week and he hated it with all his being. He wasn’t built for Mondays. He had to deal with too many self righteous morons who decided screwing with him was the only way to start the week. Even after escaping the horrors of high school the taunts and harassing continued to haunt him in his university years. That doesn’t mean he lets it get to him. Instead of spiraling into a pit of depression and self pity he took it all in stride with a stupid grin plastered to his face. Although, he’s found refuge in the falling rain today, not feeling up to dealing with his classmates.

Lee Sungyeol, the oddball that never really fit in and coasted his entire life with his sense of humor and use of sarcasm. He wasn’t really sure why he never fit in with any group of people he stumbled across. He just didn’t. Throughout his life his parents worried for him, how he would cope in the world once out of school for good. He had no such worries. In fact, he planned on running away to America. Maybe there he could finally meet people that he could properly fit in with.

***

Mondays, that means no after school workouts or conditioning. Thank God, he wasn’t a fan of the blaring whistle his coach was a little too happy to sound. Actually, he wasn’t looking forward to practice at all this week, or the next week, or the week after that. He wanted to quit, he didn’t want to subject himself to the physical abuse his coach insisted on inflicting upon him with tournaments way out of his level.

Lee Howon, an athlete with one too many bad experiences in the sport he used to love. Gathering the courage to tell his parents, or more his unwavering father that he was going to quit taekwondo even after acquiring his third degree black belt. All he wanted was to compete as he used to before switching coaches who expected too much too soon. As soon as he got home and out of the rain he was going to talk to his parents, regardless of his father’s reaction.

***

Finally it was Monday. He had been waiting for this particular Monday for a long, long time. His younger brother was finally coming home from his studies abroad. He’d been gone for almost a year now. The last time they spoke was well over six months. Needless to say he was excited. In fact he was on the way to the train station now. Although, they were probably going to have to take a taxi back home, the rain would pose a problem with the luggage he’d have.

Kim Myungsoo, orphaned at the age of sixteen, luckily old enough to take care of his brother with the added sum of their inheritance and his own earnings. They were managing very well on their own. No one would ever guess they were a self-financing pair of brothers. No, they were much too determined to allow even the slightest bit of pity or sympathy to come their way. They were going to get through life without anybody else’s help. All they needed were each other.

***

Monday was just another useless day that started another useless week. There wasn’t anything for him to do, anything for him to look forward to. He couldn’t afford attending a university. Community colleges had some form of payments beyond his nonexistent budget that mocked him daily as he passed to work. A monotonous and repetitive dead-end job that was the best chance he had to scrape by in life. That’s all he could really do nowadays, barely scrape by as he allows the accumulating rain soak him to the core.

Nam Woohyun, was once a boy who had high hopes and dreamt of traveling the world to taste the colorful flavors of different nations. A food enthusiast, his parents had once called him. An aspiring chef, his older brother had cheered. At one point he’d thought so too. He had all the patience and perseverance to easily pursue his childhood dreams. Dreams that came to an abrupt end with a single headline that circulated when he was only thirteen years old. Tragic accident takes over twenty lives. Among the victims of the devastating car wreckage was his family. His mother, father, and brother all gone, just like that. Since that day he hasn’t seen a reason to do anything anymore. Why do anything when there’s no one to do them for anymore?

***

            Seven boys that have nothing in common wander in the rain. They each harbor their own problems and follow through with their own agendas. Absolutely nothing distinguishes them as a group to be associated with one another. Not now, not ever. However, the game still needs its players. So, why not perfect strangers? That would make things more interesting.

Wouldn’t you think?