CHAPTER XII:  [Chapter 1 of part 2]: Kryptonium

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Part II, in which he finds that he has wings that are too burdened to fly.

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          As white smoke billowed over Myungsoo’s vision, several cracks and thuds were heard over the crumbling of the brick wall on the opposite side of the gym.  Sungyeol grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn away from the chaos, and fished a heavy looking black cylinder from his pocket as he pulled Myungsoo to the back door.  His shoes dragged on the court, and Sungyeol launched the cylinder into the hazy cloud.

          “Was that..."  Myungsoo said, shaking off Sungyeol's grasp.  The dust stung at his eyes, his heart racketing in his chest as more gunshots rang out.  It was hard to talk, and it felt like cotton was stuffed in his ears.

          "A grenade? Yes," Sungyeol answered hastily, tucking himself into the crevice of a support beam, shielding himself from the debris and noise.  Myungsoo pressed himself against the wall beside him.

          His eyebrows furrowed, and he turned to pin Sungyeol with a disbelieving stare.  "You threw a grenade at Sungjong."

          "Yes," he replied, making his answer clipped.

          Dread pooled at the bottom of his stomach, and he resumed Sungyeol's position.  Were they dying here with Sungjong?  Was that what Sungyeol meant?  He didn't want to die.  He knew Sungjong didn't want to die.

          Then he remembered Sungjong's face as he tried to get him to jump off the bleachers.  His eyes showed confusion, determination, and most of all, acceptance.  Maybe he'd already accepted the thought of not living another day, not feeling anything but pain, but it didn't mean Myungsoo had.  Sungjong jerked forward, and Myungsoo thought that maybe he was coming after all, but he spotted the growing patch of red on his back.  Through the ringing in his ears and the crumble of brick and plaster, he heard Sungjong letting out a whine.

          He froze on the spot as a sinking feeling took over, eyes glued to the penny sized hole in Sungjong's left shoulder.  Was this it?  Was this what they were reduced to, what they'd come so far to see? Was this the message someone wanted him to get?  Bull.

          He screamed it, "Bull, Sungjong! You can't ing-"  The breath was knocked out of him as he toppled over the edge from an impact to his shoulder.  He turned a somersault in midair, words catching sharply in his throat.  It felt good for once, letting himself curse out loud.  It might not seem like much, but for Myungsoo, who kept everything simmering beneath a layer of calm, perfect demeanor, it was liberation.  Righting himself fluidly like a cat, he landed crouching.  The fact that Sungjong pushed him off escaped him, and suddenly, he was ripped.  Sungyeol was beckoning him from the opposite side of the gym, but Sungjong was here.

          Myungsoo’s decision was made when he heard Sungjong’s coughing and looked up to see his eyebrows screwed together in pain and tears pooling in his eyes undoubtedly from the raw burning in his shoulder.  It was amazing how much he could analyze in that split second.  Time slowed down, and he saw the frenzy and defeat apparent through Sungjong’s tears.  Dust blew out around them, masking the other two from view.  It was uncertain where all of it was coming from, but then he heard the sound of bullets striking off plaster.

          Behind them, Sungyeol had engaged Mira in a gunfight, but neither were hitting targets.  Sungyeol was aiming for the brick walls and ceiling while making it seem like he was trying to hit the girl.  Chunks of metal support beams and shards of glass from the hanging lights rained down on the gymnasium.  Cracking and crumbling filled the space between the echoing sound of bullets being released.  One of them was bound to run out of ammunition first.

          Myungsoo watched Sungjong sweep his hair back, and it hurt.  It hurt more than any wound that could be inflicted upon him. This couldn't be happening.  They didn’t come this far to be killed, to let a coup de grâce pin them down, to raise a white flag.  They were here because they fought, and in some cases, won, and in others, suffered blows, but they were here because they ing fought for it.  Myungsoo didn’t watch his friends die to lose.  He didn’t go through a week of hell to be told there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

          Why was Sungjong giving up?

          Why was he letting one last measly girl stand between them and their victory?  Frustration took over his senses.

          The present caught up with him, and Sungyeol had still thrown a grenade at Sungjong.  His chest ached.  Seconds passed, and still nothing happened.

          The image of the black cylinder slid through his mind again, and he took the time to revisit the picture.

          “Sungyeol…,” he said as blood rushed to his head.

          “Did you figure it out?” the other replied with a light note to his voice.  It was like he needed more confirmation than Myungsoo.

          He pictured the thing flying at Sungjong, and despite the new spark of hope that had struck up inside of him with the realization, several scenarios presented their possibilities.  What if it hit him on the head and he passed out?  What if it flew right past, no where near where Sungyeol had intended?

          “I didn’t miss,” Sungyeol said, and there was no doubt in his voice.

          “How do you know?”   He was asking even though hope was pushing its way into him.  When he jumped, he didn’t bring a gun, or even a dagger.  Sungyeol had run out of magazines, but it was clear Mira was well stocked.  This was it.

          “I sink hoops from the opposite side of court backwards .  I don’t think I missed.”

          Normally, Myungsoo would call him out on his attitude, but he was too grateful for Sungyeol.  

          “Any time now…” Sungyeol said, like he was waiting for a microwave lunch and not for a grenade to go off.

          Before Myungsoo could comprehend anything else, a blinding burst of light flashed from inside the dust cloud, and he turned away hastily, pressing his hands against his ears as a bang shook the gym.  Even with his eyes closed, he saw the white flood over him and into every crevice of the room before everything went dim again.  His ears rang, and spots dotted his vision when he opened his eyes.  Normally, a flash grenade wouldn't cause such a large scale reaction, but combined with the minuscule dust particles covering nearly all of the gym, the light was magnified.

          “God?”  Sungyeol said, and Myungsoo squinted in the direction he was looking.  He was nervous and skittery, hands shaking, teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached.

          If this is how disoriented he is from this far away, he could only imagine Mira and Sungjong.  After rubbing the light from his eyes, he smelled a strange kind of smoke, thicker than the settling dust, and was met by the sight of orange flames up Mira’s clothing.  He almost reeled back in shock, unsure of what to feel.  Mira was for sure unable to escape the fire, but he was watching someone burn.  He was watching her flesh cook and turn to the texture of fourth of July drumsticks.  Was this reality?

          Sungyeol let out a little disbelieving puff of air. “Oh my God .  Oh my God.  He did it.  He ing-  I’m marrying him,” he, said, turning to Myungsoo.  Seeing the hesitant look on his face, he slapped him on the back and laughed.

          Myungsoo watched on, the effects of the stun grenade not yet wearing off.  Through the ache in his ears and dust in his eyes, he saw Mira lift her gun, desperation and insanity fueling her last actions.  Sungjong was frozen, still in the crouched position, and clutching that gun he’d been carrying for the past week.  She shot, expending all her ammunition on this attack.

          Myungsoo’s eyes widened as holes appeared in the bleachers under and around Sungjong, whose frame was being visibly shaken from the impacts.  Sungyeol whipped around at Myungsoo’s shock.  Everything was happening too fast.  The cloud of dust hadn't completely dispersed yet, but the grenade had lit some of it, along with Mira, on fire, so a horrible burning like nothing he'd ever smelled was thick in the air.

          Sungjong seemingly shook himself awake and moved to prop his arms on a knee, aiming for the now permanently stationed Mira. He shot. Myungsoo didn’t see if he hit his target because at that moment, Sungjong keeled over, pressing a hand to his side and raising it after.  Even from here, he could see the slick red blood covering his fingers.  Mira collapsed, the fire now eating away at her hair.

          Sungjong’s face was blocked by his hair, but his lips were slightly parted, and his hand wasn’t lowered yet.  

          Sungyeol was a statue.  Myungsoo couldn’t bring himself to move until he realized Sungjong had collided with the ground.

          Sungjong had never given up.

          He’d given up on Sungjong.

          Myungsoo was kneeling by his side. Blood was pooling under Sungjong.

          In a clang, the side doors of the gym burst open, and he was frozen again as figures in black clothing rushed around them.  Logic escaped him as he remembered they were supposed to be the only ones left.  They won, but all his attention was on Sungjong.

          Two of the people looped their arms under Sungjong and brought him onto a rolling cot, one of them pressing their gloved fingers to his neck.  They weren't supposed to be doing that.  As he stood up, the ironically California shaped puddle of blood staining his vision, Myungsoo realized he never did think about what would happen when Antietam ended.  He didn't doubt surviving until the the last day, but a future afterwards hardly crossed his mind.  In that aspect, he guessed he thought he'd die anyway.

          The black swarm moved like a city of ants, hooking up wires to Sungjong’s skin and inserting syringes full of colorful liquids into his arm.  Myungsoo's head hurt, and everything was twirling like a kaleidoscope.

          A flash of red in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and before he could stop himself, his fist flew towards Hero’s face.  His forearm was caught in a tight grasp before he made contact.  Hero lowered Myungsoo’s arm, analyzing his heavy breathing and slight tremble.  

          “He won’t die,” was the first thing Hero said, although it was unclear who the words were directed to.  Puffing out breaths, Myungsoo stared Hero in the eyes, trying to find some hint of an answer.  Hatred burned deep in his gut, but despite the urge to rip him to shreds, Myungsoo tried to search for a reason to why Hero did this.  The images of all the mangled bodies of his classmates flashed through his mind.  There had to be a reason.

          Hero’s face remained unchanged as he returned the look.  A fire extinguisher went off, and white fluff landed on his legs.  Scarlet red hair floating right above blank, brown eyes, black suit dotted with white, Hero was no different from the day Antietam began.  Myungsoo gritted his teeth.

          Hero’s eyes flickered, and went right back where they were.  “Get rid of this,” he said, raising a hand to tap between Myungsoo’s furrowed eyebrows.  “You’ll get wrinkles on that pretty face.”

          Tearing his arm from Hero’s grip, he searched the gym for Sungyeol, but neither him nor Sungjong were in sight.  The beating of a helicopter’s blades became louder, and a gust of wind rushed in from the double doors that had been propped open.

          “That’s your ride to prom,” Hero said.  He held out a hand. “Congratulations.”

          Looking down at the hand, Myungsoo felt something strange twist up his throat.  Little crescent shaped indents scattered Hero’s palm, clearly made by the nails of a clenched fist.  Besides the minuscule detail, Myungsoo wondered how the older man knew he was left handed. Rather one-sidedly, they clapped hands and shook.  

          “Go to Hell,” Myungsoo said, dropping his hand unceremoniously, and turned away as Hero chuckled.

          “I’m already there,” he replied, tapping the side of his head, and something in his voice made Myungsoo believe he wasn’t lying. Was that what Hero wanted?  To put his own emotions into someone else, to make others feel what he felt?

          Clean up crews in orange z