CHAPTER XIII:  [Chapter 2 of part 2]: You

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          Myungsoo woke up in a cold sweat.

          The dreams that he lost during his nap the previous afternoon had patched themselves up nicely.  An uncomfortable tingling lingered on his skin for several moments, his brain too shocked to move his body. Nightmare images loomed behind his eyes, demanding attention and reaction.

          He furrowed his brows, pushing the disturbing scenes away.  Incandescent lights beamed down at him, forcing him to throw an arm over his eyes.  He didn't remember falling asleep; maybe he and Sungyeol had burnt themselves out and forgot to switch off the lights and television. Sungyeol was draped across the adjacent couch, his back rising and falling steadily, an arm dangling over the edge of the cushions.  Myungsoo watched him until his breathing smoothed.  When no anomalies made themselves apparent in the next minutes, he sat up, disregarding the stiffness in his muscles.  Running his fingers through his hair, he looked around the room, and his attention was eventually drawn to the television.  

          With a soft groan, he pulled himself off the fake leather couch and trudged to search for any way to mute the sound.  He'd learned last night that whoever was controlling what the television played had an affinity to British and Japanese shows.  He wouldn't have minded if some of the segments weren't as overdramatic and unrealistic as they were.  Raising the hand that wasn't shading his eyes, he tapped the screen of the TV, hoping perhaps it was touchscreen.  It wasn't, and now he just looked stupid.

          Quickly turning back, he checked to see if Sungyeol had seen.  He hadn't moved.  "Sungyeol," he said, making his way back to the sitting area, and lifted a leg to prod the other's arm.

          It took only a small shake for him to roll over and drag himself up into a upright position.  Scratching his chest, Sungyeol rolled a shoulder back and stretched, letting a large yawn take him.  Then, Myungsoo spotted the edges of amusement Sungyeol was trying to mask in his expression as he shook his hair out.    

          "How long have you been awake," Myungsoo deadpanned.

          Keeping a straight face, Sungyeol answered, "I'm guessing approximately twenty three seconds.  You?"

          Myungsoo didn't move a muscle, instead pinning Sungyeol with an empty stare until the latter looked away.  He didn't understand how the first thing out of Sungyeol's mouth was a joke.  Wasn't he at all affected by the previous day's events?  Even just recalling his dream made Myungsoo feel like hurling.  He wanted to play it off as a nightmare, but infact, it was the truth.  

          Myungsoo blinked rapidly, like it'd clear his vision or his head, or something at least, and plopped back down on the couch.   

          "I'm hungry," he said.  The dinner from last night hadn't settled too well, with it being the first real meal he'd eaten since the seven days Antietam took.  But the hollow feeling in his stomach wasn't changing.

          “I need to piss,” Sungyeol said, and stood up, stretching.  He grabbed Myungsoo's hand, dragging him up, and continued, "I would go get some food for both of us-"

         "No.  I don't like this room."

         Sungyeol rolled his eyes.  "But I want you to see what this hospital actually looks like.  It's really cool."

         Myungsoo shrugged, motioning for him to lead the way.

          The hallway made him feel like he was walking through what Antarctica would feel like if it was a building.  It was white, fairly wide, and high ceilinged.  Doors were labeled with electronic screens that looked to be embedded into the glass.  Lighting was provided by two seemingly infinitely long tubes that ran down the entire length of the hall.  

          “So yeah, there are two levels in this hospital,” Sungyeol said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “We’re on the upper layer, but all the food is on the bottom, which is a drag.”  They turned a corner, and a lobby came into view.  The receptionist sat behind a quarter-circle counter that was backed up against a wall.  Otherwise, the place was scarce of people.  Sungyeol paused in front of a wall and turned to face Myungsoo.  Everything here was white, but it wasn’t paint, rather a translucent glassy material. If he took a hammer to the wall, it would shatter like a wine glass.

          “Thankfully, there’s an elevator.”  Sungyeol waved his hand over a rectangle the size of a playing card that was mounted to the wall, and a digital screen appeared.  

          “Would it have been so hard to just put buttons there?”  Myungsoo said as Sungyeol tapped the circle with the down arrow.  Although this place gave off a minimalist vibe, the purpose of the frequent use of overcomplex technology flew over his head.

          The wall split down the middle and opened to reveal a cylindrical elevator.  He could see that the capsule-like platform was made of thick glass all around and a solid floor.  Once he stepped inside, another section of the hospital was revealed.  

          “When you said layers…” Myungsoo said, backing into Sungyeol.  “Did you mean like a wedding cake or like a strawberry roll cake?”

          “You are so ing hungry.”

          “Yeah?”

          The hospital was hollow in the center, at least to a certain point far below where a white marble floor rose up to meet the supporting beams.  The hollow space was big enough to contain several large aircrafts that Myungsoo could see peeking out into the ground floor from under an overhanging roof.  The area was shaped circularly, and several other clear tubes for elevators were constructed onto the edges.  

          Something was out of place. “What-” Myungsoo said, craning his neck to look at the ceiling.  He was beginning to regret following Sungyeol.  “Where are the cables.  Where are the cables?”

          “There aren’t any cables.”  Sungyeol tapped their floor number onto a menu screen that appeared in translucent colors on the glass.

          “Thank you for your input.  I really couldn’t tell already.”

          “Cheers, Myung.”

          "Air pressure?  Magnetism?”

          “You sound stupid when you’re confused.”

          “You sound stupid always.”

          “Thanks.”

          “Cheers.”

          Sungyeol snorted.  “And yet you imitate me.”

          Stacked in the hollow space was floors and floors of laboratories and office spaces with transparent walls.  Myungsoo could only see glimpses and reflections of each room going round and round the elevator walls as they descended.  The speed and sight of the whole thing made his head spin.

          “I meant wedding cake,” Sungyeol said.  “A ing tall wedding cake.”

          The ride lasted only a few seconds, but they’d dropped more than fifteen stories.  Myungsoo’s stomach lurched as the elevator slowed, and the floors were replaced by a wall.  Save for a dull light emitting from the roof of the elevator, everything was pitch black.  The doors split open, and Sungyeol motioned for him to follow.  

          The difference was apparent.

          Nurses and patients milled about, the hum of everyday life pulsing around him: the clacking of keyboards, the tap of shoes against tile, and the steady murmur of conversation.The ceiling was lower, making him feel more suffocated than he'd like to realize, and the walls were yellow colored plaster.

          Eyeing everyone he passed, Myungsoo's gut was twisted until he bumped into Sungyeol's back.  Any negative thoughts evaporated when he caught a savory scent in the air.  They'd stopped in front of a buffet.

          Before he could look at the selection of food, a man in a white lab coat approached him.  He wouldn't have paid the doctor any attention if he wasn't already hyper aware of the human activity in the cafeteria; suddenly being surrounded by so many people made him wary.  Sungyeol hadn't noticed yet, taking a plastic tray and several plates.  Myungsoo followed, the side of his body closest to the doctor tense with expectation.

          "Hero is at booth fourteen.  Meet him after you've gotten your food," the man said, loud enough for both Sungyeol and him to hear.

          Myungsoo continued serving himself food.  Sneaking a look at Sungyeol, he found his friend devoid of expression, save for a slight furrowing in his eyebrows.

          "Whatever," Sungyeol said, and the man melted back into the crowd.

          "Where's booth fourteen?"  

          Sungyeol walked past the cash register.   "I don't know.  And before you ask, do you think we have any money to pay with?"  

          Myungsoo patted the back pocket of his pants, feeling for the wallet he usually kept there, but he was wearing sweat pants, not jeans.  "I left my wallet at home."  That sentence left a strange aftertaste in his mouth.

          “Doesn’t matter.  This way,” Sungyeol said, waltzing through the throng of people to the red colored booths that were sidled up by the windows.  They were on ground level, apparently, based on the garden he could see outside.

          Myungsoo spotted Hero seated at one of the booths, sipping a tall glass of a black drink.  Bumping shoulders with several people as he followed Sungyeol, he noticed Hero was wearing a white lab coat and reading glasses.  He wasn’t reading anything.

          Hero waved at them one handedly, and the two boys slid into the seat opposite him.  Myungsoo wished he had the window seat rather than Sungyeol.  He would have had something to look at.

          “What do you want?” Sungyeol said.

          “Why do you keep dying your hair?” Myungsoo added.  He couldn't even remember the last color his hair was, maybe black or blonde, but today, it was a fiery red color.  Hero's inconsistency always threw him off.

          Hero let out a small, breathy laugh and leaned forward over his drink.  “Sungjong,” he said, and the image of the boy lying beside the bleachers, a ring of blood under him, blinked through Myungsoo’s mind.  “Interesting,” Hero hummed, his eyes trained on Myungsoo’s face.

          Said boy looked down at his food and picked up a sandwich by the wrapper, raising it to block his mouth.  The hunger he had earlier was replaced with something else.

          ‘What do you want?’  ‘Sungjong’.  

          Did Hero say that to answer the question?

          Or did he say it to measure their reactions?

          “I want you to make a decision, Myungsoo,” Hero said, not wasting any time with greetings or small talk.

          It took a few seconds to process because of how quickly Hero dived in.  “What about Sungyeol.” His voice came out flat.

          Hero leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs.  “Sungyeol will go along with whatever you say; we both know that.”

          “Hey! Don’t talk like I’m not here,” Sungyeol barked.

          Myungsoo dwindled, not hearing what came after what Hero said.  That wasn’t true at all.  He and Sungyeol were like cat and dog; they were antithesis of each other.  Sungyeol always made the decisions and Myungsoo was always the one to follow.  Hero didn’t know what he was talking about.

          “He trusts you more than anyone.” He punctuated the word ‘you’ by changing posture and poking Myungsoo in the chest. It felt like fire spawned from that spot.

          “Get on with your point,” Sungyeol said, putting a hand over Myungsoo’s torso and pushing him back out of reach of Hero.

          “What happens to Sungjong?”  he said, taking a sip of his drink.  Myungsoo had never seen a liquid so black before.

          “What?”

          “I want you to decide what-”

          “Why?  Why do you care?”  Myungsoo didn’t want to sound defensive, but it was hard not to.  He was in a vulnerable position.

          Hero released something like a sigh before pinning him with a stare.  “You feel responsible for what happened to him.  I’m giving you a chance to release your guilt.”

          “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

          “Am I wrong?”

          Myungsoo didn’t reply, instead taking a bite of his sandwich.  It was vile.

          “What options does he have?” Sungyeol asked, and shrugged at Myungsoo when he looked over.

          Hero shrugged, opening his hands.  “You could take him off the ventilator and let him die for all I care.”

          “You wouldn’t let me do that.” Myungsoo said.

          “I would.  But I know that you won’t choose that route.”

          “What will I choose, then?”  It was a disgusting question, and he ground his jaw as it came out.

          Hero smiled, clasping his hands.

          Myungsoo felt himself sinking.

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          He flipped the small green chip in his hand and held it up to the light.  It was the size and shape of the end of a crayon.  Trails of silver ran over its surface, bypassing small dots and joining up with several short prongs that stuck out over the edge.

          Myungsoo looked back to Hero, who was watching him examine the chip.

          “You’re telling us this, but nothing says you haven’t already planted one in our heads.  Antietam could have never happened.  We could be test subjects.  Your words aren’t insured.”  His voice reached a new level of frustration, and the heat of argument pooled in Myungsoo’s chest, pulsing with each heartbeat.

          “Myungsoo…” Sungyeol said, and upon hearing the use of his full name, he automatically let out a breath.

          “You’re right,” Hero said.  “You don’t know if I’m lying, but does it matter?  I’m asking you to answer yes or no, that’s it.  You have the tendency to make things more complicated than they need be and let your emotions take over.  You anger very easily.”  He reached out to poke Myungsoo’s nose, but his wrist was caught in a tight grasp.

          “You are a serial killer,” Myungsoo said, lowering Hero’s hand, his heart pounding in his ears.

          “I am also a businessman, a scientist, and your current guardian.”

          Myungsoo released Hero’s wrist.

          Their booth fell into silence, and he ran Hero’s words through his head.  Yes, or no.  Yes, have more surgery done on Sungjong for the chip to be implanted into his brain.  Or no, bypass the surgery, and Sungjong will remember every detail of his past and Antietam.  

          The tiny green thing was a prototype of a computer chip that would periodically release chemicals into the brain to alter and replace memories.  It wasn’t perfect yet, but Hero claimed Sungjong to be a prime test subject.  

          ‘It’s a win-win,’ he’d said.  Sungjong would be given the chance to forget Antietam, and the chip would be accelerated into its final stages of development.  

          Myungsoo scoffed because what the hell would they use the chip for once it was finished?  Hero caught on to his skeptical thoughts and explained.  Terrorists and criminals they captured could be given a new identity, a new sense of purpose.  They’d leave behind a lifetime of destruction and in a way, be reborn.  It was genius.  If the chip reached general markets, it could be used to help an abused child find peace with a new family and give a person with irrational fears the ability to face new challenges.

          There were moral hurdles, of course, but the benefits outweighed the negatives- no doubt.

          It should have been a no brainer.  Give Sungjong the chip.

          He might be selfish.  He might want Sungjong to remember Antietam.  Partially because it was Sungjong who saved them, and partially because it wasn’t fair.

          Why couldn’t he or Sungyeol have the same safety net?  He wanted an escape too…

          “Yes,” he said.  “My answer is yes.”

          But he wasn’t a .

          Hero didn’t blink for a good length of time, his gaze focused intensely on Myungsoo.  In a sudden move that caused him to flinch, Hero leapt forward, leaning over the table and folding his hands in expectation.  Myungsoo stayed frozen, mirroring Hero.  They were too close, but he wasn't backing down.

          "Now," Hero said, a smile descending upon his lips.  "What is Lee Sungjong's story?"

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          So he had the rest of the day to decide what he wanted to do with Sungyeol’s, Sungjong’s, and his own future.  He’d previously held top spot in student council every year since the first election, but that by no means said he was ready for this kind of responsibility.  Actually, he wasn't exactly certain why he was always voted president.  By freshman year, he'd already made it clear that his previous passion had dulled to  the luster of a cinder block.  His guess was that his class was too lazy to trust anyone else when he'd been doing his job right and well for the past five years.

          Hero, before departing from 'brunch', had given both Myungsoo and Sungyeol smartphones.  They were, like most everything in Hero's institute, white glossed and overly complex.  It hadn't took Myungsoo as long as Sungyeol to learn how to use it, but only because he was accustomed to the 

          Hero explained that he had endless options.  They could be millionaire high schoolers, stars in the media, philanthropists, America’s prize.  They could have a mansion in England and have tea with the Queen every afternoon; they could have a beach house with a set of personal butlers and maids and go swimming whenever they wanted.  They could go live their dreams, as idols, or artists, or athletes.

          But they could never see their families.  That was the only condition.

          And that was when Myungsoo looked at his reflection in Hero’s glass of black and realized he’d never see his little brother again.  Because Hero was powerful, more powerful than anyone he’d ever known to exist, and if he said Myungsoo wouldn’t see his family again, then he was telling the truth.

          Lately, he’d just been sinking.

          He’d interrupted Hero in the middle of one of his reveries, perhaps saving himself from the pain the man’s words could bring.  “I want to start over.”

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          Later the next day, Hero escorted Myungsoo and Sungyeol back into Sound. Their task was to gather ideas for Sungjong's past and record them to then be sent to the engineers who'd develop the chip.  It was best to use as many factual events as possible, so their target would be the photo albums and any technology they could get their hands on.  Their helicopter landed in the middle of the road in front of what was presumably Sungjong’s house.  It was a modest building, alike to the majority of houses in Sound: double leveled, orange brick walls, and worn tiled roofs.  Rooms were layered in front of each other, causing the structure to appear more three dimensional than it was.

          The inside of the house was covered with white paint and a thin layer of carpet in the living room.  Myungsoo frowned at the spots of blood on the carpet and junk food wrappers littered about.  All the windows were cracked open, and papers had been blown off table tops and on to the floor. Maybe it was the motion sickness talking, but the mess made him a bit nauseous. 

          Myungsoo peered past Sungyeol’s tall figure.  Hero followed after, an open black laptop propped in his arms.  His face was neutral, no longer sporting the usual sardonic smile.  In fact, he might have looked upset, but Myungsoo didn’t want to read too much into it.

          “Enter the events accordingly,” Hero said, placing the laptop on a glass coffee table.  And after rubbing his hands together and taking another look around, he sat himself on a leather sofa.  “From now on, my name is Jackal.  Hero was only for Antietam.”

          Myungsoo gave him a side glance.  He never called Hero-Jackal- anything.  As far as he knew, the only people comfortable enough to address him at all were his employees.  He scoffed.  So was the animated personality over the announcements also only for Antietam? Jackal caught his stare and waved a hand towards the upper level.

          “Don’t mind me.  Go do what I told you to,” he said, and pointedly looked away to pull out a tablet from the briefcase by his side.

          That man was the most confusing person Myungsoo had ever met.  He turned towards where Jackal had motioned and jogged up the set of stairs, his shoes making satisfying thuds on the hardwood.  Sungyeol was exploring ground level and basement, and Myungsoo could hear him opening every door he came across.  

          It was a blatant invasion of privacy, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t at least a little curious as to what kind of person Sungjong was.  

          The first door in the hallway led to a bathroom.  Jackal said to be specific, so he pushed away the blue shower curtains and recorded the brands of the products in his phone.  Suppressing a shiver, he moved on to the next door.

          Green.  A lot of green.  There was probably more green in this room than black in Myungsoo’s wardrobe.  For some reason, he hoped this wasn’t Sungjong’s room.  Taking another look, he stepped in and immediately, his hand found itself clapped over his nose. Putrid.  Disregarding the jerseys and shorts scattered on the ground, he made a fast circle around, skimming the bookshelves and desk for anything important before bursting back into the hall.  

          There were a few pictures taped up on the walls.  Myungsoo recognized him.  Dongwoo was a senior on the varsity soccer team, but he never knew he and Sungjong were brothers.  He wrinkled his nose.  He also never knew Dongwoo’s room was so...green and dirty.  Like he kept old, uneaten boxes of pizza under the bed or something.  Gross.  Shutting the door to prevent the fumes from traveling, Myungsoo continued to the room at the end of the hallway.  

          The white painted door was open, wavering on its hinges as a breeze rustled through the room.  He proceeded carefully, silencing his steps and his breaths.  Maybe it was the preconceived idea that something had happened in this house, in this room, and someone might have died here, someone who might have been important to Sungjong.

          He did a quick scan, and his eyes snagged on three things: a broken glass at the foot of  the door frame, wide open windows with the screens ripped out, and the unkempt bed dotted with dry blood. Otherwise, the room was orderly. He could tell that the walls had been painted blue, but because of steady sunlight, they were now a bleached cream. The furniture was all a dark cherry color, and trinkets and dreamcatchers were hung all over the ceiling.  Myungsoo balked.  How did Sungjong stay in this roo