654,808,894.

Blink.

654,810,584.

Blink.

654,812,871.

Blink.

654,815,206.

The toll continued to rise, an endless counter of lives; lives that would soon be ended. Every blink meant the death of thousands of people. The clock was on display everywhere in the world, in the corner of every screen of every television, no matter what the channel was. Little green numbers, ticking away endlessly – as they had been for the past twenty-two days.

654,820,639.

Kim Minseok couldn’t help watching them, wondering if, one day, one of those numbers would be him. The counter moved so fast that individual numbers were impossible to see. If he ever ended up on it, his number would be there and gone a thousand times over before anyone could even blink.

But he wouldn’t be. He wasn’t a Category. He didn’t fit the description of those who were doomed to die.

Twenty-two days ago, the United Nations had announced what was in essence a mass murder to be committed on the world. The global population, they stated, was too high for environmental sustainability and for many of it’s citizens to live with a reasonable standard quality of life. Misery rates like poverty, homelessness, unemployment and sickness were continually on the rise, and it had reached a point of being unbearable for everyone.

What they meant was, there were too many people alive and not enough care to go around. Rather than trying to fix the problem – because it had been a problem for a long time, and everyone had foreseen it, but nothing had been done and now it was too late – they planned to simply remove it.

The international announcement continued on, explaining seven groups of people who would be confiscated from the public at the benefit of the rest of the world. These seven groups, or seven Categories, would make up three-and-a-half billion citizens of the Earth, who in four months would be gone. Piled into a huge rocket ship – the people aboard killed beforehand – and sent into space, where, at a safe distance from Earth, the ship would be blown up. Boom. End of story.

The spaceship was already built and readily awaiting it’s passengers. Which meant that this wasn’t a decision that had just been made overnight; the world governments had been planning this for a while. On top of that, there were already prison camps built to hold the people of the Categories for four months until they had rounded up the three-point-five billion lucky souls.

As for the groups themselves, they were divided as following (and Minseok had it memorized, because the notice regularly flashed on the screen, and there were posters lining the streets just in case you somehow forgot every few seconds):

Category 1: Volunteers. Your government will gladly accept volunteers.

(Making anyone who was suicidal or who didn’t care about dying, a Category 1.)

Category 2: Those who do not fear death.

Category 3: Those without immediate relatives.

(If you didn’t have parents or children, you were a Category 3.)

Category 4: Those without employment or residence.

(The homeless.)

Category 5: Substance abusers.

Category 6: Severe criminals.

(This consisted largely of murderers, terrorists, and rapists, who were already in prison.)

Category 7: The elderly.

(Many older citizens were Category 1s, sacrificing themselves for the sake of younger people. If you were 65+, whether you volunteered or not, you were a Category, and you had a good chance of dying.)

Seven categories. Seven groups of people who, in one fell swoop, had their fates decided for them.

Minseok remembered the first few days, seeing the announcement, reading the categories and their descriptions. Analyzing every tiny detail of his life to make absolutely sure they didn’t in any way apply to him. He had a job, a family, a clear criminal record. He had never touched drugs in his life, other than alcohol and coffee, and occasionally cough syrup and Korean herbal medications when he was sick. He wasn’t old, nor was he volunteering. And he certainly didn’t want to die. So no, he wasn’t a Category.

That didn’t stop him from living in fear, though. And chaos – everyone, everything was in chaos. And why shouldn’t they be? One in two people was doomed to die.

Every day, government officials went to homes and took people away. They came into the coffee shop in which Minseok worked frequently enough, and they would ask any strangers for I.D to confirm that they were not a Category. Minseok had been stopped more than once on the streets by these officials and been asked to show I.D. or a confirmation number – which he still didn’t have. Confirmation numbers were only given out to people whose homes had been visited and cleared. If his parents called him to their home one day, he would know why. He would be receiving one of the tattoo-marks, a code inked into his skin. Only that number certified one freedom from death four months from now.

“Stop watching that stupid clock.”

Minseok glanced at the boy beside him, eyes drawing to the black numbers pressed under his skin. Six digits printed in his wrist. His co-worker was a lucky one, his family already cleared of Category status within the first week of the announcement. Unlike most, who were living in paranoia and fear, he seemed entirely indifferent to the situation that had arose. Even before he’d gotten his Confirmation, he had supported the idea, in agreement with the state of overpopulation in the world. Minseok was a bit surprised he wasn’t classified a Category 2, because he really seemed not to care about anything, including death. Then again, Minseok didn’t really know how they tested that out on people. He’d never bothered to ask the boy about his interview, although their fellow coworker had, and gotten no response.

“The number will just keep rising,” the boy continued. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. There’s no point in wasting your time worrying about it, so stop staring at it and get back to work.”

Minseok met his dark, endlessly empty eyes, nodded once, and looked up at a boy who was cleaning off one of the café’s tables and glancing their way with a scowl. This third boy was very different from the one beside Minseok, in every single way. For one thing, he did not have a Confirmation tattoo, although he had other tattoos. Like Minseok, he hadn’t been visited yet. For another, he was a Category. And the government didn’t know it yet.

He shuffled in behind the counter, brushing past Minseok and the second boy, gaining a disapproving glare from the latter. Everything from the boy’s stunning features to his bleached-blond hair to his Category 5 status set the other off. To see them beside each other always amused Minseok – could there be two more opposite people? Kim Jongin was all elegant golden limbs and dyed hair, ear piercings and a drug habit, and when he wasn’t in work uniform, he wore shabby, casual clothes. Whereas Do Kyungsoo was small, delicately featured with natural hair, came from a clean background, and wore pristine, carefully prepped outfits. Jongin was easy to be around, even if he slacked off and took more breaks than allowed to go light up out back. Kyungsoo was unbearably organized and professional all the time. Minseok was just trying to stay afloat, having graduated from college a couple years ago and having been unsuccessful in pursuing a real career. Since he was good at making coffee and it paid the bills, he enjoyed his job. But his coworkers made his life a bit more dramatic than he expected.

The bell that hung over the door chimed, and Minseok saw Jongin wince and look towards the source of the sound, checking to see if it was one of the government officials. He relaxed at the sight of a plain customer, but Minseok smiled widely because it wasn’t just any customer.

“Luhan! I was worrying you wouldn’t show up today!”

“It’s not even eleven yet,” Luhan laughed, bounding into Minseok’s arms as if it had been years since they’d seen each other rather than a few hours. “Hey, Seokkie hyung.” He hugged Minseok briefly and let him go, taking a seat at the counter.

“You want your usual?”

“Hm,” Luhan pondered, and then surprisingly said, “No, not today. I’ll try something different – an iced Americano. Make sure it’s sweet.”

“You feeling okay?” Minseok joked as he swept around the counter and began to make his best friend a coffee. “I mean, you really don’t want a bubble tea? You’re not sick, right?”

“Very funny, ‘Seok.”

“No, really, I’ve never not made you a bubble tea. This is a first.”

“I’m just – feeling adventurous?”

Minseok frowned. “What happened?” he asked. It wasn’t forceful or angry. Just curious, concerned at Luhan’s tone. Because he knew Luhan well enough to know when he was lying, holding something in.

“I met an official today,” Luhan shrugged, acting unmoved. But Minseok could tell it bothered him. “I’m not Confirmed or anything, and you know how they are. It was nothing, really. I’m just getting stressed waiting, y’know?”

Minseok was going to ask what the official had done – he knew they tended to harass Luhan because the boy was Chinese and his family was still back in the other country, so they often thought he was making up a story to avoid getting caught – but he decided against it. Luhan clearly didn’t want to talk about it. So he simply said, “Yeah. Me too. They come in here a lot.”

“Really?” Luhan involuntarily looked at Jongin, who fortunately wasn’t paying attention. Luhan knew about Jongin’s habit just like the rest of them. He’d been hanging around the café for more than long enough to figure it out on his own, had Minseok not confided in him. Besides, Jongin hadn’t really been keeping it much of a secret until a few weeks ago. Now he just had to hope he wouldn’t be ratted out by any of the regular customers who knew him.

“Mhm,” Minseok nodded. “I hope I’m Confirmed soon. I can’t stand the stress for the next three months.”

“Yeah, your hair will turn gray, and then no one will love you,” Luhan laughed.

“Or I’ll be mistaken for a Category 7.”

“I doubt that. Not with your face,” Luhan teased, reaching to squeeze the older’s cheek. “You’ll just look like a hipster who dyed their hair.”

“You mean like Jongin?”

“I heard that,” Jongin called across the room, making Minseok chuckle. “And I am not a hipster.”

They continued their chatter about hair colours – all of them having theirs dyed except Kyungsoo, who told them they were all unprofessional, which started Jongin on a long rant – until Minseok gave Luhan his iced Americano and the Chinese boy tried it and was repulsed, ordering his bubble tea and giving the coffee drink to Minseok.

Every day, Minseok thought about how glad he was that he had Luhan. Especially now, with death looming over the world. The boy had been his constant for the past two years, since Minseok had started working at the coffee shop and met the bubble tea-drinking boy. They had connected quickly over common interests and a genuine liking towards one another, and it hadn’t taken them long to become friends outside Minseok’s work. Now, Minseok spent more time with Luhan than with anyone else – he didn’t really have many friends other than Luhan. Right now though, he didn’t care much. It just meant fewer friends to lose.

But he couldn’t lose Luhan, and he couldn’t wait until those ugly black numbers were on Luhan’s skin. So that, when the billions of people died, he would still be safe with Minseok. So that he would never be one of the numbers that Minseok couldn’t keep track of on the counter in the corner of the television screen hanging on the wall behind him.

655,225,739.

A/n: Short introductory chapter. Now you've met your main characters. Chapters won't be this short (I average at 4K words per chapter, this was exactly 2K), but this was the intro and I just wanted to get it out. Many things in store for these four boys, and more characters to be brought in next chapter! Tell me what you think below~ v(^.^)