Music: Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Lorde

Day 1

“I promise.”

Those are the only words that Yixing can hear, reverberating through his head, over and over and over again.

He stares out over the glade, feet planted firmly to metal and stone even though his knees feel like they’re going to give out at any second.

“Welcome to your life. There’s no turning back.”

“Be on your best behavior.”

A new sentence crawls into his thoughts, the voice behind it sending shivers down his spine.

And as Yixing blinks in the bright sunlight and feels a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck, the figures of eleven other people coming into focus, situated in a ring around the glade, each one perched on their own pillar that’s anchored to the ground, other voices chime in, one right after the other.

“There’s a room where the light won’t find you.”

Hitting him like a freight train.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

Making him squeeze his eyes shut, as if that can make the pain go away.

“So glad we’ve almost made it.”

A sharp inhale.

“Everybody wants to rule the world.”

Yixing’s eyes fly open at the sound of the sirens.

And in the split second between one breath and another, he’s running.

The world seems to move in sharp bursts, broken sounds, chaos, chaos, chaos.

And through it all, Yixing’s eyes are only looking for one thing, one face that he needs to find so desperately he feels like his lungs are going to give out, like his heart would be better off ripped from his chest and thrown to the ground, trampled beneath his thundering steps.

Screams begin to pierce the air, intermingling with the deafening screeches of the sirens still reverberating around them.

And over it all, Yixing can only hear his own voice in his head, a now distant memory, shaky and scared and stronger than he ever expected it could be.

“I promise.”

“Sehun!” Yixing screams, the sound tearing from his throat against his will as he runs, other figures blurring as they race past him, the wind seeming to pick up its pace and dark clouds accumulating overhead.

And the screaming and shouting around him seems to go on and on and on, until Yixing thinks his ears are going to start bleeding because of it, deafening, nerve-wracking, terrifying, banging against his bones and begging to be let in.

Rain begins to fall, no doubt the work of the Makers, blood now mixing with mud, a few of the figures that had before been running now lying still, still, still on the ground, and Yixing blinks water out of his eyes, strains to see as he continues to hurtle forward, one goal in mind, heart so far up his throat he might choke on it.

But his mission seems to be going steadily downhill, careening dangerously close to the edge, because he can’t seem to find that shock of dark hair he needs to see, the familiar profile, the sole source of light that he’s had in the past three months.

And despair is a dark and dangerous creature, curling its claws into Yixing’s chest and dragging him down, down, down until he’s almost ready to give in, to fall and forget, ready to lie down and stop moving like the others.

But hope is just as deadly, and Yixing keeps moving, shirt now soaked through and clinging to his skin, the familiar press of his knives against his wrists, hidden by long sleeves and strapped into place, oddly comforting.

It’s funny, how things that bring death and pain and destruction are objects of solace in a time and place like this.

Yixing keeps running, running, running, passing two bodies, then a third, each time exhaling in relief even as guilt churns at his stomach, because none of them are Sehun.

The glade is almost empty now, a couple of figures just barely visible up ahead, the other survivors having raced to the shelter of the trees surrounding the clearing, disappearing like shadows.

They’ll wait there, like wolves, fangs bared and ready to rip into anything that dares cross into their territory.

Yixing’s lungs are burning, his own ragged breaths the only sound in his ears now, and he suddenly stops, skidding to a halt in the mud, his shoes and the bottoms of his pants covered in it.

Logic is setting in now, pushing past his panic, taking over and telling him to find shelter, to find a safe place to wait.

That had been the agreement after all.

If they couldn’t find each other, they were supposed to hide.

And so Yixing blinks back the hot press of tears behind his eyelids, swallows down the urge to let loose the scream that seems to be never-ending inside his head, and turns his back on the center of the clearing, sets his eyes towards the trees.

He’s one step, two steps, a few running steps over the ground when his world is thrown off its axis, a force slamming into his side and bringing him to the ground in a painful tangle of limbs.

Within one broken gasp and another, he’s flipped onto his back, legs bracketing his hips and two hands pushing him violently down into the ground, mud and water getting into his eyes, and Yixing is blinking furiously, struggling fiercely, trying to throw off whoever’s on top of him.

But there’s a fist connecting with the side of his jaw, the sickening sound of knuckles against bone almost distracting Yixing from the pain that blooms up the side of his face, but not quite, and he shouts out.

“Shut up,” a voice hisses, a very familiar voice.

“Be on your best behavior.”

Yixing finally sees his attacker’s face.

“Baekhyun,” Yixing spits, fury lacing his voice, anger burning in his veins and under his skin, making his lips curl back into a snarl.

Byun Baekhyun, the boy from Precinct 2 with the sharp grin and the dangerous eyes.

The same one whose voice had haunted Yixing daily during their three months of training, who whispered threats but spoke with smiles.

“Yixing,” Baekhyun mocks back, and Yixing flinches when something cold and sharp touches the skin of his neck.

“What?” Baekhyun asks with a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Did you think that you were the only one who played with knives?”

He presses the blade down harder, and Yixing bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

“Show any kind of weakness, and you might as well kill yourself.”

“I thought archery was more your style,” Yixing grits out, fingers moving slowly at his side where his arms are pinned by Baekhyun’s knees, trying to reach the knives that are so close, but being careful enough not to call on Baekhyun’s attention. “You know, so you could shoot people from afar without having to get too close. That way you wouldn’t risk damaging your pretty face.”

“I knew you found me attractive,” Baekhyun says evenly, even though his eyes have gotten harder, and Yixing needs to grab his knives now, needs to get out of this situation before it’s too late.

“You know,” Baekhyun continues, knife still pressed firmly enough to Yixing’s throat that he feels it move with every small breath he takes, blood dripping warm and wet down his skin, “we could have worked together, been a team, you and me.”

He leans down closer, breath ruffling Yixing’s hair, lips brushing his ear when he speaks, and Yixing forces down a shudder.

“We could’ve burned this entire place to the ground and still been standing on top at the end.”

He pulls back just enough so that he can meet Yixing’s eyes, who stares back at him defiant