Chapter Text
Yeosang stretches languidly, bones cracking and metal creaking. Even with mechanical eyes, his vision blurs from staring at the Compass for… How long had it been? He realizes: he doesn’t know. He slides his bulbous goggles off of his face, letting them hang around his neck.
The cyborg purses his lips at the infernal contraption. He’d never met a machine he couldn’t understand, couldn’t pick apart and piece back together. For the first time he feels utterly and completely lost. The Compass is fickle and unlike anything Yeo had ever worked with before. The only real productive thing of note he’d accomplished was rendering a rough schematic. His typical approach is surgical and methodical. If he can’t get something quite right, he’ll break that thing down to the tiniest pieces he can possibly handle, from a semi-functioning whole down to a heap of panels and screws.
However, the Compass isn’t just a faulty electromagnetic panel or ramp hinge. It’s… Something. Yeosang can’t even tell precisely what. Yes, of course he comprehends that it is a map. A map that, apparently, stores logs, too. In truth, at this point in his inspection, the cyborg is terrified of picking it apart. Hell, he barely even dares move it. Hongjoong has impressed upon him enough just how damn important the thing is to him. Yeosang wouldn’t dare risk breaking the thing for good.
“Shiff.” As if summoned by the cyborg’s thoughts, the captain’s small silhouette darkens the doorway to the bridge. He plods toward the cyborg, oversized sleeping clothes sagging on his petite form. Even though he’d obviously barely woken up, he’d gone to the trouble to make coffee, it seems.
Hongjoong extends one of the steaming mugs toward Yeosang kindly,“Any luck retrieving the logs?”
“Thanks,” Yeosang utters softly. He feels sheepish having nothing to report. Sure, it’s only been a few days, but he’s not used to not having results. Guilt pangs in his chest as he responds to the question, “Nothing yet… This thing is weird.” He nibbles his lip, eyes veering away from Hongjoong to the device. “I’m sorry, I-“
“Don’t apologize. You’ve already done way better than any of us could have,” Joong quells the deprecation before it starts. He flashes Yeosang a kind grin. “Not to mention how much you’ve helped us out with the ship.”
It’s true, Yeosang at least has that under his belt. After mapping the coordinates they’d seen, they charted their course. Usually, the independent planet would be a quick hop and a few days away. However, given the low fuel levels, ATEEZ’s course has to be a bit longer, slower, and more efficient. Yeosang doesn’t mind too much. It’s more time for the cyborg to acquaint himself with the ship - and the people on it. After assessing the fuel levels, Yeosang looked at the ship’s operations and checked out the engine room. A few minor changes did wonders for fuel efficiency. It’s nothing, really, but the entire crew acted like he’d performed a miracle when he told them that the low-econ of the trip wouldn’t cost them half their supply.
“Least I could do,” Yeosang replies because it is. “Still I’m-“
“Not going to apologize for not figuring out an ancient device in three days,” The captain cuts him off again. He narrows his eyes suspiciously, and asks, “You been up long?”
Yeosang lifts the mug to his lips and shrugs, taking a sip before replying, “Meh. Sleep comes and goes.”
The captain starts,“Is that a…” He trails off, biting down on his lip.
Yeo chuckles, knowing exactly where the question was going, “A cyborg thing?” Hongjoong’s gaze falls into his mug sheepishly.
“I guess- like- does it-“ The captain gestures vaguely, “-with your mind?”
The cyborg suppresses a laugh at that. He wonders what they think he’s done to himself. Cram motherboards into his brain or something? At least Hongjoong hadn’t asked if he had to charge himself at night like Mingi had. Though, Yeo supposes that’s better than the godawful jokes Yunho cracks. (“What’s Yeosang like for a snack?” Yunho asked one morning at the breakfast table. Yeo barely got so much as a syllable out before the canis guffawed: “Computer chips!”)
“I have some mechanisms that interact with my brain directly, yes,” Yeosang answers coolly. He knows nobody’s asking them to be rude. It’s probably foreign to most people to see someone with that much machinery at such a young age. Sure, war-worn GC vets or affluent elderly people might have lots of augments - but a virile, young adult? It’s not common outside of the colony to Yeosang’s knowledge. “I actually back all my memories up to a couple of different drives and a server.”
“Is… Is that for real or are you joking again?” Hongjoong gasps, eyes wide.
You joke that your charging port is your asshole one time , and suddenly, nobody believes anything you tell them. Also they very unsubtly check out your ass at every chance they get.
“Wh- Yes, I’m serious this time,” Yeosang replies.
“So- Wait- Am I like-“ Hongjoong sways awkwardly, “Am I being filmed right now?”
Yeo snorts (nearly shooting coffee out of his nose doing it), “Okay- Well, you make it sound so sketchy. It’s no different than what a normal has. I just have an external fallback, something I can look back to. You know, regular people have that too. It’s called a memory.”
“Right, right…” Hongjoong still doesn’t seem to buy it. “But you back yours up-“
“Tons of people with ocular implants do. It just makes it a little easier to look back at the memories, that’s all. Also, worst case scenario, if I suffer major memory loss, I can actually reload them.”
The captain concedes with a shrug, sipping his coffee. Yeosang’s more than happy to let the guy drink quietly as he continues to work on the Compass. Or, well, trying to work on it. On BH being a cyborg was sort of a given, it was regular. Unremarkable. Yeosang had stumbled across travelers plenty of times, but it never stuck out to him how different he is until now. It’s not that he minds it terribly. It’s just that they tend to ask interesting (read: inappropriate) questions.
Quirks aside: ATEEZ’s crew is nice, friendly, and fun. Though he doesn’t like to dwell on it much, they’re carving a deeper and deeper niche in his heart every day.
It’s nice, being around lively people close in age. Similar to him yet so very, very different at the same time.
Hongjoong in a word is kind. Kind, kind, kind. He’s firm but gracious; a little stubborn and a hard worker who worries in excess.
Yunho never tires. He’s the definition of energetic, but he has a calmness, too. A serenity. Something about his presence is sort of grounding, disarming even.
Wooyoung is interesting. Bright and loud, sharp and fun. But he has a softer side. It’s not something Yeosang knows well, but his intuition tells him it’s there. Above all else, the ex-blackcoat trainee is multifaceted, and Yeosang knows he’s barely scratched the surface.
Jongho has an unshakeable air to him. Nothing bothers him or gets under his skin - at least not on the outside. He’s low key, but there’s not anything that seems difficult to him. It’s impressive, really, for a regular human.
San is a bit of an enigma. Yeo can relate a bit to that feeling of “otherness”. He can tell the other’s still got some reservations about his new lifestyle. Not that he regrets it, but that he’s still treading carefully, more carefully than he wants to let on.
Not-Prince Mingi shows nothing but contradictions. Between his cute mannerisms and harsh appearance, between his fear of the menial and fearlessness when facing tough decisions.
They’re a vivid, colorful group, and Yeosang can’t believe he’s been accepted as one of their own, nail painted and all. Even though he’s so, so unlike them; even though they’ll probably ask him weird questions for days, weeks, months, years to come.
Suddenly, Yeosang recalls one more person present. The true mystery. The faceless blackcoat:
Petty Officer Park Seonghwa.
Hongjoong said that he used to figure introducing people to him quickly was ideal. However, with Yeosang he “didn’t feel like it”, insisting that the guy’s unpleasant and not worth paying mind. Yeo had yet to draw the short straw on delivering the guy a meal, hence he’s not ever seen him. Given that the captain’s most favorite nickname for him is “Petty Officer Prettyboy”, Yeo imagines he’s at least attractive.
San described him as “narrow minded and vile” while Yunho just calls him “a prick”. Most forthright about the blackcoat’s looks is Jongho who calls him “hot but evil”.
Kang Yeosang is a curious creature. Is, was, will be, always has been a curious creature, and not knowing about this Petty Officer gnaws at him more than it really should.
“I’m gonna let you work, okay?” Hongjoong’s voice rouses Yeo from his musing.
“Of course,” Yeo nods. “I’ll probably resurface for lunch. Might go down to my PC and update the schematic. Maybe tinker in my room, I dunno,” He notes a little notch he hadn’t seen prior. The captain tips his mug, and with that he departs.
Yeosang watches him leave. He waits until Hongjoong’s blond head disappears down the stairs and his footsteps recede to muted echoes. When he turns his attention back to the Compass, all it does is reminds him of the frustration he’s faced. He’s been at it for… What? Two hours? Sleep is a fickle thing for Yeosang, and he knows he hadn’t gotten much of it, that’s for certain.
Heaving a sigh, Yeosang runs down the stairs swiftly. He walks through the common area, waving to San and Mingi - apparent breakfast stragglers. The two bid him a good morning, and seconds later he’s trotting down the stairs to the bottom level.
By reflex, Yeosang finds himself in front of the twelve screen setup they’d situated in the bay’s corner. He blinks at the flickering screens confusedly, forgetting why he’d gone there in the first place.
Suddenly, something itches.
It’s not physical, but mental. The uncomfortable teasing sensation scratches at the back of his mind. Pressing his lips together, Yeosang turns to look over his shoulder. On the wall opposite his setup is a closed door. It’s plain, unmarked. There’s no indication that behind it lives a breathing human being, a whole other person, separated, isolated from the rest of the crew. Someone who proved too much a threat to let roam free.
Is he supposed to not be curious?
Yeosang swallows nervously - when did he get nervous? His eyes dart around conspiratorially, like he’s being watched. Yes, there’s security feeds, but the likelihood that someone’s watching them is basically nil. His gaze falls on the door to the brig again.
It’s not like the captain told him he can’t go there. Hongjoong never restricted any areas, he doesn’t do that. He trusts his crew enough to not pull stupid stunts or rob him clean. Seems like well-placed trust, too. He doesn’t trust Petty Officer Park Seonghwa, though.
Petty Officer Park Seonghwa, locked behind a door. That door. Over there. The one that’s almost yelling at Yeosang loudly, lit up with the glow of his fascination.
Yeo surveys the cargo bay again. Nothing. Nobody. Not even a mouse or a bug or a speck of dust. The coast is clear. Trying to look as casual as possible (for no legitimate reason, really) Yeosang crosses over to the brig door. He glances over his shoulder again before punching in the general passcode. The security console chirps, returning a green light above the projected numpad before sliding open. Yeosang steps in timidly, like he’s entering the habitat of a predatory animal.
The first thing the cyborg registers is noise. A sound. Quiet. It’s not the door closing - it’d already shut. Is it the ventilation? Something going through the piping? Yeosang strains his hearing as he takes a hesitant step inward.
“Fff… E… Mf…”
It’s… A voice.
Soft but undeniably present utterances.
Suddenly, Yeosang freezes. His entire being seizes up, stunned by he doesn't know what. Terror? Fear of repercussions from the captain? Dread? Nerves toward meeting a new person?
From his spot by the door, Yeo can’t see into the last cell quite yet. All he does see - the sight that stuns him - is a single arm reaching out between the bars. It paws at the floor blindly, as if looking for something.
Swallowing down the trepidation, the cyborg braves a few more steps forward. Shockingly, the prisoner hasn’t noticed him. At least, Yeo doesn’t think he has? The man is reaching for… Something. But not the cyborg. Probably? It’d be silly to reach for a person so far away.
So what is he reaching for. It’s almost as if he’s lost something, but what does a main in jail possibly have to lose?
“Fucking- hell…” A sharp whisper echoes down the brig, loud enough for Yeo to discern it properly. The cyborg quirks an eyebrow. The prisoner’s arm extends through the bars again, fingertips stretching to the max. “Goddamn- fucking clum…”
Yeosang follows the ends of the prisoner’s fingertips and zooms in with his ocular implants. At first, he can’t really make anything out. The guy appears to be pawing at the floor like a lunatic. However, shifting through a few different vision modes, Yeosang’s sight changes. He toggles through thermal, night vision, auric readings, ID data, and finally, composition data. That does it.
The arm: organic. A mixture of various compounds. The floor: alloy. Various metals mixed with a few minerals, process and refined, manufactured for ideal strength. There’s one little unknown, though that tips him off. An unknown, tiny object. Object, unknown: plastic.
Plastic?
Yeosang zooms in a bit more, squinting and taking a step closer. Finally, he sees it. It’s a tiny, knobby looking piece of plastic. Oddly enough, it looks… Familiar. Yeosang gets closer, reorienting his vision and squatting down so he can pick up the piece. The outstretched arm immediately draws back like anything outside the bars is fire.
Yeo picks up the tiny plastic knob and grins, extending it toward the man behind the bars, “Looking for this?”
He is, just as everyone described, pretty. Very pretty. He’s got a severity to him that would be intimidating outside in the real world. Hell, he’d be terrifying even. Though he’s been jailed for some indiscriminate amount of time, he looks flawless. His platinum blond hair falls in a perfect swoop, revealing just a flash of forehead. He’s got perfect skin and gorgeous, carved features, along with lips that look almost too rosy to be true. The eyes - obviously dyed irises - just add to the harshness of his imposing appearance. They take on the appearance of a cloudless summer sky. Not the pleasant kind, but the kind that gives no break from the blazing hot sun, stunning but merciless.
He’s almost as pretty as Yeosang. Almost.
Petty Officer Park gives Yeosang a wide-eyed stare as he scrambles back, to the corner of his cell. He half-turns around, shielding something with his body.
“Wh- Wh- Who are you?” The man stutters out.
“I’m the guy who’s giving you back your piece,” Yeosang replies, shuffling closer to the bars and extending the knob again.
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” The prisoner turns to face Yeo completely, sitting cross legged and crossing his arms in front of himself. “I think you’re confused- whoever you are.”
Yeosang glances past the PO’s sitting form into the cell. A quick vision toggle and scan confirms his suspicion.
He chuckles, “Let me guess… Real Grade Pegasus AZ-100? Thought I recognized the piece. Built a similar model myself a year or two ago.”
“That’s- Those words make no sense,” The PO huffs.
“So that thing you’re trying to hide under your cot isn’t a half-built mech model?” Yeosang quirks an eyebrow and smirks. Checkmate.
The Petty Officer’s cheeks flush deep red, and his already tense body coils tighter. He looks defeated.
The cyborg laughs, “Would you prefer that I think you’re some freak flailing around in your cell, reaching for nothing?”
“Fine,” Petty Officer Park finally concedes with a huff. His eyes struggle to meet Yeosang’s - something the cyborg finds immensely amusing. “It is, in fact, a mech model. I… I used to enjoy putting things like that together- not that you care.”
Yeosang watches the man visibly wrestle with himself. Like he’s angry at himself for speaking even that much. It must be hard, being isolated from everyone, not knowing what time it is or where you are.
“I always liked building models. Always liked tinkering in general,” He replies.
“Hm,” The PO grunts. “Never had the patience to tinker or invent. I prefer having directions, something with a clear end goal.”
Yeosang shrugs, adjusting to sit more comfortably on the floor, “Where’d you get your hands on that anyways?”
Officer Park heaves a sigh, and Yeo swears his flush deepens. Just for giggles, he checks the PO’s thermal readings - he definitely reads hotter.
“The, uh, captain, actually,” The prisoner replies strainedly. “Guess he thought it’d be funny to give me a children’s toy, but, um- well, unsurprisingly he failed to comprehend that Venusian children are advanced far beyond typical children.”
“That’s for children?” Yeosang’s brows raise incredulously.
The PO grabs something from behind him and sets it down on the floor. Through the bars, Yeosang reads the box. There’s lots of Venusian alongside the galactic universal language. In big, colorful letters, it reads: “Fun for ages 3-5!”. Damn. Venusian kids are advanced. The kit had clearly been rebranded for Venusian consumption, but it’s something that would normally be pitched to well-seasoned, adult model making hobbyists.
“Had himself a good laugh, too,” Seonghwa adds wryly, rolling his eyes.
Silence rolls in between the two of them as Yeosang observes the other. He does what he always does: analyzes, deconstructs, tries to figure out what the pieces are, how they fit together to form the whole.
Petty Officer Park looks young - about their age. Probably not much older than the crew. Obviously, he’s got just values, believes in order and has faith in law enforcement. Is a part of law enforcement. He’s neat and prim, but something about him wreaks of tryhard. His appearance, maybe. In spite of his imprisoned condition, his nails look nice and clean, his skin is clear. He likes his hair straight, not wavy it seems. It’s parted to the left - indicative of masculinity, firmness. Who is he trying so hard for? Himself? Or others? Not upper class - a middle class upbringing for sure. Probably on one of the nicer Earth colonies. Suburban. Strict, conservative values. Probably didn’t grow up with a lot of different types in his life. Only knows diversity through the Coalition, Yeo guesses. Body language reveals confidence, defensiveness, anger, sternness - yet the cross-legged position communicates openness. Perhaps, in this case, it’s curiosity.
“Do you have any business here?” The PO’s voice cuts through Yeosang’s thoughts. “Christ, and I thought you were normal…” The last bit is whispered, a low hiss, probably not meant to be heard.
The cyborg blinks confusedly, “Hm- Business?”
“You know. Any reason you’ve come here? I’ve already gotten breakfast, and I imagine it wasn’t out of a desire to return the plastic arm joint I’d dropped to me,” The slight furrow in the officer’s brow squashes into a full-fledged grimace. “Usually the captain comes along for introductions.”
Yeosang shakes his head, “No agenda, I just… I was curious,” He shrugs. It’s the honest truth. That door drove him crazy every time he sat at his hub in the cargo bay.
“Curious?” Seonghwa quirks a doubtful brow. “Are you certain? You didn’t come here to- I dunno, taunt me? Intimidate me? Gloat over getting out of some ill-founded, near-death experience?”
“Uh- No. Do they do that often?” Yeo holds back another laugh.
The PO’s azure eyes dart away sheepishly,“W-well…” He quickly regains his confidence, and from Yeo’s impression, it’s genuine, not faked. “Don’t you, like, loathe me or something? Don’t you want to curse at me for what I do? Tell me I’m scum of the universe or something?”
Yeosang tilts his head inquisitively, “No.”
“I- Wait- No?” The severe scowl on the PO’s face falters, giving way to shock. “Are you- Is this some joke?”
Yeo shakes his head, “Why would I conflate your entire being with your chosen occupation?”
“So, what, you think you’re hot shit because when you look at me you don't see a monster?”
“Wh- No,” The cyborg chuckles at that. “Is that what you think? That I came here to judge you?”
“Didn’t you? After all, you said you were ‘curious’. Wanted to look at the captive zoo animal?”
“You’re just a human the same as all of us.”
The blond raises his brows incredulously.
Yeosang elaborates, “I understand you’ve more than wronged this crew in various ways, but… I like to form my opinions based on my own experience. You can call it scientific. I’ll build off of and look at others’ data, but I prefer collecting my own.”
“Hm,” The prisoner grunts. His posture loosens - he’s relaxing a little. “I’m not a science experiment, you know.” He adds bitterly. Walls back up.
“I know,” Yeosang replies. There’s really barely any bark to the PO’s bite. Yeo wonders if he’d always been this mild or if time had worn him down. Or perhaps he appreciates the cyborg’s neutral approach. Yeo’s fairly certain if people gawked at him through bars and assumed things about him, he'd be a bit snappy, too. Of course, he wasn’t there when the PO said and did nasty things to the crew. It’s an odd place to be in: wanting to trust in your cohorts but ultimately needing your own validation.
“So, what’s your story, then?”
“Hm- Mine?” The cyborg tries to hide his shock.
“Everyone on this ship seems to have one. Running away from something, kicked out of somewhere, escaped from high security holding…”
“You think I’m a criminal?” The assertion amuses Yeosang more than anything else. He supposes that he is - though the majority of “crimes” he’d committed in BH were so normalized it was easy to forget. Augmenting unregistered parts without medical certification and installation is, technically, against the law. But everyone still does it. Given that the alternative is losing limbs or entire senses, the people of BH figure it’s reasonable to sneak around for the sake of livelihood. But it’s not like a malicious, harmful crime (unless some hack is the one constructing and installing cybernetic parts).
There was the bombing, though. The very targeted, politically fueled bombing.
Yeosang concedes: that’s definitely a crimey crime.
“Are you not?” The PO asks. “I imagine no other type would be comforting cohabitating with, well, a bunch of criminals. And a Venusian prince. And a siren- be careful with him, by the way, I think he bites. His teeth look awfully sharp.”
“I’m from BH colony- it was the ship’s last stop,” The cyborg ignores the PO’s insults.
“BH?” Seonghwa’s tone drops immediately, acridity flooding out in favor of something remnant of worry. “That’s a very dangerous place.”
“You’ve been?”
The prisoner shakes his head, “Only heard and read about. They had to withdraw police from the sub-sectors due to how serious crime had gotten.”
Yeo, a person who prides himself on staying calm, bristles slightly at that, “Is that what they said?”
“Wh- Yes. It’s well known in the Coalition. Not a place you want to be stationed. Of course- now they’re shifting everyone elsewhere. Guess it’s gotten too much even for GC forces in some areas. Still- I don’t quite trust robots. I’m surprised you got out in one piece.”
“Because of all the dangerous crime, right?” Yeosang asks wryly.
“Well, yes. Not to mention the sickness,” Seonghwa frowns.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t make it out in one piece,” Yeosang pushes down the sleeve of the sweatshirt he’d been wearing, revealing his mechanical forearm.
“Oh,” The prisoner’s voice drops. He stares openly at the thing, the fabrication in the likeness of flesh. “It’s a beautiful piece.” He murmurs, perhaps unintentionally.
“Thanks, I made it myself,” Yeosang blurts out by reflex. He’s always happy to get his work praised - he just hadn’t expected it from PO Prettyboy (as Hongjoong likes to call him).
“You lost it to the sickness?”
The question takes the cyborg by surprise, but he nods in affirmation nonetheless.
Officer Park presses his lips together as he meets Yeosang’s gaze once more, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, where I’m from the sickness isn’t nearly as deadly as your kind,” Yeosang says.
Seonghwa’s open body language and expression rapidly harden yet again, “My kind?”
“Well, blackcoats.”
“God-“ The PO huffs, “-why is it you all blame us for your problems?”
Us. So he still identifies with them. He probably still intends to get away, to continue his life as a dog for the Coalition - Yeosang takes note.
“Probably because you keep killing us on sight,” Yeo answers frankly. He’s not here to indulge the other, deceive or sugarcoat anything. He wonders what Seonghwa’s gonna say.
“On sight? Killing?” The prisoner looks taken aback and utterly baffled. “We use stun.”
Yeosang narrows his eyes at the prisoner, swapping his vision to thermal again. It’s the best thing he’s got for lie detection (without physical contact for pulse detection).
He leans forward, asking pointedly, “What do they tell you about BH?”
“Wh- That’s none of your business,” Seongwha replies defensively. “We certainly don’t kill people on sight like animals.”
Yeosang watches the heat reading closely. There’s no fluctuation. Not one. His body temp is completely stable.
It occurs to the cyborg that blackcoats might get training for this type of thing, but a Petty Officer? One with a desk job (according to the captain) at that? It doesn’t seem likely he’d employ any sort of special training to attempt to get goodwill from Yeosang. He’d probably go a bit more bleeding heart and lavish more compliments if he wanted to suck up. PO Park doesn’t seem the type above kissing ass, either, so it doesn’t seem like it’s that. Above all else - ignoring all the gadgetry and mechanisms at play in the cyborg’s head, reading things - Yeosang gets a gut feeling the guy is telling the truth. His human core feels inclined to believe the prisoner, in spite of him being a damn blackcoat. That’s just as important as anything his machinery tells him. Moreso, even.
“What if I told you they did?” Yeosang asks.
“I’d call you a liar. The Coalition doesn’t do that. That’s absolute savagery. We don’t switch our guns to fatal settings unless ordered to - under very special circumstances. It’s about due process.”
“What about your bots?”
“What- What bots?”
“The ones you have sweeping the lower sectors of BH?”
“Wh- The ones with the fucking hats?” Seonghwa scoffs. “What do they do- issue a stiff warning?”
Once again, there’s no change from the baseline. No body language quirk, no odd turn in tone, no spike in temperature. He’s telling the truth. Or, at least, his truth.
“Shit,” Yeosang breathes out. “They really don't tell you anything, do they?”
“What are you talking about? Wh-Why would the goings on of BH be relevant to me lightyears away in KQ?”
“You have no idea.”
“What I do and don’t know isn’t your concern,” The blond spits back, affronted.
Yeosang heaves a sigh. He studies the PO again, intrigued. He considers leaving then and there, letting the man’s ignorance stand. What concern is it of his, truly, whether or not a single, jailed petty officer understands what’s really happening in BH. But… He can’t help wondering. They say curiosity killed the cat.
But satisfaction brought it back.
Yeosang excels in two things: figuring out how things work and fixing them.
Viewing Seonghwa as a project, he wonders: can the petty officer be fixed? Can he be reformed?
Or is he every bit as vile and repugnant as the crew makes him out to be? Yeosang’s not sure what it is, but something inclines him to further investigate. Though the others describe Seonghwa as glacial, Yeosang detects a glint of humanity beneath that icy exterior. He may be salvageable yet. Perhaps a little bit of knowledge, some deeper understanding, can bring that humanity forth, thaw him a bit.
Or, perhaps, he’s just a prejudiced, racist prick.
The thing is: Yeo will never know which it is if he doesn’t at least try to push some buttons.
Reaching his conclusion, Yeosang frowns. It’s not nice, not something he wants to do, but he feels he has to. For science (or, more aptly: to quell his own curiosity about the man behind bars).
“I didn’t want to do this,” The cyborg mutters. He blinks a few times until a holographic projection beams out from his eyes into the cell. Seonghwa staggers back at the sudden emergence of the small scene.
It’s Yeosang’s field of vision. Not his current one, of course.
A memory.
“This was… Two-ish years ago, I think?” Yeosang says matter of factly. He frowns. He’s seen this one before. Knows what’s to come.
The projection is miniscule, a dwarf version of life as he’d seen it that very day. He’s sitting in a stall, slurping down noodles at the counter. Next to him is another one of the ramen stall regulars, Nakia, and behind the counter the same old man who’s worked the place for decades. It was such a happy place - once upon a time. Those were the best damn noodles in the sub-sector, and Yeosang had managed to secure a warehouse just a few blocks down.
Seonghwa gasps, astounded, “Holy-“
Before he can continue, a tinny sound echoes out across the brig:
“-he hell is that thing?” It’s from someone in the projection - Nakia. She was maybe a decade older than Yeosang. Had kids. Two maybe? Three?
Yeosang’s vision shifts, he glances behind them, and there it is: a spherical patrol bot. Hat and all.
His chuckle sounds muffled through the shitty speakers he’d installed in his arm (it’s not like he anticipated using himself as a media player often ).
“That’s adorable,” Yeosang of the past says. “It’s got a little- a little what’s it called.”
Nakia, however, isn’t as amused. Perhaps she knows. Maybe she’d heard. The woman looks unsettled, and the tense air around her is almost palpable - even through the projection. Yeosang wonders how he hadn’t noticed back then.
“We should go,” Nakia says. She tucks a few of her corded braids behind her cybernetic ear. The silver metal sticks out starkly against her chocolate skin. It’s not something Yeosang ever used to pay mind to, but after that event, it sort of stuck.
The projected Yeosang starts,“But why-“
“Aaaaaah!” The shrill scream squeaks through his speaker. His view jerks behind them, and the sight is jarring, to say the least. It’s like he’d turned to eat noodles one second, and upon turning back around, the rapture had started. One of those horrific, articulated tentacles had closed around some poor person’s ankle. A commotion breaks out, people watching on in horror, screaming. One person nobly tries to reach out, but it’s for naught.
“I don’t understand,” Seonghwa says. His eyes never leave the projection. “What’s- What’s all this-?“
“Oh god-!” That’s Yeosang’s own panicked yelp coming through his speaker. “What the fuck-“
As if purposefully putting itself on display, the sphere floats closer to the onlooking crowd. Its sides sever, revealing the sharpened pikes within menacingly. The body is lifted between them slowly, implicitly. Everyone watching knows exactly what’s gonna happen, but nobody can stop it. Nobody can look away, either.
The captured person’s screams distort the sound coming out of Yeo’s shoddy speaker. It’s apt, he thinks, befitting of the horrific situation playing out from his ocular implants’ projection. Seonghwa winces but, just like everyone who’d been there, he can’t look away.
“Clang.” The iron maiden closes with an imposing finality. All sound ceases for a few seconds, but it’s quickly followed by agonized wails and cries. The people who’d gathered to watch scatter.
“Yeosang!” Nakia shouts, bursting out of her chair. “Run and find shelter. Do not leave for anything, and don’t open your door for anybody, you understand?”
The old, confused Yeo didn’t know what to say, so he just mutters, “Wh-“
“Just do as I say, kid!” The woman bolts, disappearing into the screaming crowd.
The viewport glances at the old man behind the counter who looks absolutely petrified. There’s some muttered parting words - an apology and a few credits slapped onto the counter. Then Yeo sees himself running. He doesn’t even remember this part. It’d all been a blur. Somehow, bobbing and weaving through alleys in a roundabout route, he makes it without coming face to face with one of those things again. It’s not as if he doesn’t hear any, though. No, he hears the caterwaul. The yells, the cries, the begging for mercy and the robotic intonations of damnation.
He never saw Nakia again.
The ramen stall closed a few months after, too.
When Yeosang finally reaches his barely unpacked workshop, the vision starts to blur. It’s familiar and wet. That’s where Yeosang stops.
“What the hell was that?” Seonghwa asks. His voice betrays no strong emotion: not sadness, not anger, not disbelief.
“The patrols,” Yeosang replies, blinking to switch the projection. He’s not done yet - as painful as it is. One won’t cut it with someone as stubborn as the petty officer. The cyborg nods to the new projection. This time he's peeking out from the crack of a door.
“This one’s more recent. July 3017,” Yeosang says.
From the sliver of vision granted by the viewport, the two in the brig watch a similarly terrifying scene unfold. This time two people are snatched up at once after being scanned. They’d been holding hands, running, and one had been caught. Their partner refused to let them go, hence, they died as they walked: hand in hand.
Yeosang shows another one from later in 3017 - he’s behind the closed door of his workshop - wisened up enough. Though he knew he really shouldn’t, he stood by his door, listening. He doesn’t know why he always did that. Maybe it was in hopes that he could maybe save a few people. He supposed the habit eventually paid off with ATEEZ.
However, in the memory playing, the people outside his door aren’t so fortunate. The blood curdling screams are muffled, even moreso due to the faulty speakers they’re being played through. There’s sobs and begging.
When Yeosang queues up another - one from early 3018 - Seonghwa barks, “Enough.”
Yeosang quirks an eyebrow, blinking to shut off the projection, “Hm?”
“I- I’ve seen enough,” The petty officer says, more coolly. His gaze fixes to the ground, and his shoulders slump a bit.
“You really never knew about any of that- did you?” Yeosang asks again.
Seonghwa’s posture locks up again - he sits up a bit straighter and folds his arms more tightly in front of himself, “It certainly looked… Real. What you showed me.”
Stubborn.
He doesn’t want to believe it, but he’s not aggressively denying it, either.
Stubborn but not completely inflexible.
There may be hope for the petty officer yet.
On that disturbing note, Yeosang stands up. He grins a bit, satisfied with his first assessment.
The cyborg gives his parting words, “I don’t think you’re as bad as they say, Petty Officer.” He states.
Seonghwa’s body slackens a bit again - probably more from shock than anything. He’s like a cobra, coiling and uncoiling with varying tensity. It must be exhausting swinging between those two states, Yeo muses.
“You, either… I don’t believe you told me your name.”
“Yeosang,” The cyborg tells the other. “Just call me Yeosang.”
Seonghwa nods, trying it out, “Yeosang. You’re, um, not too bad yourself. In spite of the dreadful company you choose to keep.”
Yeosang laughs at that, “They’re not so bad once you get to know them.”
“Hm. Maybe so, but they’re not like you. You’re the only one who doesn’t antagonize or ogle me like some animal in captivity. You actually treat me like a human.”
“From what I’ve heard, you haven’t exactly been nice, either,” Yeosang calls him on it.
Seonghwa shrugs. He can’t deny that.
“You have a good morning, then,” Yeosang bids farewell, walking away. “Oh, and have fun with the model.”
Those are his last words before he disappears through the door. He feels satisfied, the chip of unceasing curiosity finally swept off his shoulder. Yet, in place of the one question he’d had, a dozen more pop up. As absolutely ill-founded as the thought is, Yeosang can’t help thinking:
He’ll come around.
“Mingi,” San flicks the snoozing Venusian’s nose. He leans heavily against the arm of the couch where the other is snoozing. His ankle still aches, but with a splint around it and some GC military-grade reformation serums, it’s healing quickly.
He gets a snore in return.
“Mingi,” San does it again.
Still nothing. For a guy from a high-class, royal upbringing, he sleeps heavily. Some time after breakfast, Mingi had draped himself over the sofa in the common area to read. San thought that a person like that would be hard-wired to rise with the sun and stay up. Or, at least the simulated daylight of the ship’s cabin.
Daylight.
That was the first major adjustment San had to overcome. Prior to living on the ship, he’d never thought it to be such a change (not that he’d had much time to think). Back on his home planet, beneath the surface of the sea, daylight meant something entirely different. It filtered down, obscured in the depths from distance, scattered by the water above.
Sirens - contrary to what his fellow crew thought at first - are not savages. They do utilize high technology just as much as terrainial humanoids - it’s simply different. Panels toward the surface absorb the strong daylight and filter it into energy stores used for simulated light down below. Still, that light always had an amber tone to it. Only certain places get something even resembling what true daylight is - ribbons of light dancing on the structures below. When San snuck off to the surface, he greeted the sun on his own terms, he expected it.
In the ship and on planets, the sun rose and fell of its own volition. It beamed mercilessly down below with little to no moderation and only buildings or the occasional shade structure for shelter. San found himself squinting a lot because of it. He’s somewhat acclimated, but he still finds himself rubbing his temples to alleviate his headache from time to time.
Mingi, on the contrary, seems to have no such reservations about light. Or sound. Or someone flicking his nose, apparently. Just as San’s about to wonder what will wake the Venusian up, the younger man stirs.
“Mn…”
“Mingi,” San flicks the other’s nose again - just for good measure.
“Mn… San?” The (not)prince’s face scrunches up. He stretches, his lanky body taking up the entire length of the couch as he does so. “Is something happening?”
“I’m bored,” San states flatly.
“Go bother Wooyoung,” Mingi replies.
“Didn’t feel like it.”
Mingi pouts but indulges the other by sitting up. Just as the captain had advised, San has been trying to get to know the Venusian better. In truth, he never expected it to be so simple. Mingi’s easy to get along with and likable. For someone with such grand presence, he’s incredibly captivating.
Their upbringings are vastly different, yet they’d managed to find common ground. Both had their lives plotted out from an early age: one brought up to be shaped into a deadly warrior, the other groomed to be a picture perfect monarch. They both like music, though San preferred willowy, lilting vocal things in contrast to Mingi’s preference for bass-heavy hip-hop tracks.
Most importantly: both of them sometimes felt impossibly lost in the new life they’d thrown themselves into.
Something about that soothed San more than he thought it ever would. People like Wooyoung and Hongjoong are assured and experienced in many aspects of the starfaring, fringe lifestyle they’d adopted. Yet San still ends up finding the most comfort in Mingi, in knowing that someone else feels just as lost in space as he does. Mingi’s presence in general has an almost healing effect, and San envies that. He fears that he unnerves some of the crew (though not one of them would ever dare admit such a thing).
Mingi blinks at San dazedly in wait of an answer for the ever pressing question: why the hell am I awake right now?
San answers the question nonverbally by flopping over on top of the other, nudging himself into the nook under the Venusian’s arm.
That’s another most peculiar adjustment San’s had to get used to: the sensation of touch. It’s so, so profoundly different above water, San can’t even begin to describe it. Sirens - in spite of their reputation - aren’t big on physical affection. Underwater things just feel different. Less, in a way. Sirens had evolved so much, yet their sensory intake had yet to refine itself in tune with the changes underwater. Surfaces and vibrations simply feel muddled, like a ghost of their true self. In air, everything feels so strong. So real. So true, so soft and rough and gritty and callous and fuzzy- so many things. It’s part of why San loved sneaking out in the first place. He’s always appreciated physical affection yet had few opportunities to engage in it, save for with close family or upon intimate occasions. Even then, it had been underwater, sheathed by the dulling waters in which they were submerged.
Out in the air, on the ship, everything feels more. More intense, more authentic. Not only that, but his crewmates are kind, accommodating, and more than open to physical touch. He keens at the sensation of Mingi’s warmth radiating into his own body.
It’s nice, simple and friendly. “Skinship” someone called it - Yunho, maybe.
He feels like he’d missed out it on for so many years, and being able to feel that every day makes him wonder how he went without for so long?
“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” San tells the other when he’s found a comfortable spot. The common room is quiet, empty save for them and filled with the faint hum of electronics in the background.
Mingi purses his lips, “I’ve been sleeping at weird times lately. Without a concrete schedule I just wake up and doze off at the most random of times.”
“Is… Something keeping you up at night?” The siren asks concernedly. It’d only been days since leaving BH. He can wager a guess as to what’s really going on.
In confirmation of San’s suspicions, Mingi sighs and nibbles on his plush lower lip, “It’s hard to sleep.” He admits.
San nods, “I understand.”
“I’ve just- I’ve never seen anything like that in my life,” The Venusian breathes out shakily. San nuzzles himself closer. Proximity translates to comfort, something San learned quickly from the ATEEZ crew.
“I haven’t, either. Guess we’re both experiencing a lot of first times aboard this ship,” San says wryly.
“Not a lot of fun ones, though.”
“I quite like seeing the stars,” Just the thought brings a little grin to San’s face. They’re so sparkly and endless.
“That’s true, they are really cool. When you think about it, we really could go anywhere. Just- anywhere.”
“I know it’s-“ San chuckles, “-it’s completely insane. Whole entire civilizations and colonies, all with their own unique cultures.”
“So many people. But there’s also empty space, too.”
“Empty space?” San hadn’t thought of that. To him, space is a place overflowing with life, with possibility.
“I’ve read stories- horror stories and a couple of true ones, too- about people getting lost in space. They run out of fuel or something and just… Float. Forever. One by one their ship’s functions just stop. Or- in one of them they ran out of food and started eating each other-“
“That sounds horrific!” San smacks the other for putting the thoughts into his head. So much for his untainted image of the stellar expanse.
“What?” Mingi laughs sheepishly. “It’s entertaining. There are some stories from survivors. One published a book, and it’s really interesting. Tragic, but interesting! Like- they rationed out their morsels of food so the women and children-“
“Enough!” San grabs the nearest pillow and smacks Mingi square in the face with the cushion. “You’re scaring me. Now I’m thinking: what if we end up like that?! I overheard the captain talking about low fuel levels already with Yeosang. They think I don’t understand what they’re saying, but I’m figuring it out.”
“Don’t worry, San, we’d eat you last,” Mingi snarks. “I think you’re the skinniest onboard, and you’d definitely taste fishy-“
“Thwap!” San hits Mingi again. Rude.
“Some people like fish, you know. Seafood is a delicacy from what I’ve heard.”
“I think Jongho would have better marbling than you.”
“Wh- What does that mean?”
“Oh it’s um-“ Mingi draws swirls in the air with his fingertip, “Like the white swirlies in meat- usually red meats like beef and game. They’re intramuscular fat deposits. More marbling results in a really juicy cut.”
“We don’t really eat red meat under the sea for, well, obvious reasons.”
“That- Right, that makes sense,” The Venusian chuckles.
“If marbling is indicative of fat, I imagine that I do have very little,” San lifts an arm which, he admits, is rather skinny. Probably not something anyone would pick first to eat. Not that it matters- why does it matter? What are they talking about again?
“Exactly. So, you see, we’d eat you last.”
Oh, right, the cannibalism. Fuel running out. Life support shutting off. Damnation to floating into the void of space for the rest of their short lives.
“Thwap!” San hits Mingi with the pillow again, “Stop talking about scary things! This whole- everything is- is enough as it is…” The siren sighs in defeat, letting the pillow drop limply to the floor. “It’s more than enough.”
San is prideful. He doesn’t like burdening others with his emotions or issues, but with Mingi - given that he’s having a similar experience - it’s easier. Being able to comfortably display vulnerability, even if only a sliver, alleviates so much weight from the siren’s shoulders. That’s why he feels okay frowning and burrowing his face into the other’s shoulder.
“It feels so far away, doesn’t it? The places we called home,” Mingi replies sounding almost sagely. It’s amazing, really. He acts loony the majority of the time, but occasionally his manner changes. He shows regality and intellect. Everyone on ATEEZ is, in some way, strange, and Song Mingi is far from an exception. He’s got saccharine mannerisms and a sunny personality that conceals contemplative wisdom beneath, all wrapped up in an intimidating appearance.
“It was… Weeks for me,” San replies, voice muffled by the fabric of the other’s shirt. “But it feels like a lifetime.”
Mingi nods, “I know.” He squeezes the siren’s shoulder. “You ever think about going back? Are- are you ever scared?”
“Scared? All the time,” San confesses. “But… I would never go back. I can’t, really.”
“Right- Sorry, I forgot. You- you don’t have a home to go back to.”
“Don’t apologize. We all have our reasons for being here. Having a home that uses you to further its political agenda is not much better than being without one. What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Ever think about going back to that place? To home?”
“I think…” Mingi thinks on it for a few moments, “I think one day I will return. At least make contact with my family. They think they have my best interests at heart, but I need to forge my own path. Maybe at another point in my life I’ll be ready to face them again. But not right now. I haven’t seen enough. I don’t know enough. I can’t go back with nothing to show for it.”
“I hope you can make peace with them in the future,” San says. Suddenly, the mood feels entirely too oppressive for San’s liking. This talk of futures, of getting lost at space, of life - it wears on him, so he decides to lighten the mood. “I bet, when you do meet them, you’ll have years of experience and firsthand knowledge.”
“Hopefully,” Mingi replies.
“And lots of great stories to tell.”
“We’ve already got stories , and it’s been days.”
“Maybe you’ll have learned a new skill or two.”
“Mhm.”
“Can tell them about exotic, far off places.”
“Mhm.”
“Introduce them to your handsome hybrid husband.”
“Mhm- wait- I-“
A cheshire grin spreads across San’s face, “A very handsome, tall, brunette humecanis husband-“
“Sh-shut up.”
“-who’s super tall-“
“Shut up.”
“-with a blond, curly tail-“
“Stop.”
“-and chubby cheeks-“ San laughs.
“Stop it!” Mingi starts whining.
“-and a pretty, glowing smile-“ The siren coos, entirely too content tormenting the other for his incredibly unsubtle crush.
“Stop.”
“-and a big, fat, throbbing-“
“Thwap!”
“Mmnf-“ San’s last word is stifled by a pillow to the face. Damn his swift retaliation. “Mnfnfhh-“ San tries to protest, but he’s still being smothered. Just because he can breathe underwater doesn’t mean he can get suffocated out of it!
He paws around in front of himself until he finds the other’s wrists and tries to pry them off. The two end up grappling, fighting for control over the one weapon present: the pillow. They abuse the poor cushion in the struggle, wresting it back and forth from one another and firing swift smacks. Close combat had never been San’s forte, and Mingi’s bigger than him, so the match proves to be trying. However, Mingi’s ticklish, an advantage San does not hesitate to use to gain the upper hand.
Their dignified gentleman’s duel devolves into a giggling mess quickly, and it isn’t until someone loudly clears their throat that they even notice another person is there. The two freeze, faced with the judgmental stare of their well-marbled youngest.
“How old are you?” Jongho asks jokingly, crossing over to get something from the kitchen.
“Fun doesn’t have an expiration date,” Mingi replies with a laugh.
“And you two don’t have brain cells,” Jongho jokes back.
“Do humes not have a culture of respecting their elders?” San asks facetiously.
“We do, but we also factor in the mental age. Oh- but, seriously, how’s your ankle doing, San?”
“You asked me that this morning,” San replies, sitting upright and untangling himself from the other. “It was fine then, and it’s fine now.”
“Just making sure. You know, we were all really worried about y-“
“Oof!” “Claaang!” “Thud-!” “Wh-” “Clack-clink-!!” “CLACK!” “Thud.”
It happened in a second. The entire ship jerked forward, sending all unsecured persons and possessions stumbling back. Jongho’s mug came crashing to the floor, Mingi and San practically slid off the couch.
Everybody freezes in the fallout, all wondering the same, exact thing:
What the hell was that?
A few muttered shouts echo into the common area,“Uh-” “Fuck- What was that?” “Yunho, bridge- now!” “Where’s Yeosang?”
“That… Doesn’t sound good,” Mingi mutters.
Hongjoong storms into the bridge, hair still damp from the shower and heart pounding against his chest. He trusts Yeosang, and they’ve been cruising for a few days, so he doesn’t think the ship’s erratic jolt is his fault. The question is: what the hell is it, then?
Wooyoung’s already seated in one of the pilot’s chairs when Joong steps in, and Yunho’s not far behind him. The two frantically press buttons, and all sorts of little projected warnings and screens pop up. The sight boggles Joong’s mind, but he tries his damndest to keep up. A few alarms wail in the bridge - not a good sign.
Yeosang’s close behind, taking the steps two at a time to reach the navigation hub,“What’s going on?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Hongjoong answers. He passes the nav console and asks the two sitting in the pilot seats. “Anybody have any idea what’s happening?”
“Uh- Not really, no,” Wooyoung answers, his brows knit together in concentration as he tries the controls. Joong checks the projection in front of the first mate. A lot of lines read: “unable” or “fuel levels too low for this operation”. Fuck.
“It’s- It’s like a gravitational pull,” Yunho explains from the other side. “It’s sucking us in fast.”
“From what ? There’s not a planet in sight,” Hongjoong squints outside the viewing window of the bridge. It’s nothing but open space - stars as far as the eye can see, and not a single one close to them.
“Thud.” “Squeaaak-!” “Thud!” “Wheeep! Wheeep-!” The ship jerks again, hull groaning in protest as the alarms persistently wail. Hongjoong clings to the chairs with a vice grip, gritting his teeth as his mind reels. He wants to think of a solution - needs to, but what?
What the hell can he do about some threat with enough mass to pull them in that’s somehow completely undetectable?
“Can’t we just- get away?” Joong posits. He asks more for propriety and explanation than actual curiosity. He’s got a feeling that, if he could get away, his pilot and first mate would’ve already figured that out.
“Fuel levels too low for any jumps or high velocity thrusting right now,” Wooyoung replies.
The pattering of footsteps against metal grating indicates the entrance of the others. Jongho, Mingi and San fan out, all just as frantic and confounded as the captain. Joong greatly appreciates their concern, but the bridge starts to feel claustrophobic with the entire crew present.
“What’s going on?” Jongho asks. Though he’s the youngest, he’s the one who’s got the other two clinging to him - one on each arm, cowering slightly.
“We’re getting sucked in,” Hongjoong sighs exasperatedly. “Something gravitational.”
“But I don’t see anything,” San says, squinting.
“Yeah- Nobody does,” Joong replies. It’s a lot of noise. The people, the panic, the clacking of keys and the muttered curses. “Can- Can we shoot at it? We’re armed, aren’t we?”
“Shoot at what ?” Wooyoung responds to him. He waves out to the great nothingness beyond (the great nothingness that’s somehow pulling them in). “We don’t know what the hell’s going on. It could be a ship malfunction for all we know.”
“It’s not a ship malfunction,” Yeosang insists from his post at the nav console. “I checked the engine room just after waking up, and I spent most of the morning in here. Everything’s fine. But, I agree. There could be some asteroid or celestial body we’re not seeing. Shooting might backfire on us if we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
Hongjoong frowns.
The ship lurches forward again, this time violently. There’s a lot of uttered apologies, curses, and crew crashing into one another. Hongjoong practically goes through the damn viewing window, saved by Yunho’s fist in the back of his shirt. Coughing from the force he’d hit the console with, Hongjoong reels back a bit.
“Fuck,” The captain hisses.
He doesn’t have time to do, say, or think anything else, because that’s when a light glimmers in front of them in the viewing port. It’s a tiny flicker at first, just a single spot, then the spot expands.
Slowly, the light stretches out into a ring - and through the ring, Hongjoong can see… Something. But what ?
The captain mutters,“Is that-?”
Everyone notices and leans forward, squinting to get a look.
The halo of light grows. It grows and grows and grows until through it one can see… Metal. The pace picks up, and more metal materializes through what had been a mere twinkle a minute ago. It grows exponentially, stretching out and revealing more and more metal. After a couple of minutes, the metal starts to take on a shape.
“Oh god,” Yeosang steps forward, jaw dropped in awe, in devastation. “That’s a cloaking device.”
“What?” Hongjoong squawks. He looks closer again, and he realizes that Yeosang is right. He’s not watching some structure materialize out of thin air. He’s watching something that’d always been there finally unveil itself. The light continues stretching out, exposing more and more hull.
It’s a ship.
A big ship.
Even after minutes of the cloaking falling away, the entire thing still isn’t revealed. The more of the ship Hongjoong sees, the more dread fills him. It’s massive.
Massive .
“Is that a ship?” San asks, his voice tiny.
“It’s a warship,” Wooyoung answers, tone awed. “That’s what’s pulling us in.”
Oh.
Oh no.
The realization dawns on Hongjoong, sending a chill down his spine.
“How do we stop it?” The siren asks.
“We don’t,” Yeosang says.
Fear coils around the crew tightly. It’s tense, almost suffocating, squeezing the life out of them, strangling. Hongjoong can hardly hear anything else over the sound of blood surging through his veins and his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage. He strains himself to focus. Just focus. Focus on something to get them out. Anything. It’s difficult with the way his heart hammers
“D’you think they’ll take a call?” Hongjoong asks.
“Wh-” Wooyoung looks at the captain incredulously. “Maybe?”
“I mean- they’re not coalition, right?” Hongjoong squints at the still-uncloaking warship looming closer and closer. He doesn’t see the signature white and blue or the trademark logo plastered anywhere.
“Uh- No, definitely not. I think I see some- some writing, but I can’t make it out this far away,” Wooyoung says.
“Just- Just call them. Please. Maybe this is a misunderstanding,” Hongjoong holds out hope mostly because someone has to. Wooyoung nods, obliging the command.
“Bring… bring…” The line rings for a few seconds, and the crew goes silent. Hongjoong feels a sweat form at his nape, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when the call is accepted with a soft clicking sound.
“What’s this?” The voice that recieves him is deep, a bit husky but not old. Hongjoong hears a slur in it.
“I’m Hongjoong, captain of ATEEZ - the ship you’re pulling in.”
There’s a muffled chuckle, then a response, “That so?”
“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding,” Hongjoong labors to keep his voice steady.
He’s met with silence.
Swallowing nervously, Joong adds, “Are you with the Coalition?”
Then a laugh.
“You think we’re Coalition?” The person sounds humored, and hearing him speak more, Hongjoong realizes: it’s not a slur but an accent. “That’s adorable.”
Joong coughs, asserting himself once more,“Regardless of your affiliation, we come in peace and have no business with you, so if you would kindly-”
“I’ll kindly do whatever the fuck I want-”
“Language!” A voice, much quieter in the background chides the speaker. The person closer to the input groans, and though Hongjoong only sees an audio wave, he can tell they’re rolling their eyes. A few utterances are exchanged, but nothing discernible through their speaker.
“As I said, I can do whatever I want, so why don’t you lot kindly ‘come in peace’ and hand over that pretty ship of yours, yeah?”
Wait.
What?
They want ATEEZ?
“Wha-”
“Hand over the ship real nice-like, and nobody gets hurt. Probably.”
“B-”
“Click.” The line goes dead before Hongjoong can get out another syllable.
Stunned silence fills the bridge thick, like a heavy cloud. When he finally overcomes the wave of dismay threatening to drown him, the captain speaks.
“Hide,” Hongjoong orders the others. “Just. Hide.” It’s all he can think of for now. It’s the best he can do. They’re getting pulled in closer with every passing second, and their ship is likely to become part of some gangster’s collection soon.
“No,” Jongho says. “No we can- we can fight this. We’ve gotten out of tough shit before.”
“That’s an order” Hongjoong’s eyes drift to the ship. It’s a long, massive thing, and part of its hull is above them at that point.
“Captain-”
“Go to your room, and- and let me think,” Hongjoong commands. He nods to everybody behind him, “All of you.”
“But-” “Captain-” “I can help.”
“You three, go. You stay,” He nods to the two at the pilot’s console and Yeosang. After more grumbled protest, Jongho, Mingi, and San hesitantly retreat to their rooms.
Having gotten much closer, Hongjoong can see a hangar in the distance. Its gates are wide open, waiting, beckoning them forth. Ire and dejection burn in his chest. He turns to those around him, wordlessly begging for any ideas.
Wooyoung leans forward, “That- that can’t be right.”
“What? What is it?” Hongjoong asks, jumping on the statement probably more enthusiastically than he ought to.
“You see those words up there-” Wooyoung points toward the top of the viewing window, to the warship hull stretching out above them. Finally close enough to make out what looked like vague markings, Hongjoong reads aloud:
“Stray… Boys? Boyz- with a Z?”
“Wait- isn’t that a gang?” Yeosang creeps forward, ducking to get a better vantage out the window. “But that’s not what they’re called. They’re just, like, The Boyz or something - right?”
“Uh- yeah, but- no,” Wooyoung corrects the cyborg. “This is Stray Kids.”
“It clearly says Boyz- like The Boyz.”
“Okay Boyz is after Stray, though, like Stray Kids.”
“Maybe Stray Kids sold this ship. To The Boyz.”
“Stray Kids are pretty damn cutthroat. I don’t think they’d just sell a giant ship like this.”
“So The Boyz stole it.”
“That’s not their style- plus, they’d never be able to take Stray Kids head-on.”
“But it says right there, ‘Stray Boyz’- so aren’t you both wrong?” Yunho comments.
Hongjoong looks at the painted letters again. In faded paint, he sees the letters spelling out: Stray Kids. However, in a much darker, fresher coat, the word Kids is covered with twirly letters reading: Boyz.
“Looks like whoever captains this ship fancied some redecoration,” Hongjoong observes. “The paint for the second part is a lot newer.”
“Ha!” Yeosang smirks satisfactorily. “Told you. It might’ve belonged to Stray Kids, but it’s The Boyz now.”
“Okay, I feel very out of the loop right now,” Yunho says. “Who the fuck are these guys? Like- How have we never heard of them?”
“They’re gangs.” “Gangs.” Yeo and Woo answer at the same time. They exchange looks and a nod, nonverbally giving over explanation duties to Wooyoung.
Wooyoung sighs, watching the hangar get closer nervously as he speaks, “These guys tend to run operations in big colonies, so it’s not surprising you’ve never heard of them. I’m… Acquainted.”
Joong quirks a brow at that.
“Just worked as an external intermediary from time to time!” Woo adds sheepishly. “Look- Okay, I dunno who’s actually pulling us in, but you better pray it’s The Boyz.”
“Why’s that?” Hongjoong asks.
Wooyoung sighs, explaining, “The Boyz deal in mostly white collar crime. As far as gangs go, they’re pretty prim. They deal with, like, smart stuff. Hacking banks, running illegal gambling circles, information trafficking and facilitating illegal trading- that sort of thing. I heard they’ve even got some geniuses who, like, develop drugs and mod weapons for a hefty fee. They’re cutthroat in their own way, but… Kinda proper. Probably the biggest organized crime syndicate dedicated to white collar stuff. They employ violence as they see fit, but it’s not a default, you know? They don’t like dirtying their hands.”
“Uh, sure,” Joong replies without really knowing. “So, that means, Stray Kids…”
“They’re, uh, basically the opposite. Kind of a rough lot. I’ve dealt with them, personally, and they’re, uh, friendly. A little rough around the edges.”
“They deal in… What, exactly?”
“Oh, you know. Drug trafficking. Contracting out their own as mercenaries and bounty hunters. Arms augmenting and dealing. That’s their big thing- augmenting and hacking GC weaponry, plus moving ballistic guns. They’re big on that,” Wooyoung breathes out anxiously.
“Wait- Ballistic? As in bullets- silver and lead?!” Hongjoong’s jaw drops.
“Yup.”
“ Jesus ,” The captain wrings a hand through his hair. God does he hope they’re not getting pulled in by those guys. Even the GC doesn’t default to fucking ballistic weaponry anymore. It’s mostly lasers, phasers and stunners for them. They’re bastards, but even they don’t stoop that low. Ballistic weaponry is the stuff of actual barbarians . Unlike lasers, there’s no option, no way to choose between how harmful you want to be. The best case scenario is immense physical affliction. That’s it. At least the GC pretends to give a shit and stuns first. Hongjoong shudders at the thought of getting pierced by an actual bullet.
“Yeah, like I said: let’s hope it’s the flowery ones,” Wooyoung says.
“What the fuck do we do if it’s not?” Yunho asks, tail wrapped around his leg in terror.
“Right now, there’s only one thing we can do,” The captain sighs. “Wait.”
“Maybe they’ll be nice,” Yunho adds with hopeful optimism.