Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I; The Boy in the Red Sweater

The cool air forms dew on the leaves and branches of the surrounding plants. His breathes materialize in front of him, and he knows that when he finally gets up to face the day the only thing stopping him from becoming like those breaths and freezing is the worn red sweater he wears.

If this were another time, the sweater would be a dead giveaway, leading them to identify and catch him, but not now. Not in this time. Now everyone who follows has color taken away, so only those like him are able to see and wear color.

The boy turns, flipping onto his stomach as he presses his fingers into the soft dirt below him:

“연 준”

His fingers tingle as they disrupt the natural order of the dirt, and the familiar feel of the characters he has created is a grounding force. This is his name. Was his name, perhaps, since it’s been so long since anyone’s actually said it to him.

It’s been a long time since anyone has said anything to him, really.

When he was younger, he dared to talk. His mother would talk, but only rarely, wanting them to know how to talk in case of ‘situations that called for it’, whatever those were. She knew how important it was to be quiet, teaching him sign and using it as their main form of communication. He didn’t understand why it was so important to remain quiet back then, following her lead and signing to communicate with her, but secretly, he was still talking, wanting to use this practically forbidden form of communication, and whispering his name to himself quietly every morning, “Yeonjun, Yeonjun, Yeonjun.”

She had been taken because of him, and that’s when he stopped talking completely. He had been too close to the followers, thinking they were husks and speaking without worries.

They hadn’t been husks.

When they awoke and released the dogs, only he had been able to make it to safety. His mother had followed him up into the trees as she’d taught him, but she’d stepped on a weak branch and couldn’t catch herself. She’d fallen, and the dogs had dragged her to the followers, where they took her.

He doesn’t know what they did to her. Doesn’t want to know. But regardless, that’s when he’d stopped talking.

He rolls back over and sits up, brushing the leaves and twigs from his clothes before standing. It’s cold today, winter will be coming soon, and he shivers as a breeze makes its way into the small knot of hollowed out tree roots he’s taken residence in. He heads out, treading lightly to avoid the loud sounds the forest floor makes.

Birds flit about above his head, and when he looks hard enough he can see the small babies in their nests, not yet old enough to fly. They’re waking up too, each one trying to wake before the others in hopes of getting the best food without getting hurt.

Kind of like me, he thinks. Waking early in hopes of avoiding the followers, in hopes of having an easy day. In hopes of finding others like him.

His mother had told him of the others before she’d been taken. How there were whole communities of them hidden away, able to speak to each other and live and love without worry of the followers finding them. Without worry of being caught and turned into a husk or experimented on.

A bitterness fills him. How come they get to live so freely while I’m out here, constantly needing to move and hide, unable to talk and without company? How come they get to have a life outside of the constant worry and fear to be found, while I don’t?

He takes a deep breath, getting rid of the thoughts and continuing his walk through the forest towards what he can only hope is food or shelter. He looks down to the ground and watches as his feet make imprints in the damp sludge of the ground. Evidence that he’s real. Evidence that will wash away when the rain clouds forming above decide to let go and cry water back into the earth.

At least they have warnings. With the followers, you’re lucky if you get to hear their dogs barking before they arrive to take you.

Birds sit on the ground in front of him, pecking at the worms and grub hidden beneath the surface if the dirt, and he steps to the side to avoid disturbing them from their meals. He can see what seems to be a road off to his left, and he decides to follow along it, not walking on it, but walking with it in the safer cover of the trees and plants.

Up above, the clouds start to groan, and he knows that soon the rain will fall.

The pitter-patter of the rain masks the sounds he makes stepping through the forest, and it serves to help him as he comes upon some followers.

That means there’s more. There’s always more, he reminds himself. They’re talking, and soon enough they walk away, leaving a path open for him. He makes his way through, and a wall twice his height rises out of the dirt to block his path. Turning back around, he looks for a way to get past the wall. A tree with sturdy looking branches hangs over the wall, a perfect pathway. He gets a hold on some of the lower branches and hoists himself up, pulling himself through the tree and over the wall, before dropping down onto the thin slab of concrete which towers over the ground.

He lowers himself down the until he’s hanging off the other side and drops himself the rest of the way. A resounding “thunk” can be heard as his old sneakers hit the ground, and a truck from the followers passes by on the road, one of them poking their head out to see what the noise is, but not before he hides himself behind a worn down road barrier.

The truck passes, and he slowly climbs out from behind the barrier and continues on, crouching as he goes to try and avoid anyone on the road noticing him.

He reaches a steep ledge, and at the bottom he can see a broken-down car, overgrown with leaves and forestation. He steps forward and slides down the ledge, twigs and leaves catching on his already worn-out sweater, getting stuck for him to pull out later, and hard clumps of dirt staining his already dirty jeans. He rolls and stands, stumbling slightly as he reaches the bottom, leaning onto the car for support, but he slips off due to the rain and cuts himself on a piece of metal sticking out from the car.

He grits his teeth and presses the wound to his pants, refusing to let any sound escape despite the throbbing in his hand. Looking around, there’s nothing to put on the wound, so he continues forward, gritting his teeth and hoping he can find something to wrap it with before it gets infected.

Walking on from the car, a group of followers seem to have stopped, and are resting outside of their truck. They have dogs. Fuck.

A large puddle— It’s basically a small pond —blocks that way forward, leaving him only the option of wading through it. This is going to be noisy.

Taking in a breath, he carefully steps into the pond, placing each foot as carefully as he can in front of the last. As he gets roughly halfway through the pond without drawing attention to himself, his foot gets caught on a rock and he trips, loudly sloshing the water around him. One of the lights that the followers carry swerves to him, and the dogs start rushing at him, seeing the color in his sweater and immediately going after it as they’ve been trained to do.

He takes off running and the dogs chase him, barking as they go. The dogs are faster than him, have been engineered to be faster than any human living now could be. He runs hard, noticing a gap up ahead, a small ravine that has a wide enough gap for him to jump over and for the dogs not to follow, and from the looks of it is deep enough that they wouldn’t be able to climb down through and out the other side.

That means it’s deep enough for me to die if I fall, he thinks unwillingly. He turns and runs straight at it, pushing off the ground and jumping a bit unsteadily to make it across.

Reaching out, he falls short of the ledge and starts to fall into the gap but is able to grab onto some roots and vines hanging down from the top of the ravine. His legs swing around, and he grits his teeth, pushing his muscles to try and stop them from moving so much. He pulls himself up and climbs over the ledge onto sturdier ground, looking at his hand to make sure that it didn’t get too much worse because of this, frowning at how the stinging has gotten worse.

On the ground again, he looks back at the dogs on the other side of the gap which had nearly caught him, a childish want filling him telling him to stick out his tongue at them, taunt them a bit. He shakes away the thought. I have too little time for things like that. I have to make it to a safe shelter before nightfall so that I don’t freeze the rain.

Continuing on, he runs without stopping, trying to get as far as he can from the followers, their dogs and guns.

A clearing is up ahead with no trees to hide him from their lights, but looking at it, it seems that no matter what he has to go through here.

This is a bad idea, is all he thinks before running into the clearing, immediately hearing the engine of one of their trucks behind him. Just my luck.

Glancing back, their searchlights are sweeping the trail behind him, checking for anyone they might be able to take and make into a husk. Their light is catching up to where he is. Shit.

Jumping down from a small ledge, he hides himself underneath it in a small hollowed out area where their lights can’t reach. The truck passes by, letting him catch his breath for a few seconds, but not for long, and he quickly leaves to continue on running.

When he gets back into the trees, he sees a truck stopped with its headlight’s facing at him. Knowing he has no other choice, he tries sneaking past, hidden in the brush, but even in the brush, as soon as he gets to where the headlights cast on him, a follower gets out and starts at him, pushing him to run, and hard. Another truck passes, and seeing the commotion, a follower jumps out to join in the pursuit.

He can see a cutoff with a steep ledge, and without much thought goes for it, sliding down the nearly ninety-degree angle of the ledge. As he hits the bottom, he continues to run, hearing the shots of their guns go off behind him. Jumping down another small ledge, a light emerges from the forest, accompanied by the barks of more dogs.

Well isn’t my luck just amazing today?  He thinks sarcastically to himself, the toll of running for so long with no stop starting to burn in his legs.

Up ahead is a cliff and a large pond standing underneath by the looks of it. He doesn’t get a lot of time to think before he’s running to the cliff and jumping off, bracing himself for the impact he knows is coming.

Landing in the water, he’s stunned for a second but doesn’t have time to wait around, taking a deep breath and diving deep into the water as he swims to the shore. Hopefully, this way none their guns or searchlights will be able to get to me.

The breath in his lungs is starting to burn, and his eyes sting from being forced open in the water. He knows that if he doesn’t surface soon, he will drown. He swims as hard as he can, and the bank of the pond comes closer and closer.

Finally making it to the end, he pulls himself up and stumbles behind a patch of trees and plants, coughing into his hand and shaking as the cold of the air is amplified by the water clinging to his skin. The coughs hurt, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth a string of yellow-ish mucus comes away with it. He cringes at how bad it looks and wipes it on the tree, ignoring the way the bark scrapes at his hand and shakes himself off.

The steps he takes now squeak from his water-filled sneakers, and he can only hope that the followers are far enough away to miss it. He cringes with every sound released from the shoes. Probably have a vendetta against me or something.

A road crosses in front of him, and checking that no followers or dogs are near, he quickly makes his way across it and into an open field. The lack of cover is worrying, but a cornfield comes into view as well, and he runs for it, jumping the fence and pushing aside the cornstalks to get to the middle of the field where he’ll be safe from any of the followers lights.

In the center of the field he stops, taking a deep breath in and looking around. He can’t see anything in any direction, the cornstalks towering over him. He steps forward quietly, making his way towards whatever may be on the other side of the field.

The corn thins out, and he leans his head out, peeking to see what is in front of him.

A large abandoned barn slouches directly in front of the field, and off to his left a mill sits in disuse with rusted bars holding it up.

Deeming it safe, he steps out from the corn and heads to the barn, but is startled back, eyes widening as a clutch of chicks chirp and hop towards him, surrounding him in a bundle of yellow fluff.

He looks down at them, then at himself, trying to find what had attracted them to him, a tired, dirty boy without a purpose. The chicks peep cheerfully, hopping up and trying to get his attention back to them.

Confused by the chicks, he glances around before heading to the barn, the baby birds following after him in a cluster.

As he gets to the door, he tries to push it in, but it won’t move. Looking for another way in, he notices a chain hanging from the roof. A large door sits near the top of the chain, and he steps under the chain, before bending his legs and jumping up to grab it, slipping slightly due to the rain as he catches it.

He adjusts his grip on the chain so that it’s no longer awkward, pulling himself up with his arms until he gets the chain between his legs, then creating friction as he pushes them together and downwards, inching up the chain.

At the top of the chain, he looks over to the doorway, before readjusting his grip and catching the chain between his feet.

He leans back, then swings forwards, repeating the action a couple of times until there’s enough momentum to carry him to the door. Swinging back a final time, he lets go as the chain swoops forwards, throwing himself into the doorway and stumbling as he lands on the old wooden floors.

There’s no ladder down to the ground, so looking down, he steps back, then runs and jumps into the air, landing hard on the dirt and straw of the ground.

The chicks outside are chirping loudly and going back to the door he now sees why he couldn’t open it. A large wooden beam sits across the door, holding it shut.

He pulls on it, and the wood creaks, feeling as though it’s been fused to the metal bars holding it to the door.

It probably hasn’t been moved in years, he thinks, tugging hard at it.

Bracing his feet against the door, he tugs again, this time hearing the wood crack as it finally breaks free from the metal.

He pushes the door open and the chicks come bounding in, immediately surrounding him again and bouncing around as little energetic balls of fluff.

The inside of the barn is slightly damp, but no rain seems to be making its way through the old roof. The wood holding up the barn looks to be worn out, still, it’s seems strong enough to be safe and not break. The straw and dead grasses on the floor of the barn aren’t completely dry, despite that, as he searches around the barn, behind a generator he is able to find a patch of dead grasses that only needs for him to pick out a few pieces of wet grass for it to be dry.

The chicks stay stuck to him as he goes about setting up his place to sleep, swarming each piece of grass as it’s placed down, only to lose interest and quickly run back to him.

They’re so cute!  He thinks with what is almost a smile as they chirp at him, looking up and tripping over themselves to watch this new person.

With a place to sleep set up, food is the next priority to tackle, and arguably the ficklest thing to deal with out here. Pretty much anywhere could be a place to sleep—whether or not it was comfortable was another thing—and avoiding the followers isn’t fun, but it has become somewhat second nature after dealing with it his whole life.

If he could, he would carry a backpack full of food and other essentials with him around so that it wouldn’t be so much of a problem, but that wouldn’t work out too well. It could get caught on too many things, and although he would adjust to the weight of it easily, it would cost him agility and the ability to fit into smaller places like tunnels and crawl holes. That’s not even adding the fact that he has to go through water all the time, which would just render pretty much anything that he could carry useless after not too long.

So, no backpack for him, just scavenging for whatever he can find and salvage.

Getting a bird’s eye view of this place could help me find food, he thinks, heading over to exit the door and look for a high place. Looking around, there are a few large storage containers that tower high, but the mill seems like the highest place he can reasonably climb since it has things he can grab onto, unlike the containers which are just smooth metal.

He goes over to the mill and heads inside. The chicks try to follow him, but they can’t jump high enough, and instead end up getting stuck at the door.

Climbing in he coughs, the air in here is staler than outside, and he can feel the dust entering his lungs when he breaths. The rain clinks as it hits the hollow metal of the mill, and the little light inside makes it hard for him to navigate.

He wipes his fingers on the stair railing, a layer of dust coming off with them as he pulls them away, evidence of how long this place has been in disuse.

Grabbing the railing, he makes his way up the stairway, the loud clank of the stairs making a nice accompaniment to the sounds of the rain and looking up all he can see is a black void.

It’s kind of comforting, isn’t it?  He thinks, huffing out an almost-laugh, thinking back to when he was small and afraid of the dark. He wonders for a minute, if all children are afraid of the dark, or if it was just him. He’d had to get over it quickly, there was no place for hindering fears like that in his world, but maybe the others could fear the dark?

Don’t think of them, for all you know, they’re a fable from mom.  He shakes the thought away as he makes it to the top of the mill, pushing open the door to outside and stepping back into the rain.

The sun is setting in pretty purples and pinks, limiting his time to get food before it gets too cold for him to reasonable do anything without freezing to death.

He squints, looking out over the farm for anything that could contain any food. Slightly to his left is the barn, and just a bit farther than that is a large building surrounded by construction equipment. To his right is the corn field he came through, and looking out farther is the lake that he’d used to escape the dogs.

He walks around to the other side of the mill and his breath catches in his throat as it becomes immediately apparent just how close he was to being caught by the followers.

Their trucks are running along a road just past the farm, and husks march alongside towards wherever it is they go. A shudder runs down his spine, and he shakes off the unsettling feeling as he goes back to looking for somewhere that might have food, willing the pit in his stomach to go away.

A small house lays on the outskirts of the farmland, and what’s left of a stable stand next to it, other than that though, there’s not much else.

He sighs at the sight, knowing there’s not likely any food, but heads back down anyways, I guess if anywhere’s gonna have food, might as well check the house.  He mentally berates himself, annoyed that the climb was basically a waste of his energy.

When he steps out of the mill, the chicks immediately surround him again, happy to have their new friend back with them. His mood slightly lifts at the sight of such small, pure little things, uncorrupted by the followers and what they’ve made of the world. They follow him to the house, this time able to jump over the low door frame and come inside with him to explore.

He looks through the house, opening cupboards and drawers in search of something edible. Sadly, there doesn’t seem to be much left in the house. Well duh, it probably hasn’t had anyone living in it for years, he mentally sighs, looking up to the ceiling and running his hands through his hair before letting them drop down to his sides.

He turns back around and heads back to the barn, upset at not having food. If he could, he would eat the corn, but he can’t risk starting a fire to heat it up, and he’s made the mistake of eating raw corn before. Needless to say, he couldn’t risk being sick from undercooked corn again, especially being so close to followers.

He enters the barn and goes to his pile of dry grass and sits. The chicks jump at the opportunity, hopping into his lap and swallowing the dulled red of his sweater with their soft yellows.

He leans back slightly, startled by them, and slowly reaches down his uninjured hand, placing it on one of the chicks with the utmost of care before lightly pulling it back, repeating the action and petting the chicks slowly. The chicks jump around on him, excited, tickling him with their baby fluff.

Their high-pitched chirps have grown to calm him slightly, and despite his hunger, he finds himself smiling at their antics, knowing how lucky they are to be anything besides a human.

Compelled by a force he can’t quite understand, he tries to mimic their chirps. Perhaps it’s because they get to live without his worry, but whatever it is, he purses his lips and pushes out air, trying to chirp like they do.

Surprisingly, it works, and he’s able to copy their high-pitched sounds. The chicks look up at him, their confused state evident with their slight pause, then chirping more excitedly at the revelation that their new friend can chirp too. He smiles softly at them and chirps some more, overwhelmed by how excited they are at his new skill. He sits like that for what seems like hours, chirping back and forth with these small balls of yellow fluff, watching as they trip over themselves to get closer and try to communicate with him as best they can.

Slowly, the chicks stop jumping so much, quieting as they tire out and settling down around him. He stops chirping and lays down softly, watching as they move to huddle as close to his body as they can. His eyes crinkle as he smiles down at them, scooping some of them up into his arms as he curls into himself, nuzzling into their soft bodies as they do the same to him, warming him up.

His hunger pushed to the back of his mind as well as his injured hand, he feels and listens to the small breaths of the chicks in their sleep and the soft pattering of the rain on the roof above his head, he goes to sleep comfortably warm for the first time in years.

Chapter Text

II; The City of the Hopeless

It’s still dark when he wakes up, and in the cold of the night, the chicks have huddled closer to him.

Slowly, he sits up, placing the chicks that had been laying on him onto the ground, nudging them close together so they stay warm. The air bites at him, colder today from the rain that had lasted nearly all of last night.

He stands as quietly as he can, picking pieces of dirt and grass from his hair and clothes, wiping his hands off on his pants.

A sting shoots through his hand, and looking down, the cut from yesterday, previously crusted over with a mixture of pus and dried blood, has been reopened after being wiped on his jeans. He looks around but doesn’t see anything to spare to cover his hand with, pushing it into his side and willing the pain away.

He looks back at the chicks, seeing their small bodies all huddled together in their best attempt at staying warm. In a somewhat trance-like state he sits there, wounded hand pressed up against his side, shivering in the dark cold of the pre-winter morning, watching baby chicks as they squish their bodies ever closer together.

These small beings, who have somehow gotten closer to him and made him feel more vulnerable than he has since his mom fell from that tree. Their curious nature having hit him in a way he didn’t know possible anymore, revealing emotions he thought he didn’t have any longer.

Barking from outside is what breaks him from the trance, startling him to moving.

Without much thinking he runs to the other side of the barn, away from the loud barks.

There’s no way to get out from this side, but the barking is still getting louder. The longer he sits here, the less time he has to get out and have a chance at survival.

Looking around, he notices that the top of one of the wood planks making up the wall is hanging slightly out.

There, go now! He urges himself, jumping and pulling the plank far enough back for a gap to form big enough for him to fit through. He slips in, and as he pushes the plank back into place, he hears the door to the barn slam open, the barking of the dogs loud through the thin wall between them.

He looks through a gap between the wood planks to see the followers and their dogs walking around the barn. Looking for me.

His breath catches as he notices the chicks huddled together at the opposite wall of the barn, their small chirps drowned out in the dogs barking, the yellow of their fluff condensing into what appears to be one mass. It takes him a minute before what’s about to happen registers in his mind.

The chicks are yellow.

Yellow. The color of some rare flowers blooming in spring. A soft, welcoming color, untainted by the state of the rest of the world. Pretty.

And the dogs, they’ve been trained, they’ve been engineered, to go after anything that contain two things. Color, and life.

A wave of an emotion he can’t quiet identify washes over him, and he realizes that this is it for them.

It feels like someone’s covering his mouth, stuffing cotton into his ears and nose, forcing him to watch as the dogs turn and notice the chicks. Notice the fact that, yes, these are alive, and yes, that is color there.

The barking gets louder and the followers turn in time to see the dogs run at the chicks, not stopping for a moment as their teeth sink in.

He tries to tear his gaze away, but whatever invisible force is there keeps his eyes glued to the scene, watching as these innocent creatures, these beings he’s somehow formed a bond with in these last few hours become ruined in a couple of minutes.

Only when the dogs seem to find the chicks ruined to their liking do they stop, the followers watching it all from behind their masks. They look around the room one last time before deeming it empty and leaving, calling the dogs after them as if they hadn’t just killed innocent baby birds without a second thought.

A minute passes before he is able to finally look away from what’s happened in front of him. He pushes the plank of wood to the side and climbs out, his injured hand throbbing a bit, but he pays no mind.

A cloud of numbness settles over him as he walks through the barn, opening the door and leaving. His thoughts are a jumble, and after a couple of minutes they just stop, his mind too overwhelmed to deal with anything, just shutting off all emotions.

His feet make small splashes in the puddles left on the ground from the rain yesterday, but he doesn’t have enough thought left to care, reaching a fence and climbing over it, his grasp on the slick metal slipping a bit before he catches it again and jumps down on the other side.

Up in the distance he is barely able to register what seems to be a city. With blank thoughts he heads towards it, too numb to consider any consequences.

By the time he reaches the outskirts of the city, he has started to come back to reality. He cringes at the cold water sloshing around in his sneakers, stopping to sit on an old pipe before removing his shoes and pouring out the contents to the half-dead grass.

Really, you didn’t even have the mind to be careful about stepping in water? He thinks, huffing as he scrutinizes the damp soles. It’ll take a while to dry, but at least it’s better than nothing, he decides, putting them back on his feet and grimacing at how cold his feet still are.

As he continues to walk, he notices lumps laying everywhere. They look slimy, and it’s with mild disturbance he realizes that they’re dead pigs. They look malnourished, basically skin and bones— Sounds familiar, he thinks to himself—and looking closer he notices worms squirming and leeching off of them.

He shudders and heads forward towards a building but freezes as a loud screech sounds behind him from one of the pigs, seemingly not as dead as he thought. The pig runs at him, charging with whatever energy in may have left. His eyes widen, and without much time for thought he jumps over it, feet catching on it, causing him to tumble.

He doesn’t have much time to get up before it’s turning back around to run at him again. This time he is able to make it over the pig without much mistake and immediately runs for the building, but as he gets closer he deflates slightly at the sight of boards covering where the door would be, no gap big enough for him to force his way through present. The pig squeals behind him and he can hear it getting close. With no other choice he jumps over it and flinches as it crashes through the boards, going silent.

He carefully climbs through the new hole in the boards, looking out a couple of feet to see the pig laying on its side, breathing heavily but otherwise not moving.

As he approaches, an inexplicable anger fills him when he sees the worm squirming around. He grabs it without thought and tugs it off of the pig as hard as he can falling back a bit as it comes free from the pig. He throws it across the floor and kneels down to the pig, seeing that it’s still breathing, but its eyes are foggy, and a foreign liquid is dripping from its mouth.

A sound from his left startles him, and he jumps as he notices a couple of husks sitting. They aren’t being controlled by anyone at the moment, and the reason as to why becomes clear as he surveys the room for anything he could have missed, noticing the port used to control them hanging from the ceiling.

Coming back to what he needs to do and why he came this way in the first place, he looks for a way out of this building, but to his dismay, the only exit is the way he entered, and knowing the pigs out there could be alive, Yeah, no way.

He notices a large board that could be used as a ramp out, but it’s held in place by scaffolding. He walks to the scaffolding, pushing and pulling it as hard as he can, but to his dismay, no matter how hard he tries he can’t get the board to fall.

He looks back to the husks before deciding that he has to use them. He doesn’t like to use them, knows that they probably didn’t want anything like this to happen, but he also knows that they are literally just bodies with no one attached to them. Maybe in the past, but certainly not anymore, plus, after his first few times using a husk, he’d just started blocking out the part of his brain that thought too much about it. There’s no way he knows of where he could survive and not use the husks occasionally, they’d saved his life more than once.

He grabs a box and climbs up to the port, grabbing it and placing it on his head, the helmet immediately securing itself to his head and holding him there. He feels the connection to them create itself, and he starts moving, getting all the husks gathered to the scaffolding before grabbing it and pulling. In reality, he’s grabbing nothing, but the husks are grabbing something and he can feel it, feel as they pull and are thrown back as it comes loose, the board the scaffolding was holding crashing down.

He pushes on the port and is dropped to the ground, the connection to the husks severed as they drop limp to the ground.

The board had, luckily, fallen into very convenient placing, allowing for him to walk up it without worrying too much about stability. At the top, he is able to see how the platform he’s on drops off maybe fifteen feet, but there’s no ladder for him to use or rope for him to climb down. He grabs the ledge and drops down, a shock running up through his body as he hits the ground.

Walking on he gets to a door, which he grabs and pushes up, wincing at how loudly it bangs open.

Looking out beyond the door is the city, right in front of him.

Off to his side is a line of husks, marching into the city. Perfectly in sync. He looks to make sure that no followers are near before running up to the building nearest to him, its exposed skeleton creating a perfect place for him to climb.

Grabbing the bare metal, he swings himself up, ignoring the pulling he feels in his hand and pushing himself to get farther.

At the second floor of the building he carefully steps down from the metal skeleton onto the floor, heading over to the window leading back outside onto a roof.

Pushing the window up sends dust everywhere, and he holds back from coughing up the inhaled particles, holding them uncomfortably in his chest and waiting for the need to cough to fade.

Back outside it’s gray. It’s almost always gray, rarely any color anywhere, even in nature, but it seems that in the city this is amplified. Maybe because the cities are completely controlled by the followers, he thinks, remembering why he’s never been to one before, and questioning why he’s here now.

Scanning for somewhere to go, he comes across a section of wood on the ground covering a hole. He pushes at it and immediately it starts to disintegrate, mold having weakened it for years.

He kicks a medium-sized hole in the wood and drops down to ground level again, looking around to see if anyone’s there, but noticing after a second how even the constant marching of the husks is barely audible from here.

Moving faster now with the knowledge that he doesn’t need to be as quiet, he quickly makes his way through to a room with a locked door. It’s still in working condition, so he has to find a way to either break through or unlock it.

Looking at the control panel for the door he immediately notices the two red lights shining. A quicks scan around the room confirms his thoughts as he notices the buttons on the ground with matching red lights. Bingo.

Grabbing a box, he pushes it onto one of the buttons, but the light doesn’t turn green on the button or the control panel. Stepping onto it himself, the light immediately turns green.

So, it’s like that, is it? He thinks, looking for a way through this.

The obvious thing about this door is that it was made to only open when two living things, or things that could be considered living—i.e. husks—were placed on each of the buttons. The followers think that anyone who may have somehow escaped becoming a husk or joining them wouldn’t dare use what used to be another person to get through the door, so they don’t worry about anyone but themselves opening it.

Well clearly, they don’t know how I’ve had to live, he thinks as he steps up to a port for controlling husks, attaching it to his head and moving the husks around. Two husks come out of a back room, and with a bit of work he maneuvers them each onto a button, the lights turning green and the door opening.

He pushes himself down off of the port and blocks out the sound of the husks slapping into the concrete floor as they lose any tension in their bodies.

The sounds of husks marching is getting louder, and as he continues through the building he can hear some machinery off in the distance as well, the whirring of bots checking to make sure that all the husks are as they’re meant to be.

A ladder rises up in front of him and he reaches out, grabbing the rungs and hauling himself up. The trip up is much longer than what would only be one floor, he concludes, realizing he must be going up at least four stories.

As he gets to the top a breeze can be felt, the roof of this building unsheltered from anything the weather can do to it.

If he looks over the edge, he can see the endless line of husks stretching from one side of the city to the other, robots whirring and checking them all for any discrepancies. From up here the sound isn’t nearly as loud as it could be, but the sound is still loud, carried on the wind from outside the city where the husks line up after being found or taken.

He walks across the roof, looking to see how far out the city goes and how far he’ll have to travel. Traveling straight through seems like the shortest option as he can see the buildings thinning out in front of him, while to the sides they seem to be condensed together for miles. The route forwards looks shorter, but he can also see the way the husks are funneling in that direction, likely heading towards wherever they go to become husks, wherever the followers keep them.

But it’ll be so much shorter to go straight through the city, he thinks, biting at his nails. Logically, he knows that it’s probably not the best idea, but at this point, he’s still shaken from the morning and not functioning properly to think about just how bad it could turn out, so without much more deliberation, he starts walking forwards.

A board connects the building he’s on with the one next to it.  A remnant from when others were here?  He questions, wondering how long ago it must’ve been before the followers took over this city, the constant sound of the husk’s marching allowing him to lose himself in thought, forgetting everything around him and just walking forwards, his footsteps slowly falling in time with the husk’s.

He doesn’t know for how long he’s been walking when he’s suddenly jerked out of his zombie-ish state, realizing a second too late that nothing connects the building he’s on to the next building over.

The roof is made of metal and sloping downwards with nothing for him to grab onto to slow or stop himself. He can see where it drops off, and the fast approaching ledge doesn’t give him much time to think about how to get out of this situation, instinct taking over and causing his legs to push off as he reaches the drop off, throwing him to the next building where a rain gutter hangs, his arms and legs desperately trying to wrap around it and get a solid hold.

He slips a bit, tensing every muscle in his body as he tries to stop himself from falling any further. His grip on the gutter starts to slow him and eventually he stops, still high up off the ground, but not dead.

Not dead. That’s all that matters.

Arms and legs shaking, he pulls himself up, pulling air in and pushing air out from his lungs slowly to try and calm himself. He tumbles onto the roof and collapses in a heap as he tries to get his bearings, looking down at his hands and realizing that the cut on his hand has reopened once again after sliding down the rain gutter and burning off any scabbing that had formed over the wound.

He runs his uninjured hand through his hair and pushes himself to standing, the day is still early, and he wants to get out of this city before night if he can help it.

Crossing the roof a bit shakily, he runs forwards and jumps the small gap between the building he’s on and a balcony on the next building. He climbs over the railing and pushes the door open, stepping inside and finding himself in what looks to be a storeroom.

Why the hell would a storeroom need a balcony?  He thinks to himself, questioningly looking back outside to see if maybe he missed anything. He turns back around, looking around the room now to see if there’s anything useful.

The air is musty and looks polluted, like he can see the particles hanging in front of him. He ruffles through the shelves, seeing what he can use.

Yes!  He grabs a bottle of rubbing alcohol, shaking it to see if there’s anything left, relief filling him as he hears the liquid inside swish around.

He can’t find any cotton, and he’s sure as hell not going to risk destroying his shirt, so he screws off the cap off the bottle and pours a bit onto his cut hand, barely noticing the sting at this point. He pours some more on and rubs it in, pushing it into the gash and watching as it foams slightly, waiting a bit for it to calm down before repeating the action until the bottle is left empty and his hand looks a bit less disgusting, but maybe that’s just because it isn’t caked in dry blood and pus anymore.

Placing the now empty bottle down, he straightens himself up and heads through the door into the rest of the building, straining to hear if there’s anyone else inside as he steps out of the room.

Can’t hear anything over the sound of these machines. Annoyed, he continues forwards, walking down hallways and through rooms before reaching a staircase on the opposite side of the building. He pushes open the old door and heads down the staircase. Looking down, he can see just how many floors up he is, and for a moment he allows himself to think about what would’ve happened had he not been able to get a hold on the rain gutter when he’d fallen.

Nope. Don’t think about it.

Reaching the bottom he exits the stairwell, finding a door to what he assumes is outside and stepping through it.

As he walks through the doorway, the loud sounds from earlier finally make sense as he takes in the hulking masses of metal in front of him, spotlights swinging back and forth across the floor causing him to run for cover behind one of the concrete pillars holding up the building.

The robots loudly clang as they move, looking for anyone or anything to take to the followers. They’re old, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less dangerous to him, and as he runs in between their searchlights to get behind the next pillar, all he can do is hope that he doesn’t get caught in their lights.

An elevator stands to his left, and if he runs at just the right time he’ll be able to make it, but the door is closed, and even if he goes quickly he won’t have enough time to jerk it open.

Ignoring all sense of self preservation, he runs to the elevator as the robots’ searchlights swing away, grabbing onto the metal encasing it and climbing up as far as he can before the lights come back around, barely missing his feet.

Letting out a quiet sigh, he continues climbing and gets to the second floor, stepping down off the elevator and back onto solid ground. He runs over to the window, determined to get out of the building as fast as possible, not noticing the gap between some planks in the floor and falling through, right into the line of husks.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Get up. Pretend to be a husk. Do anything. He quickly stands, straightening out his posture and looking ahead as if he hadn’t just fallen through the ceiling and had been here the whole time.

One of the robots whirrs over to him, scanning his body position for any abnormalities. The line starts to move again, and he focuses on copying their movements, stepping in count and stopping with them, forcing his muscles to relax to match the limp way the husks walk.

Up ahead are two boxes marked on the ground, and whenever the line stops, the husks in the boxes jump and turn, proving they’re under the control of the followers. Some followers holding clipboards stand and survey them, checking off things and making sure everything is running smoothly, but that’s not why his breath catches.

They have dogs with them, and although the robots haven’t yet identified him as anything other than a husk, the dogs will be able to smell it on him, see the color of his sweater and go after him, pull him away and hurt him.

Like they hurt mom. Like they killed the chicks.  Forcing himself out of his thoughts, he belatedly realizes he’s stepped into the first box, barely able to get back into beat and jump on time with the other husks, glancing quickly over to the followers and seeing them remain normal.

He continues marching and steps into the next box, turning around and facing the husk behind him before swinging his body around once more to face forward again, the dogs getting closer as he forces himself to march as if he’s a husk and not just a panicking boy trying his hardest to get out of the city.

His breathing quickens, and before he can think one of the dogs turns its head his way, teeth baring as it puts a visual to the scent that made it look towards him, letting out a loud growl and getting the attention of the other dogs and followers.

He runs. Pushes some of the husks away as he abandons the line, sprinting towards a doorway without anything blocking it.

If running through the woods was bad, then this is ten times worse. There are followers all around him, and dogs seem to be coming out of everywhere, hearing the commotion and joining the chase to see who can catch the new toy first.

Each new room he goes through adds more to the commotion following him, and as he reaches the end of the building and sees a hanging port to connect him to husks he knows it’s his only chance and jumps from the window, falling for a few seconds before jerking to a stop as it connects to his head.

A husk rises up and without wasting anytime he moves it, making it grab the wire to the port he’s connected to and pulling it across the gap between buildings. He moves the husk across the room, pulling on the cord he’s attached to before making the husk put it down and looking around the room he’s in.

He’s probably a hundred feet above the ground, and below him is a concrete floor, a large square of it slightly lowered and marked with bright yellow tape. Followers are stood around the square, not seeming to notice him hanging above them, too focused downwards to look up.

A second passes before a loud whirring takes over the room and the square on the ground moves out of the way to reveal water.

After the square comes to a halt and the water is completely revealed the whirring sound stops, and thinking that this may be his only chance to really get out of here, he takes a deep breath and pushes himself out of the port, falling into the water below as he hears the whirring start up again and realizes that the square is moving back into place. It’s going to trap him in the water.

Plugging his nose, he squeezes his eyes shut as he hits the water, barely registering the square closing completely as water engulfs his senses.

Hurry, swim up, he thinks, pushing his arms and legs to work, hoping that there’s space with air between the water and the room above.

Gasping, air fills his lungs as he breaks the surface, treading and wondering how he’s been so unlucky and lucky in the same day.

He doesn’t waste much time on the surface, pulling in a breath and diving under the water again, looking around and swimming towards the hole he sees in the concrete wall, maneuvering his way through it before going up to the surface again, looking around at his new surroundings.

This room is much taller, probably as big as the two other rooms combined. A wall separates him from the rest of the area, but a chain hanging from scaffolding on the ceiling offers him a way up, and although he’s wet from the water, he still grabs it, slipping off a couple of times before figuring out how to grab it without slipping.

At the top of the chain he steps onto the wall and looks out at the entire room, gazing into the water which seems to cover the entire room. It’s clear, but it’s also dark, almost like polished obsidian, the lighting in the room and the depth of the water making it impossible to see much past the few plants and pieces of metal floating near the surface.

Thoughts of getting stuck underneath the water surface in his mind and a shiver runs down his spine. The thought of sinking in there, no one would ever find you.

Yeah, no way I’m going back in there.  He reaches out and grabs the chain again, this time climbing onto the scaffolding holding it, pulling his soaked form over the railing and wringing out as much water as he can from his shirt and hair, taking off his shoes and emptying any excess water he can from them before returning them to his feet.

As dried off as he can be, he walks over to the door at the far end of the scaffolding and carefully pushes it open, finding himself on another rooftop, looking out and seeing that he’s definitely closer to the end of the city, only a few more looming buildings standing between him and more forests, between him and relative safety, where he’ll only run into followers once or twice a week and not once or twice every half hour.

Screeching metal pulls his attention to the side, where a train chugs past, full of what appears to be only husks. He watches as the train moves forwards, and after a few minutes he can see it as it turns and goes into one of the last buildings in the city, disappearing from view.

I could’ve been on that train. I was almost on that train.  Noticing the breeze, he pushes the thoughts from his mind, moving his gaze to the buildings in front of him and telling his legs to start walking again.

The wind is starting to pick up again, and paired with his now wet clothes and hair shivers wrack at his body, forcing him to curl a little closer to himself as he continues forwards.

This far into the city there are no more boards connecting rooftops to one another, forcing him to jump across the gaps now, and even the smaller gaps pose the threat of death to him.

Real smart idea, wasn’t this, going through the city TOWARDS where the followers and husks are gathering. Definitely well thought out.  He’s angry at himself now, and maybe it’s uncalled for, maybe it’s because he’s cold from the wind and water, maybe it’s because he hasn’t eaten in days, maybe it’s because he watched as the chicks from this morning were ripped apart by the dogs, but he can’t stop himself from releasing a strangled cry from his throat, a shout at whatever decided he was the one who deserved to torture this way.

The second it leaves his mouth he clamps it shut, covering it with his hands and quieting himself, shocked that he would let any sound louder that a gasp leave his throat. He looks around, paranoid that someone could’ve heard him, lowering his hands and unclamping his jaw when he sees no one.

Great, and now you’re risking being caught by being loud. Just great.

Shaking his head, he quiets his mind and jumps to the next building, this time pulling open the door that leads inside, deciding he’s had enough of being outside for now, dropping down into the new room, surprised and worried when he realizes that there’s lights on in here, an indication that the followers are using this building.

Carefully he walks forwards and peeks over a ledge, cringing when he notices that, not only is there a bunch of followers, but also that they’re gathered next to water. The same type of obsidian water from before.

They’re going into a room off to the side, and slipping down the slope of the ledge he’s on, he makes his way down to where they were and peers over the edge into the water and yep, it’s the same type of water from before.

It takes him a second to notice the submarine left in the water, presumably the followers submarine. It’s just sitting there, restless, listing up and down with the water to indicate that no one’s left inside.

Slowly, he leans back from the water’s edge and steps towards the machine, still wary that it could somehow alert the followers of his presence despite him being very certain that it’s empty.

Reaching out his hand, he feels the metal of the vessel, it’s feels like ice, and its slick from the water, giving it an eerily life-like quality. The top is still open, and hesitantly hovering his hand over the opening he feels the heat from inside of the submarine radiating out.

Heating. Imagine that, actual heating.

He knows it’s stupid, could probably get him killed, but right now his thinking honestly isn’t that clearly, so without much thought on the matter, he climbs in, closing the hatch behind him and securing it with the obvious cranks.

Looking over the control board, it’s actually surprisingly easy to figure out how to operate, only a few buttons, most of the having labels, as well as two gears sticks, likely one for turning and one for forwards and back, and a lever that he guesses is to move him up and down

The warmth of the submarine is too much to let him think about leaving, so he grabs to two sticks and moves them experimentally, figuring out that he was right, with the left stick on controls direction while the right one moved him forwards. Grabbing the lever, he is again proven correct that it moves him down and removing any preamble he immediately goes down into the water, fear leaving him in the warmth of the submarine.

Angling the sub, he moves forwards, the darkness of the water seeming endless before he realizes that the ship has a switch labelled “spotlight”, quickly flicking it on. The light is bright and instantaneously drowns out the darkness immediately around him, leaving a wall of dark water just beyond the lights reach.

He steers the submarine forwards, relieved when he comes to a wall, moving up and down it to look for a way through. A particularly deep crack shows in the wall, and following it down he makes it to a hole that must be the size of one of the followers large trucks, gaping open with plenty of space for him to make it through.

On the other side of the wall fish swim around, weaving through a combination of the aquatic plants growing in the water and the floating pieces of debris from the building, chunks of concrete and old lightbulbs becoming the fish’s new habitat.

The ride continues as he drives the submarine forwards in seemingly endless water. The combination of the soft noise of the engine and the rare heat in the sub muddle his brain, seeming to grab hold of his eyelids and pull them down, luring him into an almost sleep as he watches the life outside the window flit across his vision.

Before he can fully lose himself to sleep a loud bang sounds and the submarine jerks to the side, throwing him onto the floor of the machine.

Scrambling he tried to pull himself but is barely able to get ahold of the control board before another hit rocks the sub, his white-knuckled grip on the board the only thing that keeps him from falling over this time.

Frantically he grabs hold of the gear sticks and drives as fast as he can, not bothering to look back at what hit him, but sadly that doesn’t completely work out as he’s hit again, this time from the back, causing him to slam forward on the controls, the submarine shooting forwards at top speed.

Grabbing the lever, he jerks it up, moving to the surface of the water as fast as he can make the machine go, moving a bit slower now that the power has been redirected.

Glancing out the window he catches a glimpse of flowing black against deathly white, shock running through him as the black falls out of the way to reveal a face. A human face.

Oh my god. What the fuck? What the fuck!

The person is moving inhumanly fast, it’s hair is longer than it’s body, and it’s eyes are almost as white as it’s skin, not quite the milky white of blindness, but a bright white, a knowing white that can see him clearly.

He swallows back the bile he feels rising in his throat and tries to rush faster to the surface, blocking out the image of the person swimming beside the submarine, refusing to look anywhere besides up at where he knows the top of the water lays.

The submarine is gaining speed again, having fully redirected its power and barreling upwards. Light starts to peek through at the top of the window, and he can see the rippling of the water’s surface approaching.

Speeding upwards he can’t slow down enough to stop the sub as it reaches the top of the water, causing it to jump out onto a platform, hitting down hard and pushing him to the floor again, this time slamming his face into the control board on the way down, the switches cutting his cheek on the way down.

Head spinning, he slowly pushes himself up to sitting.

Well this is just great, isn’t it? Now my hand and my cheek are cut, and I probably have a concussion. Great.

Grimacing through the pain, he grabs onto the control board and hoists himself up, walking over to the sealed hatch and opening it before climbing out, stumbling as his vision swims and head pulses.

Regaining his balance, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that the platform extends out to the end of the water and onto land. The closer he gets to solid land the less his head pounds, slowly allowing him to start thinking again, waking up from his slight daze. By the time he’s made it to the land he is able to think well enough to realize that if he doesn’t keep moving, that person, or whatever it was that they were, might reach him.

He walks along, making it to a metal staircase which he doesn’t hesitate to rush up. It extends into a walkway that extends out over more water, and with hesitation he starts making his way across it.

The grating of the walkway is sharp, and through his worn-out sneakers he can feel as it stabs upwards into his soles.

Looking down is a bad idea, he knows this. Knows that the water has brought him nothing but trouble so far, but he can’t help it as his eyes are drawn to the mirror-like surface, watching for any ripples to indicate life.

Whatever it was that he’d seen, it couldn’t have been human, right? It had been too fast, too off to be human. Not even husks that had started to decay looked like that. Still, something about it messed with him, jumbling his brain up in a way he didn’t understand.

Maybe it’s better that I don’t understand.

There aren’t any ripples, but still, unease hasn’t left his stomach since it settled in earlier, weighing down his thoughts.

When he looks up his steps slow. The walkway ends. It just cuts off, dropping into the water before rising back up out too far away for him to jump, the only other thing present being a hanging chain that seems to lead nowhere.

Desperately he looks for anything that could allow him farther, and it’s with relief that he notices the chain is on a track. There’s nothing he can see to get it to move, but he know that with enough force he can get it to slide across the track.

With no other options in sight, he steps back before running and jumping to the chain, grabbing it tightly as it jerks into motion, scraping its way towards the other side of the track.

It’s going well, but the rust buildup on the track slows down the chain, stopping it before he’s close to the other side.

This is bad. He’s not close to either side of the walkway, maybe thirty or forty feet from either side. Swinging his body he can get the chain to move slightly, but any progress he makes on a forward swing is immediately undone as he swings back. Swinging tires him out, but he’s still nowhere near either side, and the long day seems to be taking its toll on him as his muscles start to spasm, his grip slipping and dropping him into the water.

The cold-water shocks him, but he swims up, kicking his legs as hard as he can to get to the surface.

Something grabs his legs. Looking down he lets out a scream, muffled by the water filling his lungs as he sees the person from before.

No! Not now! I can’t drown!  He screams into the water, his body attempting to cough up the water it’s inhaled but only succeeding in inhaling more, kicking back as hard as he can. It’s a fruitless endeavor, the person pulling him with far more strength than he has.

The energy leaves his body slowly. He hasn’t eaten in at least two days and just wasted all his oxygen screaming and energy trying to get the person off of him, only for them to win.

He feels the energy leave him and his body lose its tension, the weight in his lungs from the water aiding them as they pull him further down into the water.

He can’t register their touch anymore, and a bright yellow light appears in his vision, pushing the last of the air from his lungs as everything stops.

Chapter Text

III; The Monster Lurking Under

He wishes it was something soft that brings him back to consciousness, soft hands, soft hair, soft words.

Instead he’s coughing, violently. The water is being thrown out of his chest with such force that it pitches him forwards, spinning him through the dark abyss. His lungs pulsing with hurt as they expel everything from them, water and any remaining air, and it almost feels like he’s drowning in reverse, which doesn’t feel any better than drowning in the first place.

The coughing stops, and it’s then that he opens his eyes, realizing where he is, and he starts to panic.

Water is still surrounding him, and when he looks over, the person is there. They’re holding onto a cable, and following the cable with his eyes, he can see it leading back to him, to a large collar around his neck emitting a yellow light.

Oh god, get it off! Get it off! GET IT OFF!!

He claws at the thing, starting to hyperventilate at the thought of it keeping him down here, trapped in the black, watery abyss.

Wait, what?

His panic about the collar and the fact that he’s underwater subsides for a second, taken over by the shock that, no, he isn’t drowning, he’s breathing.

The person swims over to him as he tries to get his thoughts under control, slowing as he jerks back away from them, shaking with the shock of everything that’s going on, his brain unable to process what’s happening to him.

Moving more slowly and carefully now, the person swims up to him, placing their hands on the collar around his neck, moving and twisting some things around before he hears a click, and the pressure on his neck is released as they lift the collar off.

Body shaking, he brings his arms up to his neck where the collar was resting just a moment ago, only to jerk them back down as he feels what’s there.

Flaps of his skin are moving on his head and neck without his control, pulsating rhythmically. There are four on each side, one leading from the top of his ear down to where his jaw and neck meet, one from the bottom of his ear to under his chin, and the last two parallel to each other on the side of his neck. Both sides of him head and neck have them, and he can feel as water is pulled in and pushed out of them with their pulses.

His eyes widen as he realizes that these are what he’s breathing from, that he’s breathing underwater, and he has gills.

The thought sends him into panic once again, which only causes him to breath harder, increasing his panic as he can’t stop thinking about the fact the he’s breathing through gills!

I didn’t have gills before. What the fuck. This isn’t natural, I’m some sort of unnatural fuck up. I’m a monster. I’m a monster! I’M A MONSTER!

The more he thinks, the more worked up he gets, vision starting to wane as his brain can’t enough oxygen, the thought of being something unnatural, nothing but a monster, no.

Monsters killed mom. Monsters are the reason I can’t live a life where I’m safe or happy. Monsters are the reason the world’s all fucked, I can’t be one!

The person, who has been floating next to him in the water as all this happens, finally moves, swimming to him and placing their hands on his neck, covering his lower gills and helping slow his breathing by limiting his oxygen intake. A few seconds pass like this, with this person helping him calm down, their hair slowly drifting with the water.

Taking a deep breath in he opens his eyes, not having realized that somewhere along the way he’d closed them.

Eyes now open, and knowing that if this person were here with intentions of hurting him, they already would’ve, he stops thinking too much about them and looks over to whoever it is that saved him.

They still have paper white skin and jet-black hair, as-long-as, if not longer than the person is tall. They have the same half-starved skinniness that he also possesses, and looking at them this closely he can see that they have gills just as he does. Their eyes are pure black, making it impossible to tell if they’re looking at him or something else, and with them they hold an eerie calmness as they sit there with him, like nothing is out of the ordinary about him turning into a monster.

With him finally calmed down, the person removes their hands from his gills, grabbing at the cord which is connected to the collar from before.

He raises his hand, not quite sure what to do, but before he has the chance to do anything the person quickly snaps their head away from him and swims off, pulling the collar through the water and leaving him alone once again at the bottom of the pool.

After everything, he can’t even start to process any of what’s going on, so, dazed and numb, he starts to swim.

The feeling of breathing through his gills is weird, but anytime he thinks about it, he starts to panic, so he quickly pushes all thoughts of that to the back of his mind.

The water doesn’t feel cold anymore after he’s been in it for so long, like it’s not even there. If he was in a normal state of mind, he’d probably wonder how long he’s actually been in the water, having blacked out for a period of time, but as it is, he only focuses on moving forwards and getting out of here.

Swim forwards. Just keep swimming forwards.

If he were to take away the fact that he’s just been somehow altered into a strange fish-human hybrid by another fish-human—against his will, he may add—it’s actually nicer down here than up above the water. Sounds are muffled, the water and its sounds being the main noise, and even that’s not that loud, if anything, it’s nice, like white noise. The sounds are actually starting to calm him. He takes in a breath—How weird is that—and starts getting into the rhythm of swimming.

It wears out his muscles a bit as he isn’t used to using them in this way, more used to running and jumping, moving around on land without the odd weightlessness of water surrounding him, but there’s still a pattern to fall into. Arms move, then legs, like he’s moving with the water, rolling with it instead of working against it.

Up ahead something shines brightly, and as he gets closer his eyes adjust to the harsh shine of the man-made lights on the wall. Swimming to the top of the wall, still under the water he sees no platform or object to grab that he could climb out of here with, so abandoning the idea, he heads down the wall instead.

Deeper under the water the lights get dimmer, so reaching out, he runs his hand down the wall to look for some sort of hole. By the time he feels a hole that he might have a chance with, there’s no light left around for him to see, and he has to navigate in the darkness.

The hole doesn’t feel big enough for him to fit through, but if he pulls some of the loose concrete off, he may be able to squeeze through.

Grabbing on, he pulls at the crumbling bits of concrete, finding it hard with the absence of sight. Bracing his feet against the wall, he grabs the concrete again and pulls, this time feeling it loosen.

Come on Yeonjun, pull, you have to get through. He readjusts himself once more, gripping onto the wall, and with all he has, pulls.

The concrete comes off, but he does as well, flying away from the wall with the force from his pulling propelling him off into the water. In the dark he can’t orient himself, looking around and seeing the same blackness everywhere.

A hum fills the water, odd, since he hasn’t heard much since he’s been down here. A light appears through the hole he made in the wall, now illuminated. He swims to it, looking through only to duck down out of sight as he spots a submarine, similar to the one he took from earlier.

Waiting for a few minutes feels like an hour, but he sits, gripping onto the wall so as not to lose where the hole is, but not moving so the sub doesn’t spot him, knowing how bad it could get. After some time he feels the water move, and hearing the humming start to fade, he pushes himself up to the hole, looking through and seeing the sub retreating up to the surface.

Knowing this may be his only chance, he pulls himself through the hole, accidentally pressing his injured hand onto a piece of concrete sticking out and quickly pulling it into his body. Despite his hand, he keeps swimming, bolting as fast as possible straight through the water, until he hits another wall.

No, not now! What if they come back? He thinks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. With only a couple of options, he starts swimming up.

The closer he gets to the surface, the more light there is, and to his relief, he sees an empty platform at the surface of the water, making his swim up with more vigor than before at this new discovery.

When he’s within reach, he grabs the platform and hauls himself up, realizing as soon as he’s lied down, somethings wrong.

Oh god, I can’t breathe! No, no no! Help!

He feels like he’s suffocating, his gills burning as he hears them make gurgling noises, the water left in them sloshing around with his thrashing.

He can’t stand up, and the uncomfortable feeling of water and air in his gills makes him push everything in them out, flattening them to his neck as he does so. Doing this alleviates the uncomfortable feeling in his gills, and with the relief of this he focuses his attention on trying to breath.

Feeling his lungs lay heavy and useless in his chest, he puts all his attention there, opening his mouth and sucking in air.

He must’ve done something right, because suddenly he’s breathing again, his lungs moving and working again, burning as they work to get oxygen through his body after being deprived of it.

With air filling his lungs again, the exhaustion from swimming and hyperventilating takes over, and adrenaline subsiding, he slips into a state of fitful unconsciousness.

———————————

In his sleep he must’ve rolled over onto his injured hand, pushing the piece of broken concrete further into it and causing him to jolt awake at the sudden pain.

He takes a shaky breath, his lungs still unused to functioning again. Looking down at his hand disheartens him, seeing just how bad it’s gotten.

To think, earlier he’d been able to clean it and keep it somewhat okay, only for it now to be dirtied by water with god knows what in it, and the wound to be forcefully reopened with a sharp piece of concrete.

Have to get the concrete out before it’s too far into my hand and I can’t, he thinks.

There’s blood dripping down his hand, and with raspy breaths, he grabs at the concrete and sharply pulls, removing it quickly with a barely restrained gasp.

The piece comes out bloodied, stained a deep red from its time in his hand.

Looking at said hand is not a pleasant experience by any measure. Bits around the edge of his wound have scabbed over, pus visible beneath their surface as a sign that it’s infected. At the center of his hand, the wound is reopened from the concrete, and congealed blood sits in globs, surrounded by newer liquid blood that’s slowly dripping down and mixing with the water still dampening him.

With not much to do about the situation he wipes his hand on his pants, grimacing and clenching his teeth at the feeling of the exposed muscle and tendons of his hand against the rough, years old denim.

He places his other hand on the ground, pushing himself up, cringing at how hard it is on his muscles, straightening and being hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea.

Just gotta get somewhere safe, somewhere I can rest for a bit.

Walking feels like a challenge, his legs wobbling and lungs rattling with each step he takes. The movement of the water from before does nothing to help him on land now, and the forceful switch from one mindset to another is jarring, an odd sensation that can’t be explained. Changing from a creature of water to a person.

No, not a person, never a person anymore. I’ve become a monster not, no matter whether I’m in or above the water, I’m still a monster.

Pushing aside his thoughts he continues to walk as best he can, knowing he’ll eventually come across something of use. Obviously, not the best plan, but what can you do when you’ve just almost drowned, been forcefully turned into a monster, and then have to continue on and get out of this damn city because you made the wrong choice of going through it instead of around it?

Makes stupid plans like `hope to run into something useful’ justifiable, doesn’t it?

Luckily enough, it seems whatever forces are out there decided he’d had enough for the day, as ahead of him lies a barely illuminated door, old and jammed into staying open, likely from before the followers took over the city.

Breathing gets easier as he approaches the door, and he takes a deep breath, thankful that his lungs aren’t making enough noise to give him away anymore.

Crouching, he looks under the door before entering, thankful for his foresight to do so as he sees a couple of followers mingling in the room.

It’s full of boxes, each with a light, either red or green, and a cord leading up to ceiling he can’t see. The followers are checking each box, fiddling with some unseen controls on them as they go over whatever’s on their clipboards.

Half an hour passes before they seem to finish, straightening up and tucking away whatever notes they have, glancing up to the ceiling before turning and talking to each other in voices too low for him to hear. They turn and exit the room, pushing a button and sealing the door behind them as they walk out to do whatever else is delegated of them.

With the coast clear, he slips under the door and into the room, looking up to whatever seems to be so interesting at the ceiling, and stops.

Oh.

The room is tall, but the actual ceiling inaccessible, covered with about twenty feet of water, suspended in the air.

Despite this being extremely jarring, it’s not the strange floating water that makes him stop, no, rather what’s being held in it, because of course. Of course the followers wouldn’t just leave them laying around in piles somewhere, how else would they stop decay, maintain their function? How would they ensure that they could still tap into the brain and control the body?

In the water, floating high off the ground, there are husks. Each attached to a cord, each cord leading to one of the boxes on the floor. They hang there like they’re dead, not that they’re really alive either, for that matter.

He feels sick looking at them and knows his face must be white with nausea again at the sight.

Thoughts he doesn’t want force their way past the walls he’s set up, maintained for years, and into his head, but he forces them down, swallowing and blinking hard to keep the tears out of his eyes as he desperately redirects his focus on how to get out.

The door is not an option, the followers sealed it from the outside, and although they can be forgetful sometimes, they aren’t stupid enough to have any chance for their precious husks to be stolen through the door. He can’t go back either, the thought of going back there, where he doesn’t even know if there’s an end to the water, a definite no.

Looking up again, he sees a large vat-like object in the water at the center of all the husks, as well as a door on it.

It’s certainly not appealing, but when has anything ever been appealing in this world, and it’s not like there’s any other option. Besides, if he’s gonna be a monster, might as well figure out how he works, right?

Now the challenge lies in getting up. He tries pulling on a cord to see if it’s stable enough for him to climb up that way, immediately deciding no as he see the husk attached to the cord he pulled on bob up and down, knowing it would’ve fallen out of suspension and onto the ground had he tried to climb it.

Searching through the rest of the room, he looks for another way to get up. There isn’t a lot around him, but looking through some old boxes in the corner, he comes across what appears to be an old generator of sorts.

There’s a handle on it, and when he pulls it, starts to make a high noise, getting louder and louder until the pressure releases, and the box shoots forward and hits the other wall.

Wow, guess my bad luck is being compensated for, he thinks, grabbing the box and hauling it to an empty space, setting it up so that the pressure will release down and hopefully take him into the water.

Pulling the handle up, he quickly climbs up onto the box, covering his ears at the high-pitched sound.

The box jerks up suddenly, knocking him of balance as it shoots him into the water and into the odd feeling of weightlessness as he’s suspended above the ground before he can fall off.

In the water now, he focuses on switching to breathing with his gills, trying to get them to open as he holds his breath.

A minute passes as nothing happens, his gills aren’t moving and he’s starting to panic.

With his focus off of trying to breath, he suddenly starts coughing, the same coughing as when he woke up from drowning, the painful, your lungs are being ripped apart, coughing.

He coughs for a minute, although it feels like forever, and when it feels like nothings left in his chest, the pain gets worse. A small stream of bubbles escapes from his mouth and nose as the pain increases, like something is wringing out his lungs.

Then it stops, and the gills on his neck unstick and flutter open.

He uncurls from the protective ball he’s rolled into and opens his eyes, breathing easily now with nothing but the phantom feeling of pain from before. His uninjured hand has deep crescent indents from where his nails were pressing so hard, and his other hand is streaming blood again, muddying the clear water around him.

Getting ahold of himself again, he swims around a bit, avoiding the husks as he gets used to the water again.

The box is still floating in the water, and not wanting to leave evidence of his being here, he swims it over to the corner where he got it from and pushes it out of the water, watching as gravity starts to affect it again and pull it to the ground, unable to hear the sound it makes as it hits the ground clearly from the water.

With that taken care of, he swims back over to the vat, looking at the door and how he can open it. There is a handle on it, but not one that looks like it’ll open the door.

Nonetheless, he pulls it, bracing his feet up against the vat as he does so, hearing a click, and then feeling it come lose.

The handle is connected to a tube with a long neon light inside, he realizes as it slides out. It’s heavy, heavier than it looks, and although he pulled it out, nothing seems to have changed about the vat, the door didn’t open.

Dropping the tube, he swims around and finds three more of these handles, pulling them out as he sees them until he comes upon the last one.

As he pulls this one out, there’s a loud clang, and bubbles pour out of the vat as a large door swings open on the bottom of it.

He swims up into the it, seeing the top of the water and grabbing the edge of vat, hauling himself over and onto the ground.

Remembering last time, he focuses on pushing everything out of his gills, hearing them squelch as the water and an odd slime are forced out. The gills sit flush to his neck again, and he goes through the motions of breathing, opening his mouth and trying to draw air in, only succeeding in making odd croaking sounds. After a few tries, and staving off any oncoming panic, he manages to draw some air into his chest, taking large breaths for a few minutes before he starts to breath like normal again.

It relieves him that his breathing isn’t as raspy as it was last time after coming out of the water.

I wonder if it’s connected to how long I’m under water or something else? He finds himself thinking, distracting any thoughts of how he’s no longer human.

This new level is much cleaner, likely more used by the followers, it also seems to have less security measures with a normal door leading out of the room, not even a lock, by the looks of it.

They probably didn’t think there would be anyone stupid enough to swim through the vats. To be fair, most people probably weren’t also altered to be able to breath underwater, but he’s trying not to think about that too much.

Through the door, he can see he’s on scaffolding again, but it’s different this time because holy shit, he’s actually above the follower’s labs, like, they’re actually doing work and experiments below him.

Don’t think about it, just get out of here, he rationalizes, steadying himself on the railing and continuing on as quiet as he can make himself.

There are glass enclosures—a lot of them—each containing what appears to be different experiment. The room is so big he can barely see the other side, and there are followers on the floor getting around in small electric carts to get from one end to the other more quickly.

As he makes his way through the room, he revels in the sounds of talking, feeling guilty for liking the human sounds produced. It’s been years since he’s heard people converse, and hearing them talk with each other, actually talk with each other, it’s nice. Even with the monotone of their voices, even though he know that they are probably saying things they have to, or things that are ingrained in them, it still somehow eases his nerves, relaxes him, makes him feel guilty for his calm.

The calm, it turns out, was something very bad—like it always turns out to be—as while he’s feeling floaty from the sounds of conversation, he doesn’t notice the loose scaffolding up ahead, doesn’t see it until he hears a loud screech, looking down just as a bar from the scaffolding falls to the floor with a loud clang, and all the eyes are drawn to him.

There’s silence for a moment, then everything bursts into noise. People are shouting, feet are slamming against concrete as they run around, someone must have pulled an alarm, because a blaring noise fills the room, bouncing off the hard walls and floors, filling every crevice with noise.

A moment too long he stands, shocked by the sudden noises, frozen from the fear of being caught, until a loud bang goes off, and he realizes they’re shooting at him.

He takes off, grabbing the railing and boosting himself forwards as fast as he can.

The scaffolding is a maze. Where before he was just going straight, now that people know he’s here he tries to take as many turns as he can without turning around or getting too lost. Trying to get to the other end of this large room while being shot out turns out to be pretty hard. Every corner he rounds seems to lead to too many new pathways, and not much time to choose if the sound of bullets bouncing off of the metal behind him is any indicator.

By the time he registers the other side of the room as being close, he’s dizzy from all the turns he’s taken. His breathing is short, and the fact that he’s just recently switched from using gills to lungs definitely doesn’t help with that.

Finally a door comes into view, and without a second thought he flings it open and runs through, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it to catch his breath, only to hear the sound of a clipboard dropping and a sharp gasp.

He opens his eyes to see more followers, sees them frozen in shock, and before they can call anyone he runs, shoving them out of the way as he gets to another door, hearing them finally start to react.

Through this new door there’s more of them, though this time they don’t hesitate in shouting for help as he pushes his way through them, stumbling and almost falling as one of them throws out their leg to trip him in hopes of stopping him.

He can hear dogs from the door he was aiming for, so looking around he quickly jumps and grabs a cord hanging from the ceiling connected to some machine on the ground.

Hauling himself up, he hears as people rush through the door, accompanied by loud barks they look around for him for a moment before looking up to see him climbing.

They yank on the cord, causing him to slip a bit, but not fall off, immediately grabbing again and pulling himself up even quicker than before. They don’t seem to know what to do as he reaches the top, but that’s when the people with guns come it, seeing him almost escaping the room and rushing to shoot at him.

The bullets surround him as he scrambles to a vent, grabbing it and starting to pull himself inside.

A sharp pain explodes in his calf, blooming into a fire as he continues to shove himself into the vent. Breath harder and louder than before, he crams into the vent and starts crawling, ignoring the searing heat from his leg as he goes, hearing the continued sound of barking and gunshots.

The vents are just as much of a maze as the scaffolding, but luckily with no one able to directly shoot at him he can just go straight.

It’s dark, but a light comes up quickly as he sees the exit to the vent close by. He can’t hear any significant sounds from followers through the vent, so he just has to hope that if anyone’s in the room he ends up in, they’re unarmed.

Crawling out of the vent, he limps over to the ledge, peering over it and into the room. There are a few people, but no one with guns, and no dogs.

Getting down now would be suicide though, and looking at the ceiling reveals pipes which look strong enough to support his weight. Having lost almost all options at this point, he can only cynically think, Hope this doesn’t end up with me dead on the floor.

Grabbing a pipe, he swings his good leg up and around it, clinging like a monkey would a branch. He works his way across the pipe like that, holding the leg that got shot up, refusing to let it drop into the sight of the followers, but unable to put any pressure on it. It’s slow work, and the room, though not small, certainly seems to be growing as he scoots his way across, the other side always a bit out of reach.

About two thirds of the way across he can hear it, dogs, coming closer, probably accompanied by more security measures meant to kill him. He speeds up, the pain from his leg flaring up, but what else can he do? Not speed up and raise his chances of death?

He makes it to the other side and is sliding into a new vent just as they get through the door. His breathing catches hearing the dogs bark and sniff around the room, the sound of heavy gear and guns shifting around as they scan the room for any sound of him.

The new vent is smaller, putting pressure on all his wounds in the most painful ways, but getting through it as fast as possible is necessary, and stopping because of something hurting at this point would only bring on death faster.

His breath rings around him in the metal, heating everything up and causing his head to spin, and although he knows that going straight will likely get him into nothing but a bad situation, he needs to get out of this vent. Now.

He forces himself out of the vent, relieving the pressure on his muscles and getting cool air into his lungs. The room is large and open, with what looks to be a loading bay on one side. The only saving grace is that the wall opposite to him has windows, and he knows that finally, he’s made it to the other end of this nauseating building and horrible city.

Even though it’s his way out, the windows are on the other side of this massive room, and he know that in a few seconds the followers and their dogs will come in, ruining his chances at an easy escape.

Getting down is the first order of business, he decides, pushing anything else to the back of his mind. There are some ladders leaning against the ledge he’s on, but those also go down to open areas, where he’ll have no cover or place to hide.

A couple of pipes almost reach the ground, conveniently near some boxes that he should be able to hide behind. They’re his best bet at this point, so crawling over to them, he grabs on and shimmies down, wary of where the few followers in the room are looking.

Barks suddenly erupt through the door as soon as he touches down behind a large box, the sound of drool dripping on the ground as they start sniffing doing nothing to reassure him.

Well, no time for a well formulated plan now, he thinks sardonically, peeking around the box and surveying the new situation. There are at least five dogs sniffing around, barking as they go to scare anyone they can. In addition to the dogs, at least twelve followers have entered the room, each with a gun or taser.

There’s no clear route to the windows at the other end of the room, a couple boxes here and there, sure, but no actual path for him to get across, and he needs to get going because the dogs are coming closer and there’s really no time!

The closer the dogs get the more his brain gets jumbled, any clear thoughts from before getting lost in his head and being replaced with a loud RUN!

So, he does.

Peeking around the box, he sees the followers turned away, and without waiting for a second, he bolts out of hiding. His leg makes it hard to run, but he knows that letting it slow him down will only get him caught, so he pushes through the pain and applies more force to his steps.

The hard sound of his feet hitting the ground, and the dog’s loud barks at having noticed him gets the attention of the followers, turning quickly and holding their guns up, aiming at him.

He hears the first shot ring out with a ping! Zipping past his arm and into a box, splintering the wood off in all directions.

After the first shot, it’s a free for all. They aim at him like he’s a carnival game, taking turns playing Who gets to shoot the dirty monster? The dogs are getting close as well, their long, unclipped paws scratching at the floor as they catch up to him.

The windows are getting closer, and weaving through boxes, he can feel the cool air from outside coming in. At the same time, he feels the hot breath of the dogs against his ankles as they try to catch him, and another bullet whizzes too close for comfort.

Getting around the last box, he finds himself in front of a window, cracked open and letting in cool mountain air.

He manages to get a hand up on the windowsill right as one of the dog’s latches onto his calf, the one with the bullet still in it, and bites deep.

A silent scream rips through him as he continues to haul himself through the window, the glass from the window shattering and embedding itself in his skin as it’s struck by a barrage of bullets. The weight of the dog still latched onto his leg makes it hard to move, but he swings his leg up and over, hitting the dog against the wall as he does so and making it let go.

A sloped metal roof leads down, and without a thought he lets go from the window ledge and slides down, still hearing the barks from the dogs and bullets hitting metal.

As he gets to the edge of the roof, he realizes his mistake, because as the roof ends, he

d

       r

           o

             p

             s

Empty air screams past him before he hits the ground with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of him. He can’t stop as he rolls down the mountain, rocks and sticks tearing at his skin and snagging his clothes, ripping everything he is apart.

It’s a steep and long trip as he goes down, feeling his already injured body endure more, and he feels it just want to give up, the pull of sleep stronger than ever.

He doesn’t notice the slope start to even out, doesn’t notice as he continues to roll and falls into water, doesn’t notice his body start to cough up his lungs as he is carried by the current downstream.

All he wants is peace, and he gets it as his ears start to ring and eyes close...

I have been overdue for sleep.

Chapter Text

IV; The Boys from Another World

Everything hurts. Everything hurts, and if he didn’t know any better, Yeonjun would think that he was hearing words, as in people actually speaking. But people don’t talk. The followers shout at him sometimes, but he hasn’t heard anyone talk since his mom…well. Things sound too fuzzy for him to actually know what’s around him other than the faint, muffled sound of running water.

He can feel something hot come in contact with his forehead. It moves away, only to be replaced a couple of seconds later with something rough and cool. The contrast startles him and he jerks a little, shrinking back and shooting open his eyes, only to immediately close them again at the brightness of the lights on his unadjusted eyes.

His brain is too muddled to create any coherent thoughts, too caught up in all the conflicting sensations. Sound is muffled, but he can acutely feel every injury, scratch and scrape on his body. Even though he knows he’s using his lungs, he can distantly register a sore aching in his gills.

Movement seems just as far away as sound does, just something faint and muffled in the background. His brain does seem to be clearing up though, finally able to form something, Moving might not be an option, but I have to open my eyes at some point. Start there.

Slowly, Yeonjun opens his eyes.

Cracking them slightly hurts, everything is bright even with the limited light he’s let in, but he holds them there, letting his eyes adjust so that he can open them more.

It’s not a quick process, opening his eyes so slightly as to let in only a bit more light, waiting for them to adjust to it, then opening them more.

Like this he’s able to fully open his eyes, only then actually registering what’s around him, and sending him straight into a panic.

Two boys are in front of him, and in another second, it registers that he’s leaning on another. They’re different than anyone else he’s ever seen. They don’t wear the masks of the followers, but they don’t carry the lifelessness of husks. Their faces are full, something Yeonjun is sure he’s never seen before. Everyone he’s ever come in contact with, follower, husk, underwater creature, his own reflection, they all show the same gaunt, underfed faces, the characteristic bagginess to their clothes, not from choice, but from being unable to eat enough to fill out the limited clothes available.

These boys aren’t like that. Their faces are round with healthiness, their clothes fit to their bodies, they look like something fake, something made-up by his mom when she’d try to get Yeonjun to sleep after a nightmare. They look alive.

Yeonjun can faintly register that he’s hyperventilating, only realizing it when his vision starts to go black again, a desperate whine escaping his lips.

No, can’t make noise! He’s able to make out a single thought in the middle of his panic.

Something is grabbing at his arm, causing him to thrash away, unable to see who or what it was. Again, he can feel as something grabs at him, this time with much more force, restraining one of his arms. His other arm is grabbed and restrained too, pinning him to the ground.

No! No no no no no no no no… The word repeats endlessly in his head. He’s never been so trapped before. There’s always been some way out, some tree to climb, pipe to slip through or car to hide under. But there’s nothing.

Distantly, he can feel as tears start running down his face. Please, I didn’t live this long to die like this. Mom, I want mom…I want mom…

Even his thoughts feel like they’re getting weaker, slowing down. He’s barely even trying to get out anymore, scrunching up his eyes and whimpering softly as fat tears make paths down his face, clearing away the dried dirt accumulated on his cheeks. Pathetic.

Somebody’s talking to him. Actually talking. Huh, maybe he didn’t imagine it earlier. I should probably listen to what it’s saying, shouldn’t I? He tries to focus on listening, understanding the almost foreign sounds.

“Shh, calm down…please…uh…” One is saying.

“Beomgyu, you have to sooth him!” Another one hisses out, scaring him and making him flinch back. What’s a ‘Beomgyu’?

Slowly, Yeonjun opens his eyes again, trying not to hyperventilate at the sight of the boys again.

“Well look at what you did, he flinched because of you!” Yeonjun can see a boy with a face like a triangle speaking holding down his right arm. The first voice.

The other boy has features larger than he’s ever seen. “He’s hurt, we need to help him now, argue later.” He belongs to the second voice and is holding Yeonjun’s left arm.

Without the boys looking at him, Yeonjun is able to keep himself in the moment. Just because they aren’t hurting you now doesn’t mean they won’t in the future, he reminds himself, trying to steady his breathing so that he can run if he gets the chance.

He gets himself ready to run, tensing his muscles, but the moment the boys look at him again the air is gone from his lungs and dread takes over again.

“No!” The triangle boy yelps, quickly moving one of his hands from Yeonjun’s arm to his mouth, covering it and limiting his air flow. Yeonjun struggles against the hands, his eyes wide in fear.

Why is he trying to suffocate me?! Yeonjun tries to breath harder through the hand but can’t. He’s too focused on trying to breathe through the hand that he doesn’t struggle. After a second, he realizes, he’s not hyperventilating anymore. His eyes widen and he stops struggling, energy draining from him. What?

Triangle boy moves his hand back to Yeonjun’s arm, smiling at eyes boy with an emotion Yeonjun doesn’t recognize. He turns his head to Yeonjun, smiling carefully. “I’m Beomgyu, and this is Taehyun.” He gestures with one hand towards eyes boy. “We found you and are going to help you.” He speaks slowly, taking care to enunciate every word.

Yeonjun shakes his head, confused. What? Why would they help me? Who are they and where did they come from? Why aren’t they doing…anything!

Eyes boy turns to triangle boy. “Maybe he can’t hear us?”

Yeonjun vigorously shakes his head at that, looking desperately at eyes boy who’s turned to him. I can hear you! Let go of my arms and I can even sign to you!

Eyes boy seems to understand that he can hear them, speaking in a quieter tone as he looks back at triangle boy. “Maybe he’s like Kai used to be. What if he doesn’t speak?”

Yeonjun nods enthusiastically at that, watching as triangle and eyes boy seem to understand. Slowly they let go of his arms, moving back a bit to give him space. He’s forgotten about running away by now, too intrigued by these people.

Triangle boy starts moving his hands, sloppily introducing himself in sign. Ah, triangle boy is Beomgyu, eyes boy is Taehyun.

Eyes b—Taehyun slaps Beomgyu’s arm lightly. “He doesn’t speak, he’s not deaf!” The admonishment startles Yeonjun, Not even the followers hurt each other. He recoils back a bit, remembering once again that he’s leaning against someone when he can’t move any further back.

Oh god! What the fuck! He scrambles away quickly but stops almost immediately, clutching at his side where pain is radiating through him. A high whine makes its way past his lips as he tries to lightly press against the wound and stop the pain. I need to stop making noise. I’ve made more noise since I’ve woken up than in years, but he can’t help it as another pained noise breaks free from his chest.

Squeezing his eyes shut Yeonjun curls into himself, making himself as small as possible so they won’t have access to most of him when they try to hurt him.

Bracing for a hit or kick, he’s surprised to feel a cautious hand on his back, immediately flinching away. He looks up from where he’s hid his head in his hands, a soft voice floating on the air reaching his ears.

“Please, we won’t hurt you.” The words are said in a tone similar to how Yeonjun’s mother would talk to him when he was scared after a nightmare. The tone he’d imagined countless times whenever he’d needed to keep going but couldn’t.

His eyes drag up the body belonging to the voice. They’re tall, taller than even Yeonjun is, and Yeonjun knows he’s tall compared to most of the followers. The hands are big as well and would probably be able to circle around his thin wrists and still leave a lot of room.

Finally, he looks up to their face. The face is of a boy. He looks young for how tall he is. His cheeks look full and soft, a bit pink, What if I touched them? Yeonjun quickly shakes the thought off, focusing on the boy again. He has fluffy hair colored a strange mix of gray and brown. I’ve never seen any follower with hair like that, can people really be born like that?

The boy smiles at Yeonjun, and small dents in his cheeks appear. What could’ve caused such odd, identical scars? This boy is so strange, unlike anyone he’s seen before.

“Please don’t freak out again, we just want to help.” He offers out his hand, seemingly waiting for Yeonjun to make his move.

The gesture confuses Yeonjun, but this boy seems much calmer than Beomgyu and Taehyun, less likely to hurt him. Yeonjun slowly uncoils himself, wincing at the pains rolling through his body. The boy smile widens seeing this, worry tinted through it.

“There we go.” He reaches to Yeonjun slowly, lightly grabbing his hand and helping Yeonjun straighten himself a bit. “We want to look at your injuries to see if we can help, will you let us?”

“What’s your name?” Yeonjun signs to the boy, wanting to understand this strange person.

The boys seems slightly surprised at Yeonjun’s communication, stuttering out an answer. “Ah—I’m Soobin, s-sorry.” Soobin rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Curiosity satisfied but still wary, Yeonjun nods. “I’ll let you help me.” He signs quickly, doing it before he can take the words back.

Soobin turns back to the other boys. “He said he’ll let us help him, come on Beomgyu.” He motions said boy forward, stepping back to let him examine Yeonjun.

“Ah, I wish Hueningie were here, he’d be so much better at this.” Beomgyu sighs out, quickly reaching out to grab at Yeonjun’s shirt, not anticipating Yeonjun’s strong flinch backwards, surprise written obviously on his face.

“Sorry, I forgot.” Beomgyu apologizes, looking a bit worried. “I’ll go slowly, I promise.” This time he reaches out carefully, keeping his palms up to show he has nothing. It doesn’t calm Yeonjun, but it’s more concern than anyone has shown for him in years.

Yeonjun still flinches back when Beomgyu grabs his shirt, but it’s smaller than before, and he doesn’t try to escape or throw Beomgyu off.

Taking off his shirt is slow work. It hurts to lift his arms, so working bit by bit, they are able to slowly peel away his red sweater from his frame. Gasps sound from the boys around him and Yeonjun looks at them, confused.

Looking down at his torso, he can see why. So that’s why I hurt so much, he thinks drearily to himself. Bruises are spread across his chest and stomach, ranging from deep purples to a mix of puke-ish green and yellow. Scrapes run all over him, adding the dark red color of blood to the canvas of his injuries. Only a few bits of his skin remain untouched, clear of harm. I guess I did fall off that roof…and roll down the mountain. Yeonjun thinks to himself, remembering before he fainted.

Beomgyu looks much less sure of himself now, a furrow in between his brows forming as he tries to figure out what to do first.

“How about this,” He grimaces and looks away. “do you have any other injuries we need to know about?” Diverting his attention from the injuries in front of him.

Yeonjun thinks for a second, nodding cautiously. He points to his leg, remembering he got shot before he blacked out.

Understanding, Beomgyu reaches to Yeonjun’s pants and rolls them up with difficulty, blood sticking them to Yeonjun’s skin. Beomgyu’s eyes widen as he sees the bullet wound. “I…what…how are you this injured?” Yeonjun shrugs, not sure what to answer. Guess I just made a mistake with how to get through the city.

Turning Yeonjun’s leg this way and that, Beomgyu looks like he’s trying to find the best angle to go about this. The bullet is, luckily, not still stuck in his leg, but the wound is slowly oozing with blood. Yeonjun looks at the boy, tired of his taking so long and points at Beomgyu’s shirt. It’s a thick sweater, but Yeonjun can see a thinner undershirt peeking out from under it.

Beomgyu looks down at his shirt, then up at Yeonjun. He takes it off, looking back to Yeonjun for confirmation. Nodding, Yeonjun mimes tearing the bottom of the undershirt off. Beomgyu cringes, whining the entire time he rips of a strip from his shirt.

When he’s finally done, Yeonjun reaches out to grab it but flinches back as pain pulses through him. He leans back, letting out a huff through his nose. Can’t even fix myself when I need to. He flicks his hair out of his eyes, annoyed, motioning Beomgyu to roll up the strip. Beomgyu does so hesitantly, waiting for Yeonjun to nod at him.

He imitates putting the fabric into the bullet wound and waits for Beomgyu to do so, trying to relax the muscle as much as he can so it goes in smoothly. There’s an unpleasant friction created, and Yeonjun grabs onto the nearest thing to him, his red sweater. He clenches it carefully in his hands, trying not to ruin it while he staves off his cries of pain and waits for Beomgyu to finish.

Done with the bullet wound, Beomgyu makes a plan. “We’ll work our way up then.” Beomgyu decides. Yeonjun nods, it seems like a good plan to him, something he would do. He tenses again when Beomgyu reaches out to him.

The entire ordeal is not pleasant for anyone. Beomgyu knows generally what he’s doing, but he it doesn’t seem like he’s ever really dealt with anyone in a legitimately bad condition.

Yeonjun is doing the worst out of all of them. He tries not to move, but he can’t help but writhe around as Beomgyu pokes and prods at different parts of him. He can’t escape the pain. If he moves away from the pain Beomgyu is making, he just triggers another part of his body to flare up, rolling onto one bruise or another.

Soobin and Taehyun had tried to get closer to Yeonjun to comfort him, but had immediately backed away when he’d retreated back from them, causing Beomgyu to slip and hurt him more. They stay off to the side, looking away from Yeonjun mostly, glancing back to him whenever he makes a particularly pained grunt or groan.

When they finally get past through his torso, everyone breathes a silent sigh of relief, happy to be done with that. They move onto his hand. Yeonjun laments silently when he sees it. It should be the part he has to worry about the least, what with it being the oldest wound, but no. It still looks just as bad as before. Beomgyu rinses it with water from the stream and wrap it quickly since he can’t do much else.

 A loud gasp escapes Soobin. Yeonjun to startles at the sound, quickly looking up to him, scared. “What happened to your neck?” Soobin seems scared in just saying it.

Ah, my gills. Just great. Yeonjun looks down in shame hearing the words. He’d thought maybe they’d overlook them, not notice the disgusting evidence of him being a monster.

“Dude, what gave you such crazy neck scars?” Beomgyu asks, looking at them and squinting his eyes. They just think they’re scars Yeonjun, relax.

Taehyun seems confused by them as well, leaning a bit closer to get a better look. “They’re identical? How?”

Unable to look up, Yeonjun holds out his shaking hands to sign. “They don’t hurt me, it’s nothing to worry about. Please don’t ask me about them.” He’s scared of them finding out, realizing that they’ve helped a monster. He slowly looks up to see them nod at him, but some part of Yeonjun knows they have questions and likely won’t just forget about it.

“Was that everything?” Soobin asks softly. He says it like there wasn’t much, but the glances the boys exchange tells Yeonjun that this is much more than they’d ever expected. He nods, pushing himself to sitting up.

He’s sure that there are some other injuries, but if he can’t find them then they’re not important enough to treat.

Soobin nods, signaling to the other to grab their stuff. Beomgyu and Taehyun walk over to a rock, stepping behind it and picking up backpacks.

Why would they carry around backpacks? Isn’t it inconvenient to them? Doesn’t it slow them down? His confusion must be obvious on his face, as when the boys come back, they immediately question him on it.

“Is something wrong?” Taehyun asks carefully, scanning over Yeonjun. He says it in such a nonchalant way, like carrying backpacks is something normal for them. Like they’ve never had to think about why they shouldn’t, why it could be the cause of their deaths.

“Why do you have backpacks? Don’t they weight you down? What do you carry in them?” He signs quickly, too quickly for the boys it seems, as Taehyun and Beomgyu give him confused looks, Soobin looking like he understood a bit, but still as if he didn’t quite know what Yeonjun had said.

Soobin sighs. “I’m sorry, but could you please sign slower?” He looks sheepish, like he’s not sure how to convey his message. “I—Beomgyu and Taehyun know some sign, but they’re not that good at it. I’m decent at it, but I can’t understand you when you go so quickly.”

Letting out a sigh Yeonjun looks to the sky, exasperated. What type of people are these, not knowing sign well, carrying backpacks, talking? How are they alive still, and how did they get here? He knows that once upon a time, he was as reckless as these boys, but then he’d learned where that could lead, and now he can’t excuse them acting like this when he knows what it could cost.

“It was nothing, don’t worry.” Yeonjun signs slowly so that Soobin can understand and translate for the others, repeating it aloud.

“Well then,” Taehyun starts, “I think we should get going at this point. We’ve been here for a long time, and we don’t know how long it’s gonna take to get back home with…” He stops, a crease forming on his forehead. “What is your name?”

“Holy shit we never asked him his name, guys we’re terrible helpers!” Beomgyu’s eyebrows are practically at his hairline, grabbing onto Soobin’s forearm and shaking him. “How have we been such bad helpers?” Yeonjun can’t tell why he’s so aggravated by this.

Soobin turns to him, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Could you please tell us your name?” He asks softly.

When Yeonjun doesn’t answer, he asks a different question, more cautious now. “Do you not have a name?”

My name…when was the last time I needed my name? He’d made sure not to forget it, writing it out carefully, imagining the sounds of every character like it mattered, but when had he actually needed it? His mom hadn’t needed to call him by a name, it was only him and her, but she’d given him one regardless. It was the one thing he still had from her, the only proof that she’d ever been there for him other than his existence.

Did these random, not entirely trustworthy strangers deserve to know that? Did they deserve to hold the only piece of his mom Yeonjun was able to keep? Would they understand what it was, what it meant?

But if he didn’t give his name, if he chose a different one, what type of son would he be? Letting that last bit of his mother die out because he was scared? No, he would give his name.

“Yeonjun.” He signs it slowly, carefully forming each character so that there is no miscommunication. If he is giving them this, then they will not mistake it for something else. He will tell them his name, and it will be his.

They give him small smiles when they see it.

“Yeonjun, then, that’s a nice name.” Soobin nods. “It suites you.”

“Well,” Taehyun says, getting back to his original point. “We should probably get moving now, especially since Yeonjun will slow us down.” The others nod in agreement, but Yeonjun looks up to him with confusion.

He quickly waves at Soobin, getting his attention. “What do you mean I’ll slow you down?” He asks, unsure of what Taehyun is saying.

“Oh,” Soobin starts. “Well, since you’re injured, it’s gonna make us travel slower. We don’t want to aggravate your injuries any more than they already are.” He says it like its common knowledge.

“I’m coming with you guys?” Yeonjun signs, a furrow in his brow. Why would they take him with them? They just met, and he certainly hasn’t given them any reason to trust him, so why are they?

Soobin shakes his head at him, looking confused. “Why wouldn’t you come with us? You’re still injured, and we need to get you to someone who can actually help you.” He seems concerned at the thought of doing that, but Yeonjun can’t imagine why.

Why wouldn’t they leave him? They’d done all they needed, what more could they do to help him? The bruises would eventually heal themselves, and he knew how to treat his hand as long as he didn’t need to use it. The bullet wound would be trickier, but he’d made it for this long, he could figure it out.

His silence is taken for an answer, and the other boys look at him worriedly. “Did you think we’d just leave you like this?” Beomgyu asks him.

“Why do you think we would do something like that?” Taehyun asks at the same time, their voices overlapping and mixing in Yeonjun’s ears.

“What’s the point of bringing me with you?” Yeonjun sings, feeing more confused by the boys than ever. They help him, and then they offer to bring him with them? How did that make any sense, why would someone act like that?

There’s some mix of horror decorating the boys faces as Soobin translates his words to them, like they can’t believe he would say that.

“No, we’re bringing you with us and that’s final.” Taehyun states, firmness in his voice. “We are not just going to leave you here in this state knowing that you won’t be able to survive.” It’s said with a decisiveness that the other boys agree with, nodding along.

Yeonjun isn’t sure he trusts them, but in his state, there’s not much to argue. He can’t do much to fight them off or disagree. Going along with them is probably the most likely way for him to live at this point, although he can’t say he’s pleased with that fact.

He nods, showing that he’ll go with them, and they immediately look less tense at the sign.

“Here, let me help you.” Soobin reaches forwards to Yeonjun, offering his hand.

Yeonjun jerks back, not yet ready to be touched again. If he has to go with them, he will be walking by himself, not depending on one of these boys, who he’s only just met, for safety and stability.

“Please, let me walk myself.” Yeonjun asks, looking up to Soobin, pleading slightly. He hates that he has to plead, but he will do whatever he has to in order to be careful here.

Soobin looks a bit hurt, but the expression is quickly replaced with worry. “Are you sure you’ll be able to?”

“Let me walk by myself, or I won’t go with you.” The words are bold, bluffs, and Yeonjun knows that. It’s not unlikely that this could backfire, that the boys will force him and hurt him more for his refusal to cooperate.

Looking worried Soobin nods, albeit hesitantly. “Okay, you can walk by yourself.” He turns to the others who were watching the interaction, shrugging at them as if to say, ‘I don’t know either’.

Yeonjun breathes a sigh of relief that it worked, immediately setting himself to the business of getting up, which is much harder than he would’ve liked.

Pretty much every direction he moves causes pain, and although some of it has been helped by being braced, even the years Yeonjun’s had of dealing with untreated open injuries can’t help him.

He places his hands on the ground behind him, bracing himself as he pushes down with his feet, a small groan escaping his mouth at the motion. He swings one of his hands around to the front, switching his weight there. Using the hand in front of him as a stabilizer, he slowly straightens his legs, letting go of the ground when it’s no longer of use and standing.

He’s hunched over, pain moving throughout his body, but he’s standing without help and that’s what matters. A glance at the others shows shocked and worried faces, like they can’t quite believe Yeonjun’s actually doing this.

Trying to straighten himself proves to be a worthless endeavor as it sends him back to crouching, small whimpers of pain making themselves known as he grabs at his stomach. When the boys step forward to help him, he just holds out his hand, a signal for them to stay away. He wants to do this himself.

When he’s finally stood up again and no longer swaying, they are able to get going.

“We’ll head down the stream. We followed it up to get here, and when we get to the bottom, we’ll be able to orient ourselves and get back home.” Soobin says, glancing back at Yeonjun every once in a while, as if making sure he hasn’t collapsed again. The others nod their agreement.

They begin to make their way down. It’s not too steep, so Yeonjun at least doesn’t have to worry about that. Each step is a challenge, and even his breathing feels labored, sounding almost as bad as it did when he switched from using his gills back to lungs.

Yeonjuns definitely not ready for this, as each step shoots pain through his legs and up into his body. His vision swims, stars dancing around him as he leans against a tree and waits for them to go away. The boys seem concerned about this, but he waves them away, he’s dealt with things like this before.

When his vision finally clears, he is able to stand again, pushing himself away from the tree and back upright, or as upright as he can make himself at the moment. It’s worrying, the small distance he’s able to cover before he needs to stop and get his vision to stop moving. A headache is growing, but he refuses to stop moving, knowing that the boys could punish him for something like that.

The amount of times he stops increases the farther they travel, and every time, Soobin seems like he wants to reach out. Maybe to hurt Yeonjun? Maybe to help him walk, like he offered before?

Stumbling a bit really causes the others to worry. As soon as they hear his missteps, they’re moving around him and grabbing his arms to steady him, only for Yeonjun to pull away quickly, scared of the boys.

“Yeonjun, are you sure you don’t want any of our help?” Taehyun asks carefully from his place beside Beomgyu, an expression of worry on both of their faces. Concern dances across their eyes as he shakes his head no.

“I can do this, don’t worry, let me walk without help.” After hearing Soobin’s translation they seem no less worried, looking at him doubtfully.

At some point the three of them start walking around him in a triangle-like formation. It’s like they’re guarding him from something, but in reality it feels the opposite. He’s not sure how far they get before things start to go wrong.

I should’ve just stayed back. I’m slowing them down, and I don’t even know if they’re actually going to help me. His feet feel heavier the farther he goes, and his vision starts to close in around the edges. Having the boys surrounding him like this puts him on edge. The parts of his sight that aren’t blacked out are starting to move, and Yeonjun can’t continue walking like this anymore.

His breath sounds loud in his ears, and reaching out with one hand, he feels for a tree. When he finally is able to grab onto one, he collapses, letting it take all his weight. There’s a distant sound of the boys’ scared voices calling to each other, to him, but he can only focus on his breathing and getting it to work again.

Breath in… He takes in a rattling breath, Breath out… Yeonjun tries to breath out normally, but immediately starts to cough. The coughs are loud, ringing in his ears and making his head spin. His throat feels torn up as they continue, like paper being shred.

Fluid fills his mouth accompanies by a copper taste that he quickly spits out. Long strings of phlegm and blood come out of his mouth while the coughs continue. Each one feels like a hammer being brought down on his body.

His head pounds with each cough, like something is trying to get out of it, pushing through it from the inside. He’s not getting enough oxygen anymore, and coughing only makes his head spin more.

It feels like something is hitting his back, but he can’t tell if it’s really happening or just more pain. Every cough dislodges his injuries from where they’ve been, bringing more numbing pain.

It all blurs into one, the different sensations. He can’t hear anything over the sound of his coughing. Eyes clenched shut and body aching, Yeonjun faints.