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Kill him. If you kill him, we can get him back. And then y'all can get out. Do you understand?
A lump formed in his throat at Mingi's words. They sank themselves like shards of glass into his head, making it pound. There was a ringing in his ears.
You have to do it, hyung. He trusts you. He only trusts you.
Yeosang's suspicions were right all along. The man that came back that night, after setting fire to the Tree that pulled them into this world, after making them watch as their hope burned to a crisp, that man wasn't their leader. He wouldn't have done that.
He wouldn't have done it without having a damn good reason for it. And this Hongjoong... this uncanny copy, he kept saying he didn't know why he burnt it down. That he didn't know why he'd dropped the match even when they screamed at him to stop, or why the Tree was doused in gasoline in the first place.
But why me? Why... Why him?
They were devastated about the Tree, of course, but nothing could be worse than the gnawing pain that has taken permanent residence in his chest, ever since Yunho had fixed the radio, and they could finally get through to Mingi. Hongjoong was out with San and Wooyoung, scouting out a quarry. It was a diversion, to occupy him while the rest stayed back and confronted Seonghwa with truth, and the plan they had.
Their real leader wouldn't have torched the Tree. He knew, all of them knew that even if it didn't give them a way out, it was an emblem of hope for them. A reminder that this world that they're in isn't real. Because there was no way a tree as luscious and vibrant and green as that one could survive in the harsh arid climate of the no man's land.
It's not him anymore, hyung. That's not Hongjoong hyung.
At first, Seonghwa thought it was the illness. Hongjoong had been looking paler these days, especially after falling ill in that sandstorm and being forced by Wooyoung to take a break. It was a group decision, they confiscated all the electronics and locked him in the train carriage that doubled as the sleeping quarters for the hyungs. Then they'd gone out, Mingi to return to the radio station up on the hill, and the rest of them to scavenge for food and supplies.
Little did they know that it wasn't just Mingi that disappeared that day. Hongjoong had been taken away too, right under their noses, and they'd been left with this imitation, this imposter in his place.
He's been off since Mingi got pulled out. Don't deny it, I know you realised it too, Seonghwa-hyung.
Mingi had been sucked back out into the control room of TVs. He'd gotten out of this dimension. The key was in the radio station, and he'd accidentally activated it while there and left them behind prematurely. The only way they could speak to him now was an old radio that Yunho fixed up, that they'd previously linked to the radio station that Mingi had disappeared from.
He should have insisted for someone to go with Mingi. He know he should've, but they were shorthanded, with one man down, and another needed to guard the basecamp. With how unpredictable the city area was, they needed more people on that end, and resources were spread so thin.
They were getting so thin.
If any of us pick up a gun now, he'd notice. He doesn't know us in the real world, he's from this world, remember? Not ours. He's not ours.
They needed food. They needed all the food they could get their hands on, and everyone available to come along. Besides, they'd been to that radio station before, there was nothing there. He didn't even know why Mingi wanted to go back up there, but the boy said it was too complicated to explain. Hongjoong understood the best, and he wanted to follow Mingi — but Seonghwa had threatened him, told him that if he were to exit their bedroom (bed carriage?) before he was better, he would kill him.
He hadn't really meant it.
None of us can shoot, so if we start now, it'd be weird. It would only make sense if you practise, and it's not like he can read your mind and see who you see on the target.
Initially when the boys had broke it to him that he had to shoot and kill Hongjoong to get their leader back, he'd thought they'd finally gone insane. He told them as much, saying that they were mad to believe that it was really Mingi's voice, coming through the radio. What if it wasn't Mingi? What if it wasn't their friend who was trying to convince them to kill his... their leader?
Impossible, Yunho had argued. He's describing the control room perfectly. That's our starting point. And he remembers the last world we got sucked into, the carnival of the night, with the flying ships and dancing girls and dirt racing. It's definitely Mingi.
Besides, Hongjoong definitely has a better memory than Mingi, or me, and yet he couldn't tell me what colour his hair used to be, and he doesn't know where he keeps his spare clothes in your bunker, murmured Yeosang, that's really pushing it, even for me.
He still refused to believe. He refused to believe that he'd been sleeping with a stranger, an intruder, in the same bunker for the last few weeks. It couldn't be.
Then Jongho had dragged him to the carriage that Hongjoong and him usually slept in, and then forced their way into the driver's cabin of the train. There, as clear as day, strapped into the drivers seat and looking as if he was fast asleep, was Hongjoong.
The real Hongjoong.
He had looked dead, but he was breathing. Just completely unresponsive. When his eyes opened, they stared vacantly for a few minutes before slipping shut again, and he didn't respond to any of them. It was like talking to an empty shell. Like... like his soul had been sucked out. Like his soul was gone. The boys said that Mingi had saw Not-Hongjoong haul him in here, tied him up, and gagged him, in case he woke up.
Please, it's the only way. We need Hongjoong back. Then we can leave. We have to get him back. We can't leave without him.
His hand tightened around the grip of the pistol, and he levelled it at the target. He could feel those that were around watching, eyes glancing up, then back down to whatever it is they were working on. Only a single pair of eyes lingered longer than the rest.
Hongjoong had always said he'd looked especially cool, holding a gun.
I will do it. Just... just promise me. Promise me that we'll get him back.
It only started to sink in that the current Hongjoong wasn't the real one after awhile. It was the little things, like how he couldn't remember that they'd deduced, right from the beginning, when they'd arrived here, that the Tree wasn't their way out. Maybe that's why he set it on fire, to keep them from leaving.
He also couldn't remember the colour of Mingi's hair — he kept likening his hair to the tangerine sunset, or the orange headlamps that Yunho had installed on their vehicle, when Mingi was very distinctly blonde when he'd vanished.
And every so often, this Hongjoong would accidentally lapse into calling him hyung, or Seonghwa-sshi, a long-forgotten habit from days past. Come to think of it, this Hongjoong reminded him very much of the boy he'd first gotten to know four years prior, adamantly addressing him formally even though they were only several months apart in age, always serious, always thinking and keeping to himself.
We want to do it tomorrow night. Let's do it tomorrow night, hyung. Everyone's ready. We just need to do it.
The four years that the seven of them had spent chipping away at his walls so they could finally see the earnest, emotional, loving Hongjoong that underneath... Now the walls were back up. Not all of them. But he was keeping his distance. He was unnervingly serious, and refused to joke around with the kids.
He wasn't... him.
This wasn't him.
And Seonghwa had to kill him.
...
That was his brother. That was his friend.
Please, hyung. Just one shot. Just give it a shot.
He knew Yunho was practising too, and teaching Wooyoung and Yeosang how to operate the other cars. Jongho was already quite an expert on the dune buggy, he could vault over their tallest truck easily, and land without a scratch. He's been trying it out with a pillion, usually San, and they've been practising in secret behind the sand mountain, under the guise of visiting the radio station for clues on Mingi's disappearance.
The formation is simple, Yeosang said as he charted out the plan, Yunho will return with Hongjoong on a supply run, drop him in the middle on the yard. Here.
Jongho pressed his pencil on the spot marked X, on the rough map that he'd sketched out of the homefront. Then the other two cars will appear and we will start going around. San-hyung will be keeping watch of the perimeter. Then you and me will vault in, I'll drop you and catch the right spot to join the circling cars.
All you need to do is shoot.
Seonghwa's eyes flickered up at Yunho's words, wanting to glare at the other for making it sound like it was an easy thing to do, just stroll up, cock a gun at their leader, and fire. As if.
But then he'd seen the look in Yunho's eyes. And he knew he wasn't the only one who hated the plan.
They hated it, but it was the only one that made any sense.
Nothing else here made any sense.
He just wanted Hongjoong back.
I was watching the TVs as soon as I got sucked here, hyung. I saw Fake Hongjoong grab hyung, and then hyung passed out and he hid him away. Please. I think it's the only way.
He'd been firing for almost an hour since the others told him what they had to do.
His palm flushed and angry, his arm and shoulder tingling uncomfortably from repeated jolts of the recoil.
Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung came back just before dinner — by then, he'd gone through countless rounds of ammunition, and endured about three straight hours of shooting while picturing Hongjoong standing in front of him, his head level with the centre of the target. The younger ones came over to tell him to take a break for dinner, and Jongho glanced at the target and how every other inch of it is covered with holes, except the bullseye.
Hyung, let's take a break for tonight. Maybe after a good night's rest, your hand will stop shaking.
Seonghwa wanted into break into a fit of hysterical laughter. Sleep would solve his trembling hands? If only. The shaking would only stop if he closed his eyes and he couldn't see Hongjoong standing at the end of the barrel. He'd like to see them try, shooting their best friend's lookalike. As if it wouldn't rattle them, right to the core. As if it wouldn't make them crumble.
But as he glanced around at dinner, he felt guilty for even thinking that. He saw the way Wooyoung sat so close to Yeosang that he was practically on his closest friend's lap, he saw the way San passed a piece of meat to Jongho, even as the youngest sat and stared at the campfire, a grim, dark look in his eye. He saw how Yunho took his share and went out into the frigid night to eat in the car. He wanted to work on some 'modifications', something he'd been doing very frequently these few weeks — it was only now Seonghwa knew that it was a facade. He didn't want to sit with them at dinner because he couldn't stand looking opposite the fire and seeing Not-Hongjoong, as well as Mingi's empty spot, between Seonghwa and Jongho.
The HALA people said each dimension is like a dream right? If you die in a dream, you wake up. If he dies here, he'll wake up with Mingi. No harm done.
He hoped that they weren't wrong. He was still hoping and praying that they were wrong, as his hand finally obeyed him and steadied itself.
That shot hit the bullseye. He missed three more, and then a second bullseye. And then a third. Then a fourth.
By the time he heard the sound of Yunho's car pulling up to the front yard and the sound of someone getting dropped off, his heart was steeled against the image of his best friend falling, slumping to the ground, a clean bullet hole through the middle of his head.
His heart was just a rock in his chest. He was ready.
He will wake up. He has to.
The cars had never sounded so deafening to him before, but they were roaring up a storm as they circled both him and Hongjoong like waiting sharks. Not-Hongjoong cocked his head, his face wary but curious. It looked nothing like the Hongjoong he knew. His Hongjoong would never look so suspicious of him.
"What are you doing, Seonghwa-sshi?"
A shot of ice rushed up his veins. His hand found the slideback of the pistol — it was loaded in a flash and he raised it, taking a deep breath.
"Seonghwa-sshi—"
His blood was boiling.
This is not him. This is not Hongjoong .
"Stop calling me that."
The sound of the engines drowned out the shot when he fired.
~
Wooyoung didn't even notice that hyung had taken the shot until Jongho blasted his buggy horn at them. He glanced up in the mirror and saw Seonghwa standing over a heap on the ground.
"F—" He shot off at a tangent from the circle they'd been wearing into the ground, before he stomped on his brakes and came to a crackling halt.
"He did it, he did it," he felt himself stutter as he tumbled out of the car. He zeroed in on the lonely figure of their hyung as the other two cars stopped as well, and broke into a running sprint, leaping over the wheel ruts they'd made in the sand as he yelled, "Hyung! Hyung, you did it!"
Seonghwa was a solid block of warmth in the cold desert night, but even as he automatically wrapped his arms around Wooyoung as the younger boy embraced him, he sounded dazed. Like he couldn't believe his eyes.
"He... I... I shot...."
"No, no, you did fantastic, Seonghwa-hyung. You did it. You killed the fake, he's gone!"
Seonghwa didn't reply.
There was a tug on his arm, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that San had run in to join them as soon as the cars stopped circling. He glanced to Wooyoung, then turned to Seonghwa, expression worried. Jongho was jogging up to them, and he could see Yunho and Yeosang jumping out of the rover and pick-up truck respectively. He waited till everyone was with them before he spared a glance at the body on the ground that Seonghwa had been staring unwaveringly at, the entire time.
"Hongjoong hyung," Yunho barely gave the imposter on the floor more than a second's glance, "we should go check."
"Right."
Wooyoung grabbed Seoghwa's arm, but when the other barely flinched at his sharp tug, he threw an arm around the taller's shoulders, purposefully bowing his head and breaking his eye contact — San linked his arm into Seonghwa's and pulled them swiftly in the direction of the station entrance.
"Stop looking," he heard his friend admonish their oldest, "that's not him. You know that."
"I know," Seonghwa's voice cracked, "I know, but then—"
"But then nothing." he heard San scold, "that's not him. That's not Hongjoong hyung. You didn't kill him. That's not him."
He could almost catch the shiver in Seonghwa's unstable breath, and he quickened his step. He would understand once he saw that Hongjoong. He would get it once he saw that he was still safe and alive and well, sitting where they'd left him, in the driver's cabin, curled up in the driver's seat.
Yunho, Yeosang, Jongho had gotten there faster and were already in the midst of hauling unconscious Hongjoong out of the hiding place, but the leader still showed no signs of waking. They laid him out on the bunk that Seonghwa had been sleeping on, unwilling to put him in the same place where the other had lain. Wooyoung watched as Seonghwa dropped to the floor, and none of them said anything when the oldest's hand found Hongjoong's limp, unresponsive one.
Now they just had to wait.
A minute passed. Five minutes. Then the seven minutes, Yunho reported grimly, looking at his watch. Fifteen minutes. Twenty.
"Why isn't he waking up?" San's voice sounded small. Wooyoung felt like he was sinking, getting buried under the earth. He couldn't breathe.
No. He can't be... They couldn't have —
At that moment, there came a harsh burst of static. It made all six of them jump, cutting through the tension of the room.
"What's that?"
It was coming from the driver's cabin. Hongjoong still wasn't waking. Wooyoung staggered to his feet, and headed for the source of the sound. He felt like he was in a haze, trudging through the miasma of some kind of nightmare. Jongho reached out a hand to grab him, but he shook it off like a feather.
The radio in the control pit was buzzing and crackling like a fire, so he instinctively hit it before Yeosang, who was following him, could stop him.
"Wait, I don't think—"
Children. Silly, naïve, ignorant children.
His blood froze in his heart. That sounded... that was—
So you killed Him, the voice drawled. That wasn't Hongjoong, he told himself. It sounded like him, but it couldn't be him. The voice was cloying and poisonous, dripping with contempt.
But it sounded so real. The horrified expressions on the all of their faces was proof of that. The doubt that had been looming over him was starting to nip icily on his fingertips.
Did you think there was only one of us?
Somewhere, in a distance, a bomb went off.