[KPOP RPS] Twelve Little Soldiers, All In A Row - Chapter One {EXO}
Title: Twelve Little Soldiers, All In A Row - Chapter One
Rating: R
Pairing: Kris/Lay, Suho/Kai
Warnings: Violence, general creepiness, Character death (See A/N)
Word count: 6, 299
Summary: Legend says the Guardians will come, split into two groups they will work together to unite the Tree of Life and unite the world. Shame the legends were wrong. The Guardians were not just split into two groups, they were scattered, and now they are lost and alone with no knowledge of who and what they are. Time is running out, for them and for the world
A/N: While the outcome of this story relies on all the EXO members coming through relativity unscathed, the rest of the cast (SMTown, other assorted idols) might not be so lucky. There will be at least one major character (non EXO) death.
Prologue
Chapter One
Inspector Park Jungsu is chasing a ghost, which means he is pretty much screwed. He knows he’s screwed, everyone in the department knows he’s screwed. Can’t catch a ghost, can’t actually admit you’re chasing one. Jungsu knows he’s damned if he does and he’s damned if he doesn’t.
Saying his ghost theory out loud, telling it to anyone in or outside of his department would be the fastest way to end his so far fast tracked career. Which, he supposes, was the whole point of this cluster fuck getting thrown onto his to do pile. He has another theory, of course, but that one is just as likely to land him on medical leave too.
Can’t catch a ghost. Can’t catch someone who can teleport either…
Jungsu sits at his desk in the crowded Bull Pen; he tries to tune out the clatter and chatter of voices as he concentrates on the picture in his hand. He stares at it, willing it to change, willing it to coalesce into something that makes some sort of sense. But it doesn’t. The damn thing stubbornly refuses to make any sense at all.
Jungsu tries not to sigh out his frustration. What he wants to do is rip up the picture, like that would make the problem go away. He doesn’t. People are watching him; people are waiting for him to screw up.
Can’t catch a ghost.
Damned if you do, Jungsu, and damned if you don’t
The picture is a still capture from footage caught by a CCTV camera, not exactly the best quality source to to be working from in the first place. The picture is grainy and distorted from being enlarged; the tech guys in the basement got the image to get as big as it would go before the subject of the picture was rendered to nothing but grey scale pixel squares. As it is the subject is still far from clear. Jungsu has watched the video footage almost as often as he’s looked over the still images, the video makes even less sense, if that’s even possible. At least the stills show something real, something solid. If Jungsu looks hard enough, he can almost give the shadow shrouded figure in the picture a face. All he sees on the video is a ghost.
Can’t catch a ghost. But then, ghosts can’t be caught on film, can they?
“Hyung?” A tentative voice pulls him out of his bleak thoughts. Jungsu looks up. For a heart stopping second it’s like the image in the picture has followed him out into the real world. Jungsu has to blink several times to clear the black shadows from his field of vision. There is a figure standing in front of his desk, waiting for his attention. It’s not the strange figure from the picture, but just for a moment Jungsu thought it was. No, it’s just Youngwoon.
Jungsu shakes his head. Great, now he’s imagining things.
“Hyung,” Youngwoon says again. “Hyung, are you ok?” Youngwoon’s voice is quiet, concerned. “You’ve been sitting here looking at that for over an hour.”
Jungsu blinks again, shakes his head again. Had it really been that long? He sweeps his gaze over the Bull Pen, his colleagues avert their eyes, turn their heads away. But not before Jungsu sees their self-satisfied smirks. He sees them, he sees them and he knows what they are thinking.
The golden boy is cracking up already. That didn’t take long.
“I’m fine, Youngwoon-ah.” Jungsu says. If he is surprised at how confident he sounds, he tries not to show it.
Youngwoon nods but he doesn’t seem mollified, he continues to hover quietly. Jungsu tries to ignore him; he goes back to looking at the picture. It still makes no sense.
“You look pale, Hyung.” Youngwoon says after a full minute of silence. “Have you eaten today?”
“I’ll eat later.” Jungsu says. He looks up at Youngwoon’s worried face and he can’t help but smile, just a little. “But thank you for worrying about me.
Youngwoon smiles, a bright, brilliant smile that makes him look nothing like the bullish young police officer Jungsu has known for a few years. It makes him look younger, more innocent.
“Hyung?” Youngwoon says after another full minute of silence. “Would you like some help? I could help, I would be happy to help.”
Jungsu sighs and puts down the picture; he’s starting to get cramp in his hand.
“This case is unlikely to do your career any good.” Jungsu says. He rubs his eyes, he’s tired, halfway to exhausted.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
It was true, Jungsu did know that. Jungsu respected that. Trusted that. But did Youngwoon trust him? Jungsu didn’t know. And if he did, would that trust extend to Youngwoon believing his ghost theory…or the other just as crazy one. Youngwoon pulls a chair away from a nearby desk; he turns it round and straddles it. Resting his arms on the back rest he leans in closer to Jungsu.
“Let me help, Hyung.” Youngwoon says quietly, conspiratorially.
Jungsu looks around the Bull Pen again, a couple of the officers are looking their way, but none are really close enough to overhear if they talk quietly.
“Ok.” Jungsu huffs out a sigh. “Ok. The suspect is either a ghost, or he can teleport. Either option is just as crazy.”
Jungsu waits, Youngwoon doesn’t answer for the longest time; Jungsu doesn’t take that as too bad a sign since Youngwoon isn’t actually laughing. Yet. Jungsu can almost see the wheels in Youngwoon’s brain churning as he thinks over what Jungsu has just said.
“What would a ghost want with money?” Youngwoon asks after a while. He asks the question so seriously that Jungsu can’t help but smile. “More to the point, what would a ghost want with 500,000 thousand Won? And since teleportation doesn’t exist in the real world, either way you look at it the footage has to be doctored. I’ve seen it, and the way that guy just appears like that…it’s like a special effect from a Hollywood movie. But why would someone go to so much trouble for so little?”
Jungsu rests his head on his hands as he thinks; his eyes flick over to the picture before he turns his gaze back to Youngwoon. Around them the bull pen has returned to normal activity, no one is paying attention to them anymore. Jungsu has asked himself these questions already, but still he doesn’t have an answer. Why would someone break into a bank just for 500,000 Won and how could someone break into a bank and leave no trace of any kind of break in?
“The best techs in the department have thoroughly analysed the footage already and they maintain that it hasn’t been altered in any way.”
Jungsu thinks back over what he said, he can feel an answer there somewhere, somewhere just out of his reach. The best techs in the department. The best techs we have.
It’s like a light bulb going off over his head, so bright and brilliant that he’s surprised no one else can see it.
“That’s it!” He says. He stands up quickly, his chair almost toppling over from the force of the movement. “That’s it!”
People look his way, he’s aware of snide smiles and low remarks about his sanity, but he doesn’t care. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this before. The footage had to have been altered; the right people just hadn’t looked it over yet. The best techs they had were good but Jungsu knew someone better. Much better. He ignores Youngwoon’s confused protestations as he quickly gathered up his things, shoving the stack of still pictures from the video into his bag. He pockets the flash drive with the actual footage and turns to go.
“Thank you, Youngwoon-ah.” He says. “You’ve been a big help.”
“I have?” Youngwoon says brightly. “Wait, what did I do?”
||
Wu Fan isn’t listening to what the old Taxi driver is saying. Under normal circumstances he’d be more than happy to let the mindless chatter wash over him, a welcome distraction and a potential goldmine of information. Beijing Taxi Drivers knew more about what was going on in the area than anyone else. But these were far from normal circumstances.
Wu Fan wonders if his driver knows they are being followed. Probably not.
He turns slightly in his seat to try and peek out of the rear window again. Yes, the dark sedan that has been following since he was picked up at the airport is still there, still following. They are only three cars behind now, still following and getting closer, that can’t be a good sign. Wu Fan wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee, especially not one like this.
How did they know where to find him? He hadn’t even told the old woman exactly when he was flying in. How long had they been out there waiting for him? And how long would they be content to just follow him?
“Old woman,” Wu Fan mutters. “Who have you pissed off this time?”
It’s taking him too long to find his bearings; it’s been a few years since he was last here. He’s close to the old woman’s shop now, or at least he thinks he is. He has to be. If whoever is following him knew enough to be at the airport waiting for him, then it’s likely they already know where he’s going. Which would mean they would probably try to intercept him before he got there, or else why would they bother following him at all.
Wu fan doesn’t like this. He’s been home for all of an hour and already he’s wishing he hadn’t come at all.
Best to get rid of his tail now, or at least try to. But there isn’t much he can do about losing them while he’s sat in this Taxi.
“Could you pull over?” Wu Fan says to the driver. “Let me out here.”
“Are you sure? This isn’t the best part of town.”
Wu fan knows they are are long way from the best part of town. The place he was originally headed for wasn’t much better than here.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Ok, your funeral.”
Wu Fan hopes that statement isn’t some kind of prophecy.
The Driver smoothly and very suddenly pulls over to the side of the road, ignoring the blaring horns and angry gestures from cars and pedestrians alike. The locks on the car doors click closed as the driver waits for Wu Fan to fumble in his back pack for the fare. Wu Fan knows it’s just a precaution, the locking of the car doors doesn’t mean the Taxi Driver means him any harm. But still, a thrill of fear crawls down his spine. He doesn’t like being confined, even for a short while. His hands shake as he hands the money over; shake so much he almost drops it. The driver just tsks and then meticulously counts the money twice before he opens the door and lets Wu Fan out.
The Taxi pulls away again with a squeal of tires and yet more blaring horns, but Wu fan barely even notices it. He’s too busy looking for the sedan, his heart beating too frantically in his chest when he can’t immediately find it. Wait, there it is. It’s stopped at the crossing just passed where Wu Fan got out of the Taxi. Wu Fan supposed it couldn’t just have pulled over when Wu fan’s Taxi did, it would have been too obvious that they were following then. So what were they going to do now?
Or maybe, maybe they weren’t following him at all; maybe it was just coincidence that the car was behind him all the way. Maybe, maybe the lack of sleep is making him paranoid.
Maybe.
The back doors of the sedan open and two men get out. One tall, one not so, both dressed in black. From the way the first one his holding his arms slightly out to the side, Wu Fan guesses he’s packing a side arm. The two men unhurriedly weave their way through the traffic; Wu Fan feels his stomach lurch when he realizes that Goons #1 and #2 are walking towards him.
So, not paranoid then.
He doesn’t run, though he wants to. He forces himself to remain calm, in control; it’s far too early to start panicking. He shifts his back pack farther onto his shoulder and shoves his hands into his pockets. Then he calmly and casually turns around and starts walking. The two men follow, but they are keeping a slow pace too. They hang back, watching, waiting. He has to try and lose them somehow, somewhere among the back streets; he used to know those so well. He has to try and lose them without getting hopelessly lost himself.
||
Chanyeol balks at walking passed the small group of boys. It’s not a particularly intimidating group, but still Chanyeol doesn’t want to pass them. He knows they are there because they are waiting for him.
He wasn’t expecting to find them here; he had chosen to walk this way because they wouldn’t be here. And yet, here they were. Their territory was on the other side of Hongdae and his territory was anywhere they weren’t. They haven’t seen him yet, but only because their attention was focused on a group of high school girls walking in the opposite direction. He knows that as soon as the pretty girls have gone then their attention would be refocused. Maybe their usual territory isn’t offering them any sport today, Chanyeol thinks bitterly, today must be his lucky day.
Chanyeol checks his watch, damn it, he doesn’t have time to double back and walk around them. He’s going to be late for work as it is. He ducks his head and pulls his hoodie further down to cover more of his face in the vain hopes that he won’t be seen. Yeah, because someone wearing a dark hoodie on a sweltering summers days isn’t going to stand out. Stupid, Chanyeol thinks, really stupid. But, he’s almost passed them now, just a little further. Just a little further.
“Don’t look this way.” Chanyeol mummers just under his breath. “Please, please don’t look this way.” It’s a futile prayer because, of course, one of them does look his way.
There is never a crowd of foreign tourists around when you really need one to hide behind.
“Fire starter! Fire starter!” Someone calls out. “Fire starter, fire starter!”
Chanyeol doesn’t have to look up to recognize the voice; he’s been the brunt of this person’s insults ever since he was old enough to know he was being insulted. Jonggu, AKA G-Dawg, wannabe gangster and oldest member of the gang. Too old now, really too old to be hanging out with a group that’s not long out of high school. Chanyeol would think he was pathetic but he’s too busy trying to pretend that his words don’t hurt as much as they do.
Since he’s given up trying to defend himself, pretending not to care is all Chanyeol’s got left.
“Hey freak!” Another boy yells out. “Show us your pretty face!”
Bumsoo. That really does hurt, Bumsoo used to be his friend.
Chanyeol sniffs back tears he won’t let himself cry. He’s not going to let this get to him this time, he won’t.
“Fire starter!” The rest of the boys take up the chorus, singing cheerfully like it’s a happy sing along. They sing out in roaring sing song falsettos that attract the attention of everyone around. Chanyeol can feel people staring at him now, can feel the burn of their accessing gazes through the material of his hood. He pulls his hood down further. He quickens his pace and doesn’t look up at anyone. He can handle the insults, he can eventually let them go and not dwell on them. What he can’t handle is people looking at him, looking at him with fear in their eyes. Like he’s dangerous.
G-dawg and his crew don’t follow him for long, they never do. Brave enough they are in their little group, safe on the crowded streets. But they never try to corner him or follow him to somewhere less populated, just in case. Just in case the rumours really are true.
Don’t get too close to Chanyeol. Things burn when he’s around.
A wave of frustration washes over him and he fights the urge to scream and shout and kick. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair!
“Where did you get it from, Jongin?”
Chanyeol stops walking and looks up when he hears voices. His hood slips down a little and he quickly grabs it back up in case whoever is around sees his face. He blinks as he looks around, surprised at where he’s ended up. He vaguely recognizes the place, but it’s not somewhere he’s been often. He was too busy trying to get away from G-dawg and friends that he didn’t pay attention to where he was going. He must have taken a wrong turn by the bakery because now he has gone too far south, he can hear the gentle rush of the river. Now that he’s looking where he is going he sees the bridge and sees the construction debris from where contractors are repairing part of the bridge structure. It’s a wonder he didn’t trip over it and break his leg. He sighs; he is really, really going to be late for work now.
He turns to go, but stops when another voice speaks up.
“If I tell you, Hyung, then I would have to kill you.” The second voice carries a joking tone, but Chanyeol detects a note of seriousness that sends a shiver down his spine.
He looks around again, but he can’t see anything but shadows playing around the concrete posts that mark the start of the bridge. Huh, apparently he’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be seen.
“I don’t like this, Jongin-ah. It’s not right.” The first voice says.
“Don’t worry, Hyung. It’s only a few Won, they’ll never even miss it and we need it.”
“It’s not that, Jongin-ah. It’s how you got, where you got it. Do you have any idea what they might do to you if they caught you?”
“No jail can hold me.”
“Jail isn’t what I’m worried about.”
There is a snort of laughter; Chanyeol assumes it’s from the second voice. A cocky ‘I’m invincible’ kind of laugh. There is a part of him that is fully aware that listening in to clandestine conversations that take place under bridges where one party has already admitted to being a thief, is not a good recipe for continued good health. But Chanyeol finds himself creeping closer anyway, drawn in by the mystery. It’s not like he’s going to go running to tell someone anything he overhears, especially not the police. They’d never believe him anyway, they never have before.
The voices sound young and vaguely familiar and Chanyeol is too curious, it’s always been his problem.
Carefully, very carefully, Chanyeol edges closer to where he thinks the voices are coming from, but then he has to double back because there is no one there. Sounds carry around water and he finds who he is looking for a little further away than he thought they would be. The voices had been so clear; he had thought the owners were right next to him. He recognizes both of them, but their names escape him, lost somewhere in the short time between dropping out of school and now. One of the two boys is leaning back against one of the concrete posts, arms held casually and easily at his side. He’s looking up at the underside of the bridge and at first glance it looks like he’s not listening to what the other is saying to him. But Chanyeol can tell that he is, can tell by his thoughtful expression. Chanyeol thinks he might be a year or so younger than himself, younger than his companion.
The other boy stands to stiff attention, his arms folded over his chest. Chanyeol thinks that the pose might look more imposing if the guy were just that little bit taller. As it is, his stern expression comes off as more cute and slightly confused. This guy, Chanyeol thinks, this guy might have been in the same class as him at school, when Chanyeol went to school that is. He racks his brain for a name and can only come up with Kyung. Kyung-something.
“You’re always worried about something.” The younger one, Jongin, says.
“Be serious.” Kyung-something retorts.
“Don’t be so uptight, Hyung. Jongin says, his tone half pleading half laughing. “Now we’ll be able to eat tonight, and speaking of eating let’s go. I’m starving.”
Chanyeol backs up so fast that he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to move away when he hears the two boys start to walk towards him. He steadfastly keeps his head down as he walks, determinedly not looking behind him, not looking to see if the two are following him. He walks fast and he doesn’t stop until he’s at Mr Byun’s bookstore mumbling apologies for being so hopelessly late.
||
“Try to be quiet, Hyung.” Joonmyun hears Kyuhyun say in that obnoxious stage whisper people adopt around other people who are sleeping. “You’ll wake him.”
That’s the thing with Kyuhyun’s apartment, it’s large and expensive but the walls are made of paper.
Joonmyun thinks about letting Kyuhyun know that he’s already awake. But he finds that actually opening his eyes is harder to do than think, they feel heavy, crusted shut. He slept too long and too deep, he feels the dull, lingering after effects of a sleeping pill. Kyuhyun, Joonmyun thinks, you bastard.
“Wake who?” The Hyung Kyuhyun was talking to says in that same loud whisper. Joonmyun is pretty sure that the two voices would be less disruptive if they just talked quietly.
“Shhh, come this way, we can talk through here.”
Joonmyun hears footsteps, two people walking softly towards the room he is in. One set of footsteps stops; the other continues to come closer. Kyuhyun, Joonmyun guesses, Kyuhyun stopped outside the door to his study and this would be Kyuhyun’s friend come to investigate.
“Who have you got in here, Kyuhyunnie?”
Joonmyun turns his head away and feigns still being asleep. He’ll wait until the friend leaves to go talk with Kyuhyun privately and then he’ll attempt to get up and leave. Now that Kyuhyun has important company he might not want to have Joonmyun hanging around. He doesn’t really want to leave, though. It’s peaceful here, just listening to the gentle click click of Kyuhyun working on his computer. He doesn’t want to return to his apartment and be alone.
“Stop calling me that.” Kyuhyun says irritably. “And come on, Hyung, you’re the one who said you have something important for me to look at.”
“Yes, I do.” The visitor says, his voice suddenly serious. He doesn’t even try to whisper now, Joonmyun has a feeling that his sleeping act didn’t quite work. “I need your help, Kyuhyun.” Joonmyun hears the visitor start to walk away. “Hey,” the friend says, loudly. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he? What happened to the other guy you were seeing?”
Kyuhyun sighs, long and loud. “Zhou Mi went back to China, Joonmyun is 20 and oh my god, Hyung, it’s not even like that! Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“He is sleeping in your bed.” The visitor says, his voice is mild but Joonmyun hears every one of the implications.
Is that where he is? Joonmyun thinks vaguely, in Kyuhyun’s bed.
“It’s not like I was using it.” Kyuhyun mutters. “And at least if he sleeps here then I know he’s sleeping.”
“Careful, Kyuhunnie, that almost sounds like you caring about someone other than yourself.”
“I told you, stop calling me that…”
Joonmyun doesn’t hear the rest of what Kyuhyun says, he hears snatches of affronted words before the door to Kyuhyun’s inner sanctum closes and he can’t hear anything more. Kyuhyun’s study is soundproofed, though Kyuhyun has never told him why. Joonmyun shrugs and turns over onto his side. Whoever has come to visit obviously doesn’t know Kyuhyun all that well, Kyuhyun cares more than he likes people to think. That knowledge is almost enough to make Joonmyun forgive the sleeping pill. Almost.
He yawns and stretches; he hears and feels his spine pop. He slept well, deeply and blissfully dreamlessly, but he’s going to be stiff for the rest of the day. Kyuhyun’s bed is far from comfortable, the mattress too hard. Eventually, reluctantly he gets out of bed. He’s not sure how long Kyuhyun’s guest intends to stay but Joonmyun figures the least he can do is to go and make coffee since Kyuhyun didn’t even bother to offer. He has to fumble around to find his shirt, he can’t believe that Kyuhyun took it off him, no wonder his friend jumped to the wrong conclusions. At least he was still wearing the sweatpants he had on when he came over last night.
To get to the kitchen, Joonmyun has to pass by Kyuhyun’s study which is next to his bedroom. As he passes he puts his head close to the door, not really expecting to hear anything, still he’s curious about what they could be doing in there. He can’t hear anything and he’s ashamed of even trying, but he can’t seem to pull himself away. He has this vague feeling that he’s missing something, something important. The feeling tugs at him, nags at him. He pulls himself away from the door, tries to shake off the strange feeling, but he can’t. The feeling follows him through to the kitchen where he jabs at the buttons on the coffee maker with more force than is necessary. The machine whirrs to life with a mournful moan. It’s old; maybe Joonmyun should buy Kyuhyun a new one, since he is the one that uses it most.
Kyuhyun’s guest is ready to leave before the coffee is finished brewing.
Joonmyun pokes his head round the door, half hoping to get a look at the stranger before he leaves, but trying not to look too keen about it. Kyuhyun sees him.
“Joonmyun-ah, friend who I am not sleeping with.” Kyuhyun says cheerily, he slants a pointed look at his friend who just just ignores it. “You’re awake at last, come over here and meet Inspector Park of the Seoul metropolitan PD.
Inspector?
“Inspector? Really?” Joonmyun says, he hopes that he’s the only one who hears the squeak in his voice. He throws Kyuhyun a confused glance, but Kyuhyun either doesn’t see it or ignores it. Warily Joonmyun walks over to them. He had always gotten the impression that part of the reason that Kyuhyun never talked about what what he did for a living was because it wasn’t always entirely legal.
“It’s nice to meet you, Joonmyun-sshi.” Inspector Park says with a little too much sincerity.
Inspector Park doesn’t look like much of an inspector to Joonmyun. He looks too young, too frail, though Joonmyun is one to talk when it comes to those things. Joonmyun doesn’t reply to the inspector which he knows is terribly rude, but he still can’t shake the strange feeling that he is missing something. The feeling only intensifies when he looks at Inspector Park. The inspector seems familiar, Joonmyun has a feeling that he has seen him before. A soft, dream like feeling. Too much like a dream.
“Well, I’ll be going now.” The Inspector says after an uncomfortable minute of silence.
“I’ll walk you out, Hyung.” Kyuhyun says and both he and the Inspector walk off towards the door, talking in quiet murmurs.
“I made coffee.” Joonmyun says when the Inspector is gone.
“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” Kyuhyun says with a smile. Joonmyun can’t help but note that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
||
Wu Fan turns right when he should have turned left. He curses his mistake in every language he knows, which is quite a few. That would be panic setting in finally, he thinks, once he stops running long enough to let himself think clearly. It’s not that being quietly stalked by men with guns is something new and exciting, but it is something he has grown unused to. No men with guns had cause to chase him in Canada.
“I wish I was in Canada.” Wu Fan mutters as he gently pushes aside the back curtain of a market tent. He’s careful not to upset the display of wicker baskets-or the stall owner who glares at him as he ducks passed.
His wrong turn took him to a dead end and a small but busy market, mainly made up of street food vendors and stalls selling oddments to tourists. The spicy tang of the various foods on offer makes his mouth water and Wu fan is reminded that he hasn’t eaten since he got on the plane. He’s tired and he’s hungry and he doesn’t have time to remedy any of those conditions until he can lose the Goons and get back to his Godmother’s place. Of course, Goons #1 and #2 would just follow him there eventually, but at least there he would have some measure of protection. Out here all alone, he’s just floundering.
He eases himself through the throng of people, looking for signs of his pursuers while still trying to keep himself hidden. The constant ducking and weaving is starting to give him a pain in his neck, not to mention the strange looks he is starting to draw from some of the vendors-and the vendors are likely to have seen some strange things in their time. Damn it, what was it his Godmother used to tell him? The easiest thing to do was hide in a crowd, all you had to do was blend in, pretend like you belong there. The best way to stand out from the crowd was to act suspicious, which was exactly what Wu Fan had been doing. Stupid, he thinks, stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s been to long away, this isn’t his life anymore.
He straightens up but not to his full height, because that would be another good way for him to stand out since he stands head and shoulders over almost everyone else. He turns to face the first stall he comes to, a chuanr vendor. He smiles at the old man behind the stall and is rewarded with a toothy grin.
“What’s good today?” Wu fan asks. The toothy grin gets wider as the old man points to the rack of starfish chuanr. Wu Fan’s smile turns into a grimace but he buys the starfish anyway. There is a memory, something just out of his reach, half forgotten. A memory of a starfish chuanr related accident, a hazy recollection of him and another boy, someone he hasn’t thought of in years. He has a feeling the incident was pretty painful. Wu Fan smiles sadly and turns away from the stall and, of course, that’s when he walks right into Goon #2. He’s not sure which of them is more surprised.
Wu Fan recovers from the nasty shock first, recovers enough to get a good long look as his would be assailant. Goon #2 is about a head shorter than his comrade, squat and muscular, a tattoo of barbed wire badly covers a scar around his left eye. There are several other tattoos, inked across his neck and down both his arms. It’s the tattoos that scare Wu Fan, have his heart beating if not in terror then something that feels a lot like it. Swirling tribal art mixed with Chinese characters and, down his left arm, Wu Fan can clearly make out the bright blaze of a phoenix design. Triad. The thought that these guys might be Triad had been floating in the back of his mind, held at bay only by the knowledge that his Godmother has the good business not to get involved with the Triad.
Apparently that wasn’t quite true. Shit and damn.
Goon #2 doesn’t show any outward sign of carrying a weapon but Wu Fan isn’t planning on sticking around to find out what and where he is hiding it. Instinct kicks in, and he hits out with the only weapon he has to hand-the starfish chuanr. Goon #2 screams as one of the starfish’s rays hits him in his already scarred eye. Goon #2 reaches up to clutch at his face and Wu Fan shoves passed him breaking into a fast run. Wu Fan runs left when he should have run to the right and he curses in several languages again. The consequences of his lousy sense of direction could potentially be fatal.
The Dead end he finds himself in now is a narrow alleyway and it’s only a dead end because of the corrugated iron wall blocking off the alley half way down. The work looks shoddy and hastily done and Wu Fan curses whatever shop owner thought to have it put up. The wall itself is almost as tall as he is and he wonders if he tries to jump it, would it collapse under him? He hears shouts from behind him, confused cries from bystanders and an angry roar from Goon #2 who was still coming after him.
No going back the way he came.
”Think light thoughts, Wu Fan.” He mumbles to himself as he starts to run. He’s always been good at athletics, sports. His Jump shot is a thing of beauty or so Dale used to tell him. But as he reaches for the top of the wall and prepares to leap he’s not sure he’s going to make it. Jumping to put a ball through a hoop and hauling yourself over an iron wall are two things worlds apart.
But make it he does. He closes his eyes and leaps and for one heart stopping second he feels like he’s flying. He lands easily at the other end of the alley, or almost the other end. He doesn’t have time to look back over the distance he just travelled. He doesn’t have time to process what just happened because right then is when Goon #1 turns into the mouth of the alley.
“This just isn’t my day.” Wu Fan grumbles. Goon #1 sees him and lunges. Wu Fan ducks to the left, spins round and plants his foot in the small of Goon #1’s back shoving him over. Goon #1 face plants on the concrete with a satisfying crunch. Wu Fan turns to run again but is stopped by a fist that catches him hard in the solar plexus. All the air rushes out from his lungs and he gasps for breath as he swings out with his back pack, hitting out ineffectively at Goon #2. Goon #2 punches him in the stomach again, and again, and again, several times in quick succession. Wu Fan feels himself losing the fight, it makes him angry but not more effective at stopping it from happening.
WU Fan feels himself going down, down, down, down.
“Stop hitting him, you fool.” Goon #1 says, his voice raw and thick sounding. “We need him conscious.”
The only thing holding Wu Fan up now is the arm Goon #2 has around his waist. An embrace that would have been tender if Goon #2 hadn’t been using his hold as leverage to hit Wu Fan harder in the stomach. Goon #2 lets go and Wu Fan crumples to the ground. Goon #1 staggers around to stand in front of him, his face is covered in blood, his nose obviously broken. That gives Wu Fan a small measure of satisfaction-very small considering his situation. Goon #1 bends down; leans in close, his breath smells awful. Wu Fan tries to pull back but Goon #1 just leans in closer. Wu Fan notes vaguely that Goon #1 has almost the same tattoos as #2 except the tattoo on his arm is a dragon. Wu Fan’s vision starts to blur, Goon #1’s face goes in and out of focus, Wu Fan smiles despite himself. The want him conscious, well they are not going to get it.
“We have a message for you to give to the old woman.” Goon #1 says but Wu Fan barely hears him and he doesn’t hear what the message actually is because his vision dims and fades and everything goes blissfully black.
He’s not sure how long he was out. When he comes too he’s vaguely aware of hands, someone touching him. The soft, gentle touches are a far cry from the rough ministrations of Goons #1 and #2. He tries to open his eyes but everything around him is too bright, too loud.
“Don’t sit up.” The person with the gentle touch says. Wu Fan wasn’t even aware that he had tried. “Geng-ge, help me with him.”
This person, whoever his helping him, has a voice almost as soft as their hands. Wu Fan could drown in that voice and be happy.
“Geng-ge!” The gentle voice says urgently. “He’s passing out again.”
Passing out sounds like a good idea, Wu Fan thinks idly. He doesn’t even try to fight the blackness as it takes over again.
.end chapter one.
Rating: R
Pairing: Kris/Lay, Suho/Kai
Warnings: Violence, general creepiness, Character death (See A/N)
Word count: 6, 299
Summary: Legend says the Guardians will come, split into two groups they will work together to unite the Tree of Life and unite the world. Shame the legends were wrong. The Guardians were not just split into two groups, they were scattered, and now they are lost and alone with no knowledge of who and what they are. Time is running out, for them and for the world
A/N: While the outcome of this story relies on all the EXO members coming through relativity unscathed, the rest of the cast (SMTown, other assorted idols) might not be so lucky. There will be at least one major character (non EXO) death.
Prologue
Chapter One
Inspector Park Jungsu is chasing a ghost, which means he is pretty much screwed. He knows he’s screwed, everyone in the department knows he’s screwed. Can’t catch a ghost, can’t actually admit you’re chasing one. Jungsu knows he’s damned if he does and he’s damned if he doesn’t.
Saying his ghost theory out loud, telling it to anyone in or outside of his department would be the fastest way to end his so far fast tracked career. Which, he supposes, was the whole point of this cluster fuck getting thrown onto his to do pile. He has another theory, of course, but that one is just as likely to land him on medical leave too.
Can’t catch a ghost. Can’t catch someone who can teleport either…
Jungsu sits at his desk in the crowded Bull Pen; he tries to tune out the clatter and chatter of voices as he concentrates on the picture in his hand. He stares at it, willing it to change, willing it to coalesce into something that makes some sort of sense. But it doesn’t. The damn thing stubbornly refuses to make any sense at all.
Jungsu tries not to sigh out his frustration. What he wants to do is rip up the picture, like that would make the problem go away. He doesn’t. People are watching him; people are waiting for him to screw up.
Can’t catch a ghost.
Damned if you do, Jungsu, and damned if you don’t
The picture is a still capture from footage caught by a CCTV camera, not exactly the best quality source to to be working from in the first place. The picture is grainy and distorted from being enlarged; the tech guys in the basement got the image to get as big as it would go before the subject of the picture was rendered to nothing but grey scale pixel squares. As it is the subject is still far from clear. Jungsu has watched the video footage almost as often as he’s looked over the still images, the video makes even less sense, if that’s even possible. At least the stills show something real, something solid. If Jungsu looks hard enough, he can almost give the shadow shrouded figure in the picture a face. All he sees on the video is a ghost.
Can’t catch a ghost. But then, ghosts can’t be caught on film, can they?
“Hyung?” A tentative voice pulls him out of his bleak thoughts. Jungsu looks up. For a heart stopping second it’s like the image in the picture has followed him out into the real world. Jungsu has to blink several times to clear the black shadows from his field of vision. There is a figure standing in front of his desk, waiting for his attention. It’s not the strange figure from the picture, but just for a moment Jungsu thought it was. No, it’s just Youngwoon.
Jungsu shakes his head. Great, now he’s imagining things.
“Hyung,” Youngwoon says again. “Hyung, are you ok?” Youngwoon’s voice is quiet, concerned. “You’ve been sitting here looking at that for over an hour.”
Jungsu blinks again, shakes his head again. Had it really been that long? He sweeps his gaze over the Bull Pen, his colleagues avert their eyes, turn their heads away. But not before Jungsu sees their self-satisfied smirks. He sees them, he sees them and he knows what they are thinking.
The golden boy is cracking up already. That didn’t take long.
“I’m fine, Youngwoon-ah.” Jungsu says. If he is surprised at how confident he sounds, he tries not to show it.
Youngwoon nods but he doesn’t seem mollified, he continues to hover quietly. Jungsu tries to ignore him; he goes back to looking at the picture. It still makes no sense.
“You look pale, Hyung.” Youngwoon says after a full minute of silence. “Have you eaten today?”
“I’ll eat later.” Jungsu says. He looks up at Youngwoon’s worried face and he can’t help but smile, just a little. “But thank you for worrying about me.
Youngwoon smiles, a bright, brilliant smile that makes him look nothing like the bullish young police officer Jungsu has known for a few years. It makes him look younger, more innocent.
“Hyung?” Youngwoon says after another full minute of silence. “Would you like some help? I could help, I would be happy to help.”
Jungsu sighs and puts down the picture; he’s starting to get cramp in his hand.
“This case is unlikely to do your career any good.” Jungsu says. He rubs his eyes, he’s tired, halfway to exhausted.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
It was true, Jungsu did know that. Jungsu respected that. Trusted that. But did Youngwoon trust him? Jungsu didn’t know. And if he did, would that trust extend to Youngwoon believing his ghost theory…or the other just as crazy one. Youngwoon pulls a chair away from a nearby desk; he turns it round and straddles it. Resting his arms on the back rest he leans in closer to Jungsu.
“Let me help, Hyung.” Youngwoon says quietly, conspiratorially.
Jungsu looks around the Bull Pen again, a couple of the officers are looking their way, but none are really close enough to overhear if they talk quietly.
“Ok.” Jungsu huffs out a sigh. “Ok. The suspect is either a ghost, or he can teleport. Either option is just as crazy.”
Jungsu waits, Youngwoon doesn’t answer for the longest time; Jungsu doesn’t take that as too bad a sign since Youngwoon isn’t actually laughing. Yet. Jungsu can almost see the wheels in Youngwoon’s brain churning as he thinks over what Jungsu has just said.
“What would a ghost want with money?” Youngwoon asks after a while. He asks the question so seriously that Jungsu can’t help but smile. “More to the point, what would a ghost want with 500,000 thousand Won? And since teleportation doesn’t exist in the real world, either way you look at it the footage has to be doctored. I’ve seen it, and the way that guy just appears like that…it’s like a special effect from a Hollywood movie. But why would someone go to so much trouble for so little?”
Jungsu rests his head on his hands as he thinks; his eyes flick over to the picture before he turns his gaze back to Youngwoon. Around them the bull pen has returned to normal activity, no one is paying attention to them anymore. Jungsu has asked himself these questions already, but still he doesn’t have an answer. Why would someone break into a bank just for 500,000 Won and how could someone break into a bank and leave no trace of any kind of break in?
“The best techs in the department have thoroughly analysed the footage already and they maintain that it hasn’t been altered in any way.”
Jungsu thinks back over what he said, he can feel an answer there somewhere, somewhere just out of his reach. The best techs in the department. The best techs we have.
It’s like a light bulb going off over his head, so bright and brilliant that he’s surprised no one else can see it.
“That’s it!” He says. He stands up quickly, his chair almost toppling over from the force of the movement. “That’s it!”
People look his way, he’s aware of snide smiles and low remarks about his sanity, but he doesn’t care. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this before. The footage had to have been altered; the right people just hadn’t looked it over yet. The best techs they had were good but Jungsu knew someone better. Much better. He ignores Youngwoon’s confused protestations as he quickly gathered up his things, shoving the stack of still pictures from the video into his bag. He pockets the flash drive with the actual footage and turns to go.
“Thank you, Youngwoon-ah.” He says. “You’ve been a big help.”
“I have?” Youngwoon says brightly. “Wait, what did I do?”
||
Wu Fan isn’t listening to what the old Taxi driver is saying. Under normal circumstances he’d be more than happy to let the mindless chatter wash over him, a welcome distraction and a potential goldmine of information. Beijing Taxi Drivers knew more about what was going on in the area than anyone else. But these were far from normal circumstances.
Wu Fan wonders if his driver knows they are being followed. Probably not.
He turns slightly in his seat to try and peek out of the rear window again. Yes, the dark sedan that has been following since he was picked up at the airport is still there, still following. They are only three cars behind now, still following and getting closer, that can’t be a good sign. Wu Fan wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee, especially not one like this.
How did they know where to find him? He hadn’t even told the old woman exactly when he was flying in. How long had they been out there waiting for him? And how long would they be content to just follow him?
“Old woman,” Wu Fan mutters. “Who have you pissed off this time?”
It’s taking him too long to find his bearings; it’s been a few years since he was last here. He’s close to the old woman’s shop now, or at least he thinks he is. He has to be. If whoever is following him knew enough to be at the airport waiting for him, then it’s likely they already know where he’s going. Which would mean they would probably try to intercept him before he got there, or else why would they bother following him at all.
Wu fan doesn’t like this. He’s been home for all of an hour and already he’s wishing he hadn’t come at all.
Best to get rid of his tail now, or at least try to. But there isn’t much he can do about losing them while he’s sat in this Taxi.
“Could you pull over?” Wu Fan says to the driver. “Let me out here.”
“Are you sure? This isn’t the best part of town.”
Wu fan knows they are are long way from the best part of town. The place he was originally headed for wasn’t much better than here.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Ok, your funeral.”
Wu Fan hopes that statement isn’t some kind of prophecy.
The Driver smoothly and very suddenly pulls over to the side of the road, ignoring the blaring horns and angry gestures from cars and pedestrians alike. The locks on the car doors click closed as the driver waits for Wu Fan to fumble in his back pack for the fare. Wu Fan knows it’s just a precaution, the locking of the car doors doesn’t mean the Taxi Driver means him any harm. But still, a thrill of fear crawls down his spine. He doesn’t like being confined, even for a short while. His hands shake as he hands the money over; shake so much he almost drops it. The driver just tsks and then meticulously counts the money twice before he opens the door and lets Wu Fan out.
The Taxi pulls away again with a squeal of tires and yet more blaring horns, but Wu fan barely even notices it. He’s too busy looking for the sedan, his heart beating too frantically in his chest when he can’t immediately find it. Wait, there it is. It’s stopped at the crossing just passed where Wu Fan got out of the Taxi. Wu Fan supposed it couldn’t just have pulled over when Wu fan’s Taxi did, it would have been too obvious that they were following then. So what were they going to do now?
Or maybe, maybe they weren’t following him at all; maybe it was just coincidence that the car was behind him all the way. Maybe, maybe the lack of sleep is making him paranoid.
Maybe.
The back doors of the sedan open and two men get out. One tall, one not so, both dressed in black. From the way the first one his holding his arms slightly out to the side, Wu Fan guesses he’s packing a side arm. The two men unhurriedly weave their way through the traffic; Wu Fan feels his stomach lurch when he realizes that Goons #1 and #2 are walking towards him.
So, not paranoid then.
He doesn’t run, though he wants to. He forces himself to remain calm, in control; it’s far too early to start panicking. He shifts his back pack farther onto his shoulder and shoves his hands into his pockets. Then he calmly and casually turns around and starts walking. The two men follow, but they are keeping a slow pace too. They hang back, watching, waiting. He has to try and lose them somehow, somewhere among the back streets; he used to know those so well. He has to try and lose them without getting hopelessly lost himself.
||
Chanyeol balks at walking passed the small group of boys. It’s not a particularly intimidating group, but still Chanyeol doesn’t want to pass them. He knows they are there because they are waiting for him.
He wasn’t expecting to find them here; he had chosen to walk this way because they wouldn’t be here. And yet, here they were. Their territory was on the other side of Hongdae and his territory was anywhere they weren’t. They haven’t seen him yet, but only because their attention was focused on a group of high school girls walking in the opposite direction. He knows that as soon as the pretty girls have gone then their attention would be refocused. Maybe their usual territory isn’t offering them any sport today, Chanyeol thinks bitterly, today must be his lucky day.
Chanyeol checks his watch, damn it, he doesn’t have time to double back and walk around them. He’s going to be late for work as it is. He ducks his head and pulls his hoodie further down to cover more of his face in the vain hopes that he won’t be seen. Yeah, because someone wearing a dark hoodie on a sweltering summers days isn’t going to stand out. Stupid, Chanyeol thinks, really stupid. But, he’s almost passed them now, just a little further. Just a little further.
“Don’t look this way.” Chanyeol mummers just under his breath. “Please, please don’t look this way.” It’s a futile prayer because, of course, one of them does look his way.
There is never a crowd of foreign tourists around when you really need one to hide behind.
“Fire starter! Fire starter!” Someone calls out. “Fire starter, fire starter!”
Chanyeol doesn’t have to look up to recognize the voice; he’s been the brunt of this person’s insults ever since he was old enough to know he was being insulted. Jonggu, AKA G-Dawg, wannabe gangster and oldest member of the gang. Too old now, really too old to be hanging out with a group that’s not long out of high school. Chanyeol would think he was pathetic but he’s too busy trying to pretend that his words don’t hurt as much as they do.
Since he’s given up trying to defend himself, pretending not to care is all Chanyeol’s got left.
“Hey freak!” Another boy yells out. “Show us your pretty face!”
Bumsoo. That really does hurt, Bumsoo used to be his friend.
Chanyeol sniffs back tears he won’t let himself cry. He’s not going to let this get to him this time, he won’t.
“Fire starter!” The rest of the boys take up the chorus, singing cheerfully like it’s a happy sing along. They sing out in roaring sing song falsettos that attract the attention of everyone around. Chanyeol can feel people staring at him now, can feel the burn of their accessing gazes through the material of his hood. He pulls his hood down further. He quickens his pace and doesn’t look up at anyone. He can handle the insults, he can eventually let them go and not dwell on them. What he can’t handle is people looking at him, looking at him with fear in their eyes. Like he’s dangerous.
G-dawg and his crew don’t follow him for long, they never do. Brave enough they are in their little group, safe on the crowded streets. But they never try to corner him or follow him to somewhere less populated, just in case. Just in case the rumours really are true.
Don’t get too close to Chanyeol. Things burn when he’s around.
A wave of frustration washes over him and he fights the urge to scream and shout and kick. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair!
“Where did you get it from, Jongin?”
Chanyeol stops walking and looks up when he hears voices. His hood slips down a little and he quickly grabs it back up in case whoever is around sees his face. He blinks as he looks around, surprised at where he’s ended up. He vaguely recognizes the place, but it’s not somewhere he’s been often. He was too busy trying to get away from G-dawg and friends that he didn’t pay attention to where he was going. He must have taken a wrong turn by the bakery because now he has gone too far south, he can hear the gentle rush of the river. Now that he’s looking where he is going he sees the bridge and sees the construction debris from where contractors are repairing part of the bridge structure. It’s a wonder he didn’t trip over it and break his leg. He sighs; he is really, really going to be late for work now.
He turns to go, but stops when another voice speaks up.
“If I tell you, Hyung, then I would have to kill you.” The second voice carries a joking tone, but Chanyeol detects a note of seriousness that sends a shiver down his spine.
He looks around again, but he can’t see anything but shadows playing around the concrete posts that mark the start of the bridge. Huh, apparently he’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be seen.
“I don’t like this, Jongin-ah. It’s not right.” The first voice says.
“Don’t worry, Hyung. It’s only a few Won, they’ll never even miss it and we need it.”
“It’s not that, Jongin-ah. It’s how you got, where you got it. Do you have any idea what they might do to you if they caught you?”
“No jail can hold me.”
“Jail isn’t what I’m worried about.”
There is a snort of laughter; Chanyeol assumes it’s from the second voice. A cocky ‘I’m invincible’ kind of laugh. There is a part of him that is fully aware that listening in to clandestine conversations that take place under bridges where one party has already admitted to being a thief, is not a good recipe for continued good health. But Chanyeol finds himself creeping closer anyway, drawn in by the mystery. It’s not like he’s going to go running to tell someone anything he overhears, especially not the police. They’d never believe him anyway, they never have before.
The voices sound young and vaguely familiar and Chanyeol is too curious, it’s always been his problem.
Carefully, very carefully, Chanyeol edges closer to where he thinks the voices are coming from, but then he has to double back because there is no one there. Sounds carry around water and he finds who he is looking for a little further away than he thought they would be. The voices had been so clear; he had thought the owners were right next to him. He recognizes both of them, but their names escape him, lost somewhere in the short time between dropping out of school and now. One of the two boys is leaning back against one of the concrete posts, arms held casually and easily at his side. He’s looking up at the underside of the bridge and at first glance it looks like he’s not listening to what the other is saying to him. But Chanyeol can tell that he is, can tell by his thoughtful expression. Chanyeol thinks he might be a year or so younger than himself, younger than his companion.
The other boy stands to stiff attention, his arms folded over his chest. Chanyeol thinks that the pose might look more imposing if the guy were just that little bit taller. As it is, his stern expression comes off as more cute and slightly confused. This guy, Chanyeol thinks, this guy might have been in the same class as him at school, when Chanyeol went to school that is. He racks his brain for a name and can only come up with Kyung. Kyung-something.
“You’re always worried about something.” The younger one, Jongin, says.
“Be serious.” Kyung-something retorts.
“Don’t be so uptight, Hyung. Jongin says, his tone half pleading half laughing. “Now we’ll be able to eat tonight, and speaking of eating let’s go. I’m starving.”
Chanyeol backs up so fast that he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to move away when he hears the two boys start to walk towards him. He steadfastly keeps his head down as he walks, determinedly not looking behind him, not looking to see if the two are following him. He walks fast and he doesn’t stop until he’s at Mr Byun’s bookstore mumbling apologies for being so hopelessly late.
||
“Try to be quiet, Hyung.” Joonmyun hears Kyuhyun say in that obnoxious stage whisper people adopt around other people who are sleeping. “You’ll wake him.”
That’s the thing with Kyuhyun’s apartment, it’s large and expensive but the walls are made of paper.
Joonmyun thinks about letting Kyuhyun know that he’s already awake. But he finds that actually opening his eyes is harder to do than think, they feel heavy, crusted shut. He slept too long and too deep, he feels the dull, lingering after effects of a sleeping pill. Kyuhyun, Joonmyun thinks, you bastard.
“Wake who?” The Hyung Kyuhyun was talking to says in that same loud whisper. Joonmyun is pretty sure that the two voices would be less disruptive if they just talked quietly.
“Shhh, come this way, we can talk through here.”
Joonmyun hears footsteps, two people walking softly towards the room he is in. One set of footsteps stops; the other continues to come closer. Kyuhyun, Joonmyun guesses, Kyuhyun stopped outside the door to his study and this would be Kyuhyun’s friend come to investigate.
“Who have you got in here, Kyuhyunnie?”
Joonmyun turns his head away and feigns still being asleep. He’ll wait until the friend leaves to go talk with Kyuhyun privately and then he’ll attempt to get up and leave. Now that Kyuhyun has important company he might not want to have Joonmyun hanging around. He doesn’t really want to leave, though. It’s peaceful here, just listening to the gentle click click of Kyuhyun working on his computer. He doesn’t want to return to his apartment and be alone.
“Stop calling me that.” Kyuhyun says irritably. “And come on, Hyung, you’re the one who said you have something important for me to look at.”
“Yes, I do.” The visitor says, his voice suddenly serious. He doesn’t even try to whisper now, Joonmyun has a feeling that his sleeping act didn’t quite work. “I need your help, Kyuhyun.” Joonmyun hears the visitor start to walk away. “Hey,” the friend says, loudly. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he? What happened to the other guy you were seeing?”
Kyuhyun sighs, long and loud. “Zhou Mi went back to China, Joonmyun is 20 and oh my god, Hyung, it’s not even like that! Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“He is sleeping in your bed.” The visitor says, his voice is mild but Joonmyun hears every one of the implications.
Is that where he is? Joonmyun thinks vaguely, in Kyuhyun’s bed.
“It’s not like I was using it.” Kyuhyun mutters. “And at least if he sleeps here then I know he’s sleeping.”
“Careful, Kyuhunnie, that almost sounds like you caring about someone other than yourself.”
“I told you, stop calling me that…”
Joonmyun doesn’t hear the rest of what Kyuhyun says, he hears snatches of affronted words before the door to Kyuhyun’s inner sanctum closes and he can’t hear anything more. Kyuhyun’s study is soundproofed, though Kyuhyun has never told him why. Joonmyun shrugs and turns over onto his side. Whoever has come to visit obviously doesn’t know Kyuhyun all that well, Kyuhyun cares more than he likes people to think. That knowledge is almost enough to make Joonmyun forgive the sleeping pill. Almost.
He yawns and stretches; he hears and feels his spine pop. He slept well, deeply and blissfully dreamlessly, but he’s going to be stiff for the rest of the day. Kyuhyun’s bed is far from comfortable, the mattress too hard. Eventually, reluctantly he gets out of bed. He’s not sure how long Kyuhyun’s guest intends to stay but Joonmyun figures the least he can do is to go and make coffee since Kyuhyun didn’t even bother to offer. He has to fumble around to find his shirt, he can’t believe that Kyuhyun took it off him, no wonder his friend jumped to the wrong conclusions. At least he was still wearing the sweatpants he had on when he came over last night.
To get to the kitchen, Joonmyun has to pass by Kyuhyun’s study which is next to his bedroom. As he passes he puts his head close to the door, not really expecting to hear anything, still he’s curious about what they could be doing in there. He can’t hear anything and he’s ashamed of even trying, but he can’t seem to pull himself away. He has this vague feeling that he’s missing something, something important. The feeling tugs at him, nags at him. He pulls himself away from the door, tries to shake off the strange feeling, but he can’t. The feeling follows him through to the kitchen where he jabs at the buttons on the coffee maker with more force than is necessary. The machine whirrs to life with a mournful moan. It’s old; maybe Joonmyun should buy Kyuhyun a new one, since he is the one that uses it most.
Kyuhyun’s guest is ready to leave before the coffee is finished brewing.
Joonmyun pokes his head round the door, half hoping to get a look at the stranger before he leaves, but trying not to look too keen about it. Kyuhyun sees him.
“Joonmyun-ah, friend who I am not sleeping with.” Kyuhyun says cheerily, he slants a pointed look at his friend who just just ignores it. “You’re awake at last, come over here and meet Inspector Park of the Seoul metropolitan PD.
Inspector?
“Inspector? Really?” Joonmyun says, he hopes that he’s the only one who hears the squeak in his voice. He throws Kyuhyun a confused glance, but Kyuhyun either doesn’t see it or ignores it. Warily Joonmyun walks over to them. He had always gotten the impression that part of the reason that Kyuhyun never talked about what what he did for a living was because it wasn’t always entirely legal.
“It’s nice to meet you, Joonmyun-sshi.” Inspector Park says with a little too much sincerity.
Inspector Park doesn’t look like much of an inspector to Joonmyun. He looks too young, too frail, though Joonmyun is one to talk when it comes to those things. Joonmyun doesn’t reply to the inspector which he knows is terribly rude, but he still can’t shake the strange feeling that he is missing something. The feeling only intensifies when he looks at Inspector Park. The inspector seems familiar, Joonmyun has a feeling that he has seen him before. A soft, dream like feeling. Too much like a dream.
“Well, I’ll be going now.” The Inspector says after an uncomfortable minute of silence.
“I’ll walk you out, Hyung.” Kyuhyun says and both he and the Inspector walk off towards the door, talking in quiet murmurs.
“I made coffee.” Joonmyun says when the Inspector is gone.
“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” Kyuhyun says with a smile. Joonmyun can’t help but note that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
||
Wu Fan turns right when he should have turned left. He curses his mistake in every language he knows, which is quite a few. That would be panic setting in finally, he thinks, once he stops running long enough to let himself think clearly. It’s not that being quietly stalked by men with guns is something new and exciting, but it is something he has grown unused to. No men with guns had cause to chase him in Canada.
“I wish I was in Canada.” Wu Fan mutters as he gently pushes aside the back curtain of a market tent. He’s careful not to upset the display of wicker baskets-or the stall owner who glares at him as he ducks passed.
His wrong turn took him to a dead end and a small but busy market, mainly made up of street food vendors and stalls selling oddments to tourists. The spicy tang of the various foods on offer makes his mouth water and Wu fan is reminded that he hasn’t eaten since he got on the plane. He’s tired and he’s hungry and he doesn’t have time to remedy any of those conditions until he can lose the Goons and get back to his Godmother’s place. Of course, Goons #1 and #2 would just follow him there eventually, but at least there he would have some measure of protection. Out here all alone, he’s just floundering.
He eases himself through the throng of people, looking for signs of his pursuers while still trying to keep himself hidden. The constant ducking and weaving is starting to give him a pain in his neck, not to mention the strange looks he is starting to draw from some of the vendors-and the vendors are likely to have seen some strange things in their time. Damn it, what was it his Godmother used to tell him? The easiest thing to do was hide in a crowd, all you had to do was blend in, pretend like you belong there. The best way to stand out from the crowd was to act suspicious, which was exactly what Wu Fan had been doing. Stupid, he thinks, stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s been to long away, this isn’t his life anymore.
He straightens up but not to his full height, because that would be another good way for him to stand out since he stands head and shoulders over almost everyone else. He turns to face the first stall he comes to, a chuanr vendor. He smiles at the old man behind the stall and is rewarded with a toothy grin.
“What’s good today?” Wu fan asks. The toothy grin gets wider as the old man points to the rack of starfish chuanr. Wu Fan’s smile turns into a grimace but he buys the starfish anyway. There is a memory, something just out of his reach, half forgotten. A memory of a starfish chuanr related accident, a hazy recollection of him and another boy, someone he hasn’t thought of in years. He has a feeling the incident was pretty painful. Wu Fan smiles sadly and turns away from the stall and, of course, that’s when he walks right into Goon #2. He’s not sure which of them is more surprised.
Wu Fan recovers from the nasty shock first, recovers enough to get a good long look as his would be assailant. Goon #2 is about a head shorter than his comrade, squat and muscular, a tattoo of barbed wire badly covers a scar around his left eye. There are several other tattoos, inked across his neck and down both his arms. It’s the tattoos that scare Wu Fan, have his heart beating if not in terror then something that feels a lot like it. Swirling tribal art mixed with Chinese characters and, down his left arm, Wu Fan can clearly make out the bright blaze of a phoenix design. Triad. The thought that these guys might be Triad had been floating in the back of his mind, held at bay only by the knowledge that his Godmother has the good business not to get involved with the Triad.
Apparently that wasn’t quite true. Shit and damn.
Goon #2 doesn’t show any outward sign of carrying a weapon but Wu Fan isn’t planning on sticking around to find out what and where he is hiding it. Instinct kicks in, and he hits out with the only weapon he has to hand-the starfish chuanr. Goon #2 screams as one of the starfish’s rays hits him in his already scarred eye. Goon #2 reaches up to clutch at his face and Wu Fan shoves passed him breaking into a fast run. Wu Fan runs left when he should have run to the right and he curses in several languages again. The consequences of his lousy sense of direction could potentially be fatal.
The Dead end he finds himself in now is a narrow alleyway and it’s only a dead end because of the corrugated iron wall blocking off the alley half way down. The work looks shoddy and hastily done and Wu Fan curses whatever shop owner thought to have it put up. The wall itself is almost as tall as he is and he wonders if he tries to jump it, would it collapse under him? He hears shouts from behind him, confused cries from bystanders and an angry roar from Goon #2 who was still coming after him.
No going back the way he came.
”Think light thoughts, Wu Fan.” He mumbles to himself as he starts to run. He’s always been good at athletics, sports. His Jump shot is a thing of beauty or so Dale used to tell him. But as he reaches for the top of the wall and prepares to leap he’s not sure he’s going to make it. Jumping to put a ball through a hoop and hauling yourself over an iron wall are two things worlds apart.
But make it he does. He closes his eyes and leaps and for one heart stopping second he feels like he’s flying. He lands easily at the other end of the alley, or almost the other end. He doesn’t have time to look back over the distance he just travelled. He doesn’t have time to process what just happened because right then is when Goon #1 turns into the mouth of the alley.
“This just isn’t my day.” Wu Fan grumbles. Goon #1 sees him and lunges. Wu Fan ducks to the left, spins round and plants his foot in the small of Goon #1’s back shoving him over. Goon #1 face plants on the concrete with a satisfying crunch. Wu Fan turns to run again but is stopped by a fist that catches him hard in the solar plexus. All the air rushes out from his lungs and he gasps for breath as he swings out with his back pack, hitting out ineffectively at Goon #2. Goon #2 punches him in the stomach again, and again, and again, several times in quick succession. Wu Fan feels himself losing the fight, it makes him angry but not more effective at stopping it from happening.
WU Fan feels himself going down, down, down, down.
“Stop hitting him, you fool.” Goon #1 says, his voice raw and thick sounding. “We need him conscious.”
The only thing holding Wu Fan up now is the arm Goon #2 has around his waist. An embrace that would have been tender if Goon #2 hadn’t been using his hold as leverage to hit Wu Fan harder in the stomach. Goon #2 lets go and Wu Fan crumples to the ground. Goon #1 staggers around to stand in front of him, his face is covered in blood, his nose obviously broken. That gives Wu Fan a small measure of satisfaction-very small considering his situation. Goon #1 bends down; leans in close, his breath smells awful. Wu Fan tries to pull back but Goon #1 just leans in closer. Wu Fan notes vaguely that Goon #1 has almost the same tattoos as #2 except the tattoo on his arm is a dragon. Wu Fan’s vision starts to blur, Goon #1’s face goes in and out of focus, Wu Fan smiles despite himself. The want him conscious, well they are not going to get it.
“We have a message for you to give to the old woman.” Goon #1 says but Wu Fan barely hears him and he doesn’t hear what the message actually is because his vision dims and fades and everything goes blissfully black.
He’s not sure how long he was out. When he comes too he’s vaguely aware of hands, someone touching him. The soft, gentle touches are a far cry from the rough ministrations of Goons #1 and #2. He tries to open his eyes but everything around him is too bright, too loud.
“Don’t sit up.” The person with the gentle touch says. Wu Fan wasn’t even aware that he had tried. “Geng-ge, help me with him.”
This person, whoever his helping him, has a voice almost as soft as their hands. Wu Fan could drown in that voice and be happy.
“Geng-ge!” The gentle voice says urgently. “He’s passing out again.”
Passing out sounds like a good idea, Wu Fan thinks idly. He doesn’t even try to fight the blackness as it takes over again.
.end chapter one.