fic-DBSK-Hand in Hand-Chapter 2
Title: Hand in Hand: Chapter 2
Author: virdant
Length: 1,488 words; multi-part (2/~9)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Tragedy, Angst, AU
Pairing: JaeChun, Changmin/?
Summary: “Implants.”
Changmin closes his eyes. “What about them?”
“Ahh. That’s what you are here for, Shim Changmin.” Changmin thinks he can see the bared teeth smile on the back of his eye-lids. “To find out about them.”
Warning: Disturbing Content.
Notes: I really really like this fic. I don't think I've had so much fun writing since... ages ago. Concrit appreciated~
[Chapter 1]
Hand in Hand
Chapter 2
Shim Changmin recites the third passage from the fifth year instruction packet in his head. Cities provide safety for the majority of the people still on this planet; they are storehouses of food, energy and supplies. As he recites, he runs counterarguments parallel. They house billions of soulless entities drifting in a repetitious existence of redundancy; they are storehouses providing not safety, but storing away intelligence, brilliance, and reducing people to drones. At the end of the long blind walk down a path he can't see-he knows that he must be in the city counsel building, because he knows the smell of this filtered air: stale, corrupt, and faintly like lavender. Lavender, as if the scent would cover up the distrust radiating through the air.
He knows why he’s here.
They set blinders on his eyes. They hold him arms pinned to his side and they walk him down paths he knows are unnecessary because he can taste the stale air and the repetition. They are the city counsel guards, and Changmin knows this in the hoarseness of their breathing and the tightness of their grip.
“What do you want from me?” Changmin asks after he finishes the fourth passage in his head. He’s tired of arguments and counterarguments and counter-counterarguments, circling around and around and around in his head.
But at the same time, he knows that the city counsel guards have no reply. They don’t know; how can they know? All they know are the orders: patrol, guard, bring Shim Changmin to room 139 in the City Counsel.
From behind, Changmin hears: “Here.”
The guards steer him into a seat in a room. Room 139. The conference room by the laboratories, the city counsel’s private laboratories. Changmin recognizes the sterile smell of carefully cleaned equipment and knows enough to know where he is. They tie his arms down, and Changmin realizes that his seat has armrests.
“Is there a reason for this?” Changmin asks at last. He tries for dry and unamused, but it comes through more bewildered. He almost winces at that, but he knows better to wince.
They undo the binders on Changmin’s eyes, and he sees. Sees white walls and mahogany-synthetic, the real stuff’s been long gone-tables and chairs. Touches the armrests of the seat he’s sitting at with the tips of his fingers, because that’s all he can touch and feels the coolness of steel that no amount of paint and posturing can remove.
He’s at the head of the table, Changmin realizes. And he’s tied to the chair.
“You have a responsibility to this city,” a voice says. He vaguely knows this voice. He remembers it from years ago when he was in the university and studying.
“You tried to recruit me when I was in the university,” Changmin replies. He doesn’t try to turn back to see the face. He remembers it, vaguely. Remembers nondescript features and a sharpness in dark eyes that saw his thoughts: jumbled and fluttering in tangled paths, and straightened them.
“I did. I believed that you would be brilliant then, and I still do.”
“I am brilliant.”
He laughs. Laughs and then sobers. He remains behind Changmin. “And if I said that you had a long way to go?”
Changmin thinks. Thinks in the twisted tangled paths that he thinks to straighten out into proper linear ones. Thinks: what does he want, and says, “What do you want?”
“I want you.”
“You’re not my type,” Changmin retorts instantly.
He laughs again. “Let me rephrase. I want your intelligence. I want the intelligence that could tamper with an implant designed to be perfect to make it more than perfect. I want your brain with your thoughts and innovations. I want you.”
“You want my brain. In a box.”
“In this case, it’s a very humanoid box.”
Changmin laughs. Politely. It’s not particularly funny, but he recognizes this for what it is. “What do you want?” He faces squarely ahead, because he’s not going to turn around and stare at what will inevitably an empty shadow.
“There is an epidemic. You know of this, of course, because there is no possible way for you to not know of this. You have been receiving the news feeds and they have been processed.”
“My dog’s been reading them. Why don’t you enlighten me.”
A pause. Changmin thinks there would be a polite smile if he could see. “Your dog. Of course.”
Changmin forces himself into calm. “You were saying?”
“Implants.”
Changmin closes his eyes. “What about them?”
“Ahh. That’s what you are here for, Shim Changmin.” Changmin thinks he can see the bared teeth smile on the back of his eye-lids. “To find out about them.”
Changmin inhales.
“These laboratories, staffed with the best this city has to offer, all under your guidance.” Control, Changmin thinks. “The best resources. The best everything. All for you.”
It’s tempting. He can’t think of much that makes it better.
“And afterwards? Whatever you want, provided you supply us with the information we need.”
“Whatever I want?” Changmin repeats, more in amusement than anything else. He wonders how desperate they are, wonders why they think they can afford to give him this, wonders what it is that they can’t afford to lose.
“Provided you supply us with the information from your research up until we learn what we want.”
“And what do you want?”
“That, we will learn when you tell us what you’ve learned.”
“Whatever I want?” Changmin repeats again, this time for clarification. He stares at the door. Synthetic mahogany. Carefully varnished steel, stronger than anything else he knows, covered with dark brown paint and burned into the steel. Patterns carefully drawn to give the illusion of something long gone. Richness where there is none.
“Whatever you want.”
“And if I want the city?”
“Do you?”
Changmin thinks of the city, with its tracks and the dull glazed eyes of people traveling back and forth mindlessly in routines that never change. Changmin thinks of the children and teens who race on the tracks, whooping in laughter and the pleasure of adrenaline. Thinks and thinks and wonders what he’s doing here, in the city counsel, in room 139, tied to a chair, instead of walking outside, on the tracks, with the world, with people who matter more than this person whose face he can’t remember. “Maybe,” he says finally.
“Should you want it, you have it.”
He thinks of what he’s being offered and what he wants to do. Finally, Changmin closes his eyes and inhales, deeply. “If you want me to sign your pretty contract, you’ll have to untie my arms.”
*
“Hey.”
Changmin closed the door to darkness. “Hey.”
“I heard.”
“Why am I not too surprised?” Changmin reaches for the light pad. “It’s really dark”-
“No. Don’t.”
Changmin’s hand pauses halfway there.
“I thought you said that you weren’t going to deal with the counsel.”
Changmin closes his eyes. “The offer was too good to resist.”
Changmin feels rather than hears the cup crashing to the ground. Metal. Heavy. A mug. It rattles and hits the side of his foot.
“What did they give you? Money? A whore for your own? Maybe a pretty girl to replace your sister?”
“Shut up.” Changmin clenches his fists. He moves to slam the light on. He needs to see to know where to aim.
“Stop.”
Changmin’s fist falters suddenly.
“I don’t want you here,” he hears. “You can deal with the counsel if you want, but you’re not staying here if you’re with them.”
“This… this is-” he’s incoherent suddenly, spluttering, aghast and upset and desperate.
He can hear the softest of pads, feet walking away. “This is what you signed for when you signed that death trap they offered you.” He’s walking away. From Changmin.
“I signed it for you,” Changmin shouts. “They promised me your freedom!”
He hears the feet stop. Hears the sigh.
“They’re liars, Changmin.” Changmin waits with bated breath. “Do you think they’d actually give me freedom?”
“They’re giving me anything I want. I want you free.”
There’s a pause. For a second, Changmin thinks that things will be right again.
“You never asked me if I wanted to be free.”
Then the door slams shut, and the lights flood on. Changmin blinks, eyes watering at the sudden light.
Every single glass figurine Changmin owns lies in broken shards on the floor. The carefully collected antiques from long ago, crystal and glass and everything, all shattered. Relics from an age long gone shattered in a fit of pique. All that’s left is the ballerina figurine by the door, from long ago when Changmin still had a sister, and a metal cup lying on the ground.
A metal cup and a figurine that almost broke.
Changmin picks them up, wraps the figurine in his jacket, clutches them tight, and walks out without looking back.
TBC. [Chapter 3]
End Notes: I love unnamed/unseen characters. See how I channel my love of such characters out? Haha.
But yeah. Multiple narrators! this will be fun... maybe. 's something new
Author: virdant
Length: 1,488 words; multi-part (2/~9)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Tragedy, Angst, AU
Pairing: JaeChun, Changmin/?
Summary: “Implants.”
Changmin closes his eyes. “What about them?”
“Ahh. That’s what you are here for, Shim Changmin.” Changmin thinks he can see the bared teeth smile on the back of his eye-lids. “To find out about them.”
Warning: Disturbing Content.
Notes: I really really like this fic. I don't think I've had so much fun writing since... ages ago. Concrit appreciated~
[Chapter 1]
Hand in Hand
Chapter 2
Shim Changmin recites the third passage from the fifth year instruction packet in his head. Cities provide safety for the majority of the people still on this planet; they are storehouses of food, energy and supplies. As he recites, he runs counterarguments parallel. They house billions of soulless entities drifting in a repetitious existence of redundancy; they are storehouses providing not safety, but storing away intelligence, brilliance, and reducing people to drones. At the end of the long blind walk down a path he can't see-he knows that he must be in the city counsel building, because he knows the smell of this filtered air: stale, corrupt, and faintly like lavender. Lavender, as if the scent would cover up the distrust radiating through the air.
He knows why he’s here.
They set blinders on his eyes. They hold him arms pinned to his side and they walk him down paths he knows are unnecessary because he can taste the stale air and the repetition. They are the city counsel guards, and Changmin knows this in the hoarseness of their breathing and the tightness of their grip.
“What do you want from me?” Changmin asks after he finishes the fourth passage in his head. He’s tired of arguments and counterarguments and counter-counterarguments, circling around and around and around in his head.
But at the same time, he knows that the city counsel guards have no reply. They don’t know; how can they know? All they know are the orders: patrol, guard, bring Shim Changmin to room 139 in the City Counsel.
From behind, Changmin hears: “Here.”
The guards steer him into a seat in a room. Room 139. The conference room by the laboratories, the city counsel’s private laboratories. Changmin recognizes the sterile smell of carefully cleaned equipment and knows enough to know where he is. They tie his arms down, and Changmin realizes that his seat has armrests.
“Is there a reason for this?” Changmin asks at last. He tries for dry and unamused, but it comes through more bewildered. He almost winces at that, but he knows better to wince.
They undo the binders on Changmin’s eyes, and he sees. Sees white walls and mahogany-synthetic, the real stuff’s been long gone-tables and chairs. Touches the armrests of the seat he’s sitting at with the tips of his fingers, because that’s all he can touch and feels the coolness of steel that no amount of paint and posturing can remove.
He’s at the head of the table, Changmin realizes. And he’s tied to the chair.
“You have a responsibility to this city,” a voice says. He vaguely knows this voice. He remembers it from years ago when he was in the university and studying.
“You tried to recruit me when I was in the university,” Changmin replies. He doesn’t try to turn back to see the face. He remembers it, vaguely. Remembers nondescript features and a sharpness in dark eyes that saw his thoughts: jumbled and fluttering in tangled paths, and straightened them.
“I did. I believed that you would be brilliant then, and I still do.”
“I am brilliant.”
He laughs. Laughs and then sobers. He remains behind Changmin. “And if I said that you had a long way to go?”
Changmin thinks. Thinks in the twisted tangled paths that he thinks to straighten out into proper linear ones. Thinks: what does he want, and says, “What do you want?”
“I want you.”
“You’re not my type,” Changmin retorts instantly.
He laughs again. “Let me rephrase. I want your intelligence. I want the intelligence that could tamper with an implant designed to be perfect to make it more than perfect. I want your brain with your thoughts and innovations. I want you.”
“You want my brain. In a box.”
“In this case, it’s a very humanoid box.”
Changmin laughs. Politely. It’s not particularly funny, but he recognizes this for what it is. “What do you want?” He faces squarely ahead, because he’s not going to turn around and stare at what will inevitably an empty shadow.
“There is an epidemic. You know of this, of course, because there is no possible way for you to not know of this. You have been receiving the news feeds and they have been processed.”
“My dog’s been reading them. Why don’t you enlighten me.”
A pause. Changmin thinks there would be a polite smile if he could see. “Your dog. Of course.”
Changmin forces himself into calm. “You were saying?”
“Implants.”
Changmin closes his eyes. “What about them?”
“Ahh. That’s what you are here for, Shim Changmin.” Changmin thinks he can see the bared teeth smile on the back of his eye-lids. “To find out about them.”
Changmin inhales.
“These laboratories, staffed with the best this city has to offer, all under your guidance.” Control, Changmin thinks. “The best resources. The best everything. All for you.”
It’s tempting. He can’t think of much that makes it better.
“And afterwards? Whatever you want, provided you supply us with the information we need.”
“Whatever I want?” Changmin repeats, more in amusement than anything else. He wonders how desperate they are, wonders why they think they can afford to give him this, wonders what it is that they can’t afford to lose.
“Provided you supply us with the information from your research up until we learn what we want.”
“And what do you want?”
“That, we will learn when you tell us what you’ve learned.”
“Whatever I want?” Changmin repeats again, this time for clarification. He stares at the door. Synthetic mahogany. Carefully varnished steel, stronger than anything else he knows, covered with dark brown paint and burned into the steel. Patterns carefully drawn to give the illusion of something long gone. Richness where there is none.
“Whatever you want.”
“And if I want the city?”
“Do you?”
Changmin thinks of the city, with its tracks and the dull glazed eyes of people traveling back and forth mindlessly in routines that never change. Changmin thinks of the children and teens who race on the tracks, whooping in laughter and the pleasure of adrenaline. Thinks and thinks and wonders what he’s doing here, in the city counsel, in room 139, tied to a chair, instead of walking outside, on the tracks, with the world, with people who matter more than this person whose face he can’t remember. “Maybe,” he says finally.
“Should you want it, you have it.”
He thinks of what he’s being offered and what he wants to do. Finally, Changmin closes his eyes and inhales, deeply. “If you want me to sign your pretty contract, you’ll have to untie my arms.”
*
“Hey.”
Changmin closed the door to darkness. “Hey.”
“I heard.”
“Why am I not too surprised?” Changmin reaches for the light pad. “It’s really dark”-
“No. Don’t.”
Changmin’s hand pauses halfway there.
“I thought you said that you weren’t going to deal with the counsel.”
Changmin closes his eyes. “The offer was too good to resist.”
Changmin feels rather than hears the cup crashing to the ground. Metal. Heavy. A mug. It rattles and hits the side of his foot.
“What did they give you? Money? A whore for your own? Maybe a pretty girl to replace your sister?”
“Shut up.” Changmin clenches his fists. He moves to slam the light on. He needs to see to know where to aim.
“Stop.”
Changmin’s fist falters suddenly.
“I don’t want you here,” he hears. “You can deal with the counsel if you want, but you’re not staying here if you’re with them.”
“This… this is-” he’s incoherent suddenly, spluttering, aghast and upset and desperate.
He can hear the softest of pads, feet walking away. “This is what you signed for when you signed that death trap they offered you.” He’s walking away. From Changmin.
“I signed it for you,” Changmin shouts. “They promised me your freedom!”
He hears the feet stop. Hears the sigh.
“They’re liars, Changmin.” Changmin waits with bated breath. “Do you think they’d actually give me freedom?”
“They’re giving me anything I want. I want you free.”
There’s a pause. For a second, Changmin thinks that things will be right again.
“You never asked me if I wanted to be free.”
Then the door slams shut, and the lights flood on. Changmin blinks, eyes watering at the sudden light.
Every single glass figurine Changmin owns lies in broken shards on the floor. The carefully collected antiques from long ago, crystal and glass and everything, all shattered. Relics from an age long gone shattered in a fit of pique. All that’s left is the ballerina figurine by the door, from long ago when Changmin still had a sister, and a metal cup lying on the ground.
A metal cup and a figurine that almost broke.
Changmin picks them up, wraps the figurine in his jacket, clutches them tight, and walks out without looking back.
TBC. [Chapter 3]
End Notes: I love unnamed/unseen characters. See how I channel my love of such characters out? Haha.
But yeah. Multiple narrators! this will be fun... maybe. 's something new