FRAGMENTED - Fragment 6, Part 1

[gildeddiscourse]

Title: Fragmented
Author: gildeddiscourse
Beta: callmeliyah
Rating: Strong R
Genre: Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Angst, Thriller
Summery: 2006 was a hard year, rocky, strained; mottled with obstacles and too many pains to count. As 2007 approaches, promising a horizon of new possibilities and kinder times, Dong Bang Shin Ki happily immerse themselves in the upcoming release of their latest Japanese single; eagerly praying for a successful year free of pain and hardship. However, when one of their members suddenly turns up missing, their hopes are swiftly shattered. The five boys are immediately thrust into a cruel reality far more harsh and twisted then the evil in the depths of their darkest nightmares. An unknown man with an ugly agenda destroys their world and possibly their lives as they are forced to play with the very strings of life and death to save someone they love.

How far would you be willing to go to save the life of your friend, your brother? Would you be willing to sacrifice blood? Flesh? How about your very soul? The boys of Dong Bang Shin Ki will quickly discover just how far a human can be pushed all for the sake of love...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This work is a piece of fiction only. I make no claims to know or own anyone there in mentioned. (Save of course for the occasional original character) I am making no profit from this; it is strictly for entertainment purposes only. The boys are property of themselves and each other. The plot/interpretation however is mine.

Previous Fragments :

Trailer,  Part 1A, Part 1B, Part 2, Part 3A, Part 3B, Part 4A, Part 4B, Part 4C, Part 5A, Part 5B

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“Fragmented”

Sixth Fragment : “In For a Penny, In For a Pound.”

It's the same everyday...
A place that produces an endless amount of death...
I won't see it anymore
I won't hear of the crashing reality
Tears of blood are falling again because of our dulled hearts
What will motivate me now?
Like the things that once filled our world with beauty,
The dreams we had for the future died.
- “Tri-Angle” By DBSK

- Monday, January 15th 2007 
                                        - 2:00 pm

He awoke to the pound of a vicious migraine. It was sharp and violent, and so powerful he could not contain the moan of agony that ripped from his throat as he rolled onto his side. Bare toes collided with cold concrete as he moved, and instantly his entire body seized; each and every muscle clenching tight in pain.

For an agonizing handful of minutes he could not move, he could not even breathe. Every fiber of his being ached, and as he lay on the floor gasping for an illusive lungful of air, he slowly came to realize that the immediate burn of pain was radiating like fire from his skull. Trembling fingers rose, ghosting across his face only to stumble against the rough edge of raw gauze. Only then did the events of the previous night return to him. Terrified, Jaejoong shoved the boiling waves of pain as far into the back recesses of his mind as he could while nails dug at the coils of bandaging wound about his abused eyes. Fabric ripped and fluttered to the floor as he apprehensively worked the bindings off.

The cold air hit his swollen eyelids almost instantly and he resisted the urge to flinch at the uncomfortable sensation; well aware of the fact that it would only hurt worse. As his eyes lay bare, and he prepared to open them to whatever consequences he had wrought, he hesitated. Fear slid its icy grip about his throat, stealing his breath and whisking away his resolve to a place he could not reach no matter how hard he tried. The vocalist sucked in a shaking breath, deep and somewhat calming but he could not fully quell the massacre of emotions running rampant through his innards. Yes, he was terrified. He knew, with startling clarity, that what had been done to him was going to change his life; whatever was left of it. He had no doubts that the damage was real, and quite probably, very severe. And that thought alone, kept his lashes glued securely to his cold cheeks.

“You shouldn’t have removed those bandages so soon.” A curt voice cut through the darkness, followed by the dull clink of a metal lantern against stone. Jaejoong started, and his eyes fluttered wide in surprise, shocked that he was not alone, as he had previously thought and even more terrified as the faint pulse of the oil lamp illuminated the cell; but not his world. Doe-eyes, now a dull black, gazed blankly into the shadows, and Jaejoong’s stomach sank like a stone into the floor.

The nameless Korean physician shifted across the patchwork of concrete, laying a small bag at his side as he edged closer. He had apparently been awaiting the boys return to consciousness, but what purpose or for how long, the singer did not know. The air grew tight as the man pressed close, scrutinizing the pale boys battered features with a trained gaze. The young Kim did not know what the man wanted, but he did not have to wait long to find out.

“So?” The man prompted, but Jaejoong did not know the question and therefore did not answer. Thin arms rose, wrapping almost defensively around bent knee’s as if he could draw into himself and shut out the harsh reality surrounding him and slowly leeching the life from his very flesh. Fingers found cold skin, ghosting over a new bruise as they tilted the boys chin for a better look at his newest inflictions. “How bad is it?” This time the singer managed to piece together just what the other was asking, but he could not find the words nor the will to reply. Instead, the singer simply tightened his hold, and turned from the touch prodding along his face; allowing dark eyes to slip closed.

“Well? What do you see?” That irritatingly hateful voice continued to query as cold fingers pressed into sore skin, attempting to pry aching eyelids open; against the vocalists’ wishes. Jaejoong squirmed from the touch, blindly shoving those abusing hands away as he backed further into the wall. The physician rolled his eyes, heaving a long sigh and dropped back onto his haunches.

“Well?” He urged the boy to reply. “Do you plan on ignoring me forever?”

But again, his only answer was the uncomfortable silence around them.

“If you keep wasting my time with this stubborn brat act of yours, I have no qualms walking out that door and never coming back.” The older man threatened in an angered huff, glaring quite sharply at the boy whose reddened eyes once again stared blankly foreword. “Just how long do you think you can survive without my care, hmm?” It was spiteful, and cruel, but painfully true, and Jaejoong felt the sting mixing with a faint bubbling of nervousness.

Frowning, the singer bit his lip and turned away.

“Look. You have two choices, either sit there like a pathetic lump and I leave, or you start talking and just maybe we can find a way to save what’s left of your eyes.” The Korean doctor threatened once again, attempting to appeal to the boys self interest, but with little luck. Jaejoong continued to defiantly ignore him, outwardly stoic as a mass of emotions boiled like hot lava through his belly. Irritated, the older man snatched up the bag of supplies he had with him and the lantern, and climbed to his feet, dusting his knees of dirt. The squeak of rubber soles on filthy concrete echoed through the painfully small cell, preceding a curt, “Fine. If you want to spend what little time you have left, blind as bat, so be it.”

The doctor tromped loudly to the door, raising a fist to pound on the metal portal wishing to be let out. Just as his knuckles rapped against the steel, the petite boy shifted, sudden terror springing to the surface.

“Gray.” The one word, faint and almost inaudible stopped the fuming physician dead in his tracks, and he whirled sharply at the youth.

“What?” He snapped, not at all attempting to suppress the dislike coloring his voice. In fact, he seemed to almost put extra effort into physically displaying just how much he detested his unwilling patient. It was a little awkward, and the singer wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to it.

Jaejoong shifted across the ground again, lifting knees higher to dig into a slender chest as his wild eyes seemed to remain fixated on the far wall; refusing to look at the older man. “I see… gray.” The vocalist clarified gently, a nervous hand twitching over his shin; idly plucking at the torn strings of his worn jeans. An eyebrow rose as the older man gazed at the huddled figure, squashing any possible stirrings of sympathy at how incredibly small and lost the youth looked at that moment, and sighed. A minute shive of tension slipped from the terse man’s shoulders as he made his way back to the seated figure, slipping into the roll of a professional physician instead of a hired hand.

“…. What else?” The nameless Korean queried, once again setting the bag on the stone ground and silently rifled through its contents. Extracting an alcohol pad, he tore into the foil wrapper and wiped his hands down before slipping on a fresh pair of latex gloves. Sweeping his gaze over the defensive figure, he slowly realized the boy was far more banged up then he had originally thought. He spied several new cuts and bruises, including scraped palms and a large painful looking welt on his collarbone, as well as two strange slices atop his naked feet. Belatedly he realized those wounds must have been the result of his shoes being cut from his limbs.

“Nothing…” Was Jaejoong’s only reply, and it seemed a physical struggle to get that one word out of his mouth. Pearly teeth worried a full bottom lip as fingers fell, twisting along bare toes in a fidgety manner, and it was relatively easy to read the unease in the angles of his body. The older man in pressed white quirked an eyebrow and redirected his scrutiny to the boys’ afflicted eyes.

“At all?” He questioned, shifting closer.

“….”

“Describe exactly what you see.” The physician ordered the sharp edge to his voice disappearing beneath the bland clinical tone as he extracted a small pen light from his bag and leaned forward. Gingerly he attempted to examine the damage by the faint glow of the lantern he had brought and found the task rather impossible.

Jaejoong sucked in a deep breath, trying to hold as still as possible, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable in his own skin.

“It’s all just…. A gray blur…” he admitted reluctantly. “There isn’t really any definition… Its just sort of awkward shapes; smudges of shadows really.” The vocalist explained, and it almost hurt physically to force those words out. As if, speaking alone condemned him to the reality of his now colorless world.

“Can you see me?

“Not so much as sense you. There’s a subtle darkening of the gray void in front of me,” the singer paused, uncurling a hand from his knee to trace a faint line through the air; indicating the outline of the physicians figure. “Its like,” he swallowed and licked dry lips trying to push the emotional attachment to what he was saying into the back of his mind. “Someone painted a… grayscale image of the world, then poured turpentine across the canvas before it could set. And now.. everything’s just smudged and… bland.”

“Alright. Follow my hand.” The physician ordered, sliding his fingers through the air at odd angles and weird intervals, and Jaejoong was somewhat relieved to realize he could vaguely make out the shape. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He asked next, and the singers eyes thinned, straining hard to read the blurred image floating before his face. His own fingers twitched against his slacks and he defiantly resisted the urge to reach out and feel the answer when the image refused to clear.

“…I don’t know.. Th-Three?” His voice was faint, and somewhat nervous. His guess was off by one. Which in and of itself was not a terrible outcome, but was far from what the boy wanted.

“Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Do you see snow, or white flares?”

“…No...”

“Does everything seem to fade in and out, or does it stay relatively the same?”

“It’s the same.”

“Do you see any colors?”

“It’s dark. There aren’t any colors in here.”

“I’ll take that as a no then.. Can you see more on the sides, the front, or the same all over?”

“..All over...”

“Does your head hurt, or are your temples sore? Aside from the residual pain from the drug, I mean.”

Jaejoong hesitated, idly chewing the inside of his cheek as he sorted through just what he was feeling. It was difficult to tell. His skull was pounding, and his skin still felt like it was on fire, but it all seemed to radiate from his eyes themselves. Shaking his head, he lifted blurred eyes to the stoic man before him “I don’t.. think so.”

The doctor raised a brow, flicking on the tiny pen light, then shone the bright beam into the boys’ right eye without warning.

“Can you see th-?”

Jaejoong flinched and hurriedly turned from the sudden flare with a gasp, a hand rising to shield his eyes from the painful onslaught. The youth curled into himself, despite the protest of weary muscles, and cold fingers worked to rub the sting away.

“Hmm.. Well, that’s good.” The elder Korean stated suddenly, and flicked off the light, dropping it with a quiet plunk into his bag as if signally the end of the rather awkward exam.

“Good?” Jaejoong scoffed incredulously, unsure how something that hurt that bad could possibly be good.

“It is impossible to ascertain an accurate impression of the exact damage in these rather shabby surroundings. There isn’t much to see, even for a fully sighted individual, and my instruments are, shall we say, somewhat lacking... But the fact that your pupils react to the light, well that is a good sign.” The ebony haired youth simply stared blankly forward, inhibited eyes gazing through the nameless man before him as if expecting a more thorough explanation. The physician fidgeted, finding the queer glance rather unsettling. Even in their current state, those doe eyes seemed like they could peer straight through a person’s soul. Without originally intending to, the older man found himself granting the boys unspoken desire. “Your eyes, while undoubtedly damaged, are not, I do not believe, completely impaired.. nor, beyond the possibility of recovery… Perhaps. They display the ability to perceive light and dark, as well as at least an impression of the world around you. And that is a good sign after all you’ve been through. Of course, I really can’t say one way or the other, at the moment, for certain. But… if treated properly, it is not beyond the realm of reason to expect some improvement.”

Despite the somewhat good news, Jaejoong continued to merely sit there, silent and motionless, as if waiting for something. And it took the older man several long, uncomfortably quiet minutes to realize the boy was probably waiting for the promised remedy to help his damaged eyesight.

Shaking his head, the physician rifled through the small bag of supplies he was allowed and extracted a tiny syringe; the barrel filled with a milky looking concoction. Shifting forward, he none to gently grasped the boys bangs, lifting the soiled fringe and forced his head back in the same motion.

“Hold still.” The physician insisted as Jaejoong quickly squirmed beneath the touch, trying to pull away from the strange shadows dancing before his vision. “It’s just an antibiotic… Or would you rather let them get infected and loose what little vision you have left?” Instantly that sharp, terse tone was back, and the almost soft, professional voice was gone. A swift tug momentarily stilled the young man’s struggles, and his head was guided further back until his skull rested against the wall behind him.

Steady hands lowered the needle tip with a surprising amount of gentleness, and the fine point slipped almost easily into the inner corner of the boys’ right, burned duct. With a swift plunge and a strangled cry of surprise and pain, half the vials contents rushed into the wounded flesh. The needle retracted almost instantly, saving the pained youth the discomfort of wrongly impaling himself on the syringe. A tight hand jerked the fistful of dirty hair once again, attempting to control his patients wriggling. “Hold still!” The older man barked, not seeming to care at the sight of the youths’ agony and quickly repeated the injection process on the second eye.

Withdrawing completely, he snapped the used needle and tossed the broken remains into a small plastic cup for later disposal.

Jaejoong wasted no time in scrambling into the corner of his tiny cell, huddled with his back against the cold tank of the commode, hands pressing into viciously burning sockets. Teeth plunged into a bruised lip as he fought the urge to vocally release his pain, the sting of dampness creeping past a crest of lashes unstoppable and raw. For several long heartbeats, the singer remained thusly curled, huddled and suffering and the doctor could not find it in himself to care.

“Its… starting to.. tingle?” came a confused voice a handful of breaths later as fingertips rubbed at sore eyelids; smearing the trail of tears down his cheeks.

“It… was laced with a mild pain killer.” The older man explained, sounding somewhat strange, almost taken aback even. Jaejoong blinked, squinting, then hesitantly peered into the shadows as the pain receded and was somewhat startled to realize his vision had actually improved. Even if only a little. And that fraction of clarity sent a swell of hope through his body so violently powerful, he almost forgot how to breathe.

As the strange man’s words finally sunk in however, the singer glanced up, a confused frown marring his brow.

“Why?..” He queried hesitantly. The physician merely shrugged, drawing wide eyes forcefully away and turned without offering an answer. Jaejoong fell silent as the uncomfortable feeling returned and the air suddenly felt thick. There was just something off about this man, and he couldn’t quite figure out what. A deft tongue darted out, flicking across pearly teeth and bruised lips as he let his mind wonder. He had caught the strange reaction the man had. It was almost as if he had seen something that had honestly shocked him. But that didn’t make sense. What about him was surprising?

Almost unconsciously a hand lifted, swiping across the remaining moisture clinging to his cheeks and without a thought he drew the hand back. Dark eyes narrowed as he gazed at the blurred outline of his fingers, before widening in amazement. There was moisture on his fingertips, and he could clearly see it. But they were not tears. Not in the least. Swallowing, the opposite hand rose this time, swiping beneath damp lashes to wipe the wetness from his eye directly. Again his fingers recoiled, and again they came away stained with a substance he had not been expecting. Jaejoong stared in disbelief at the red matter now smeared across his hands, and realization slowly dawned on him.

It was blood.

But not only was it blood. He could clearly see the deep rich tone of red instead of the bland shades of gray he had thus far perceived, and more disturbing, the blood, had come from his very eyes. In his pain, it seemed he had shed tears of blood.

How was that even possible?

His mind whirled a mile a minute, attempting to disprove the unsettling discovery. And stubbornly, he refused to believe it. It must have just been from the injections. The needle had hit something sensitive maybe, or pricked a vein. That’s all. That had to be it. People didn’t actually cry blood. It was impossible.

Jaejoong had plunged so deep into his thoughts that the sudden touch of something cold, and rather stinging against his cheek nearly made him jump out of his skin. The singer leaned into the wall, blinking as the man’s hand fell again, this time pressing a dampened square of gauze over his left eye. The physician must have read the question dancing across his face, for he quietly replied with a short, “I still need to tend your wounds,” by way of explanation.

Jaejoong shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip as the afflicted flesh burned beneath the potent astringent and ointment, but for the sake of his vision, he remained wisely silent.

For several long moments those petite hands moved in a calculated dance, cleaning and treating ill orbs before binding them with salve and a fresh dressing. He did not stop there either, progressing to the new cuts and scraps dotting the young man’s face and neck, down to his hands and knees, and even the cuts atop his cold feet. The touch was strangely gentle as he bathed and bound each wound, almost like he cared, and Jaejoong was utterly confused by it. It was obvious the man hated him, for what reason he had absolutely no clue, but he could tell the minute he had met him, that the elder Korean clearly detested him. And this sudden, rather timid handling was completely befuddling.

The sting of his injuries began to slowly lessen, and belatedly, the vocalist realized there must have been some sort of pain medication laced in the salves the doctor was working into his skin. And that discovery quickly knotted his brow rather firmly, and he could not quite untangle it as he sat confused and somewhat apprehensive before the man hidden behind the blindfold of gauze.

Maybe he was reading too much into it? Maybe... maybe his band mates had won another round? And this was the reward?

“… How could you do something so reckless?” The silence that surrounded them broke suddenly as the nameless doctor brooked the question that had been burning his tongue for hours. Oddly though, there was only a mild hint of condemnation in his tone, and that was nearly overshadowed by the queer, honest curiosity to know. The man did not look up as he cradled the vocalists left foot in his lap, gingerly applying a generous dollop of ointment to the harsh slash, before snatching up the thinning roll of gauze at his side. “It was rather selfish.” He continued when the singer did not immediately reply, and Jaejoong felt suddenly very insulted, yet overtly bewildered.

It took the young man several heartbeats to gather enough wits to reply, and his lips thinned into a confused frown as he spoke. “Is it selfish to wish to survive?” He replied with a question of his own. This man was a conundrum to him, a puzzle; one that he could not figure out. And that made him rather uneasy. As the catch slid into the gauze wrappings about his ankle, Jaejoong quickly withdrew his foot, and pulled from the man’s care entirely. The doctor did not protest, and instead simply turned to begin cleaning the soiled dressings and gauze squares littering the floor.

“It is, when that survival comes at the cost of other innocent lives.”

Jaejoong’s eyes strained to open against the fresh bandages, and his heart plummeted like a stone into his stomach. He couldn’t mean.. t-they wouldn’t?! “….W-What?”

“You didn’t honestly think they’d let him go did you?” And his fears were proved true. The man, that innocent man who had been kind enough to attempt to help him.. How could they do that?.. Oh god… But.. But what about the girl? Did they hurt her too?

“…… The driver?...” Jaejoong stuttered, steering the question in such a way, as if asking if there was more then one victim. The doctor seemed oblivious, and merely tossed the soiled wrappings into a plastic sack.

“Dead, of course. Because of you.” The elder man stated rather flatly, but there was no mistaking the hateful accusation in that timbre.

“Oh god…” The faint hope that Hana, that sweet little girl, had somehow managed to escape discovery was not enough to overshadow the crushing weight of guilt suddenly bearing down on his chest like a vice. He simply couldn’t fathom the fact that his actions were responsible for taking an innocent man’s life. It was suddenly hard to breath, and every muscle in his body clenched against the overwhelming weight of remorse. Fingers rose and curled into dirty strands of ebony, knotting and shaking as his body curled about his knees. Oh god.. Oh god! How was he supposed to live with this? How could he survive this crushing guilt? He couldn’t believe that he had actually murdered someone with his carelessness. And as he sank deeper into that pit of despair, he realized, this nameless man, the physician he did not ask for nor want, was right. He was selfish. His actions were selfish. And that self centered mentality had cost someone their life….

The elder man simply watched the boy suffer, scrutinizing the obviously stricken form without a hint of sympathy. He couldn’t understand the young man. He really couldn’t. And while this display of remorse seemed genuine, he couldn’t quite allow himself to believe it. “How could you do it? How could you sacrifice someone else’s life for your own like that?” The doctor prodded callously, angry fingers hesitating to resume their task of tending raw wounds.

Jaejoong valiantly shook his head, the action jerky, almost violent, but even that motion could not shake off the clenching fists coiled in his hair. “..I didn’t.. I didn’t mean to.. I-I didn’t think.. I, oh god, I’m so sorry!…” Dark orbs began to sting behind the swathing of gauze hiding them, and the vocalist gasped at the sudden flare of pain. He didn’t have the presence of mind to understand just what that sudden burning meant; he was too wrapped up in trying not to break down to realize its implications.

“No. You didn’t think... And that’s the problem.” The physician continued, and it almost seemed like he was consciously attempting to hurt the poor boy. Everything in his tone clearly stated that he blamed the singer for some unknown man’s death and try as he might, Jaejoong could not fault him for that. “You need to realize that your actions and decisions may have more consequences then you thought… Especially here.” And there was something strangely curious about that statement, as if the obvious meaning was not the real one.

Without warning, the large metal door to the tiny cell burst open, and the hard tromping of boots echoed off the walls. The doctor turned, startled, and eyed the man now standing a foot behind him.

“He’s awake.” Eien stated curtly, his gaze focused firmly on the kneeling physician. The man nodded, but wisely held his tongue. “I thought I told you to inform me the moment he regained consciousness.” The accusation in his tone was as obvious as a slap in the face.

At the first hint of that hateful voice, Jaejoong instantly tensed and scrambled to collect himself; physically peeling his hands from his scalp and sucked down a deep slow breath.

“He awoke when I was tending his injures. I did not have the chance to step away as of yet… I was simply doing my job.” The Korean attendant informed, his voice suddenly softer, almost meek beneath the weight of the Japanese figures scrutiny.

“Don’t play cute. You are to do what I tell you to, when I tell you to. And nothing more.” Eien was not at all amused, and the sharp clenching of his jaw nearly made the doctor flinch as he turned his gaze away. The Japanese man towered over the sitting Korean, eyes hard as ice. “Need I remind you of the penalty for disobedience?”

The physician froze, each muscle in his figure tightening like a stretched length of twine pulled too far, threatening to snap, and he adamantly shook his head. “No…” was the reply, breathy, and faint.

Eien raised a condescending eyebrow as he gazed down at the younger man. Grasping his slacks, he lowered into a crouch, situated not a hairs breadth away from the obviously frightened doctor. “You’re skating on thin ice, Min-Soo. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.” Fingers rose in silent warning, curling around the man’s collar before pushing the figure aside, and sharp eyes turned, locking firmly on the seated form of that annoying thorn in his side.

“I’m sorry.. It won’t happen again.” Min-Soo, the now named physician, promised and collected himself off the floor, scooting aside and out of the other man’s way.

“See that it doesn’t…” It was curt, and tinted with an extra warning, and it made the physician shiver even as that penetrating glare remained fixed on the younger Korean’s oblivious face. Jaejoong had sat silently through the entire exchange, hurrying to calm the pounding of his heart and attempt to dig his way out from beneath the burden of guilt threatening to crush him. Without the use of his eyes, he was left rather confused by the exchange, but he did not have the time nor the capacity at the moment to contemplate just what it meant. Instead, he kept his face steadfastly forward, fists curling against the floor as he awaited whatever was to come. Which, he was certain, would prove to be quite painful.

However, all that greeted him was silence. He could feel the faint curl of heated breath against his nose, and detect that uncomfortable stench of alcohol, and he knew Eien was still there; kneeling before him. But the unhinged man remained quiet, as if he was waiting for something. And Jaejoong didn’t have the foggiest idea what that could possibly be.

Without a hint of warning, a tight fist suddenly rose and curled like iron about the singers’ throat. Yet strangely, instead of attempting to suffocate, the touch, while uncomfortable seemed more focused on keeping him still then choking the life out of him. Twitching, his own hand rose, prying at those griping fingers, but the grasp was too tight on rather painful skin. “Why are his eyes covered?” Eien demanded. The question was not directed at the singer. But at the physician situated quietly in the corner. Min-Soo blinked, surprised by the sudden address.

“I was ordered to treat all his wounds.” He replied simply.

The Japanese man sneered, and without mercy ripped the gauze binding from the youths face, and Jaejoong had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning in pain. “These are not wounds. This is punishment.” Eien stated clearly, tossing the tattered wrappings at Min-Soo’s feet like rubbish. The hand about the vocalists’ throat squeezed and jerked, forcing the youths head up and his eyes open for his viewing pleasure. “And I wish to enjoy it.” The singer squirmed in the man’s grasp, nails digging at the thick leather of gloves the man never seemed to be without; but he could not break away. His body was too weak and weary from the ordeal the day before. And Eien knew that, and relished, quite avidly, in rubbing the boys nose in it.

“You better realize that this was an incredibly light punishment for your rather stupid stunt.” The man spat as fingers poked and prodded at the young singers face to his hearts content.

Jaejoong could do little more then bite his lip and repeatedly shove the hand away. “If you attempt anything like this again, next time I won’t be so merciful. Next time, you will loose limbs. And I will delight very much in gift wrapping them and sending them to your precious friends.” Eien warned, and the young Korean knew without a doubt that the man meant every word. Fighting down a shudder, Jaejoong finally managed to pry that stone like grip from his throat, and squirmed deeper into the wall. As if he could actually hide from the terrifying man of fury and madness before him.

“Don’t…” The singer managed to find his voice. And that one word, seemed to enrage his captor.

Eien’s fist clenched and rose, preparing to strike the boy, but he hesitated and glared as he ground out a terse, “What?”

“Don’t.. hurt anyone else.” Jaejoong continued. His voice was soft, but there was a conviction in that tone that honestly surprised the Japanese man. Surprised, and angered him. He had hoped the child would be easier to break then this, but his will and stubbornness were proving to be rather difficult road blocks to destroy. Scoffing the man dropped his raised hand, propping his forearm on his thigh.

“Tch. Trying to be the little hero again are you?... You’re in no position to make demands of me boy.” Eien spat, and Jaejoong resisted the urge to flinch as a faint shower of saliva pattered against his skin. Disgusted, the Korean lifted a hand and scrubbed the offending spittle from his flesh with a soiled sleeve. The Japanese man fell silent a moment, studying the quiet youth, before a rather awkward grin curled cruel lips.

“…. Unless….”

The ill intent in that one word had Jaejoong’s heart skipping a beat in his chest and his blood ran cold. “U-Unless?’ He was almost too afraid to ask.

Eien’s grin only grew as the boy took the bait, and he leaned closer, nearly nose to nose with the petite singer and a strange sort of growl rumbled through his throat. “Unless, you submit to me. Then, and only then, can I guarantee that no one else will suffer because of you.”

The ground seemed to fall out beneath Jaejoong as he listened, frozen in place and terrified of the exact meaning of that statement. “What?”

“Are you deaf now too? Submit boy. You know, bow at my feet like a good little dog. Accept my every command without question, obey my every order, relish the pain I bestow upon you and enjoy each and every second of it like the twisted son of a bitch you are…” The man spat cruelly, hard and sharp before a sick smirk curled his lips and deepened his throaty tone with an unhealthy sort of pleasure. “..And beg for more.” He was all but purring at that point.

“N-Never!” Jaejoong shouted, wholly and thoroughly disgusted.

“You’ll soon find that never, is a lot closer then you may think.”

“No. I won’t! I’ll never submit to you… I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you will submit to me boy. Of that I have no doubt. Sooner or later, you will submit. All it takes is that one weakness, that perfect incentive, that when exploited just so, it’ll have you tumbling to your knee’s in tears.”

And despite his defiance, Jaejoong was suddenly terrified, and the world seemed far darker then it had ten minutes ago. Something in that tone, something in the way the man spoke, it was clearly a promise, and not just an empty threat. And that fact, shook his world faster and harder then he thought possible.

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- Monday, January 15th 2007 
                                           - 5:23 pm

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was definitely wrong.

Yunho, with his band mates nestled on either side of him, had spent the better part of the last ten minutes attempting to pinpoint just what was so queerly out of place with the image dancing before him on the television screen. Yet, try as he might, he could not puzzle out just what was making his heart clench in this painfully frightened manner. For all outward appearances, nothing on the newest video seemed any different from the previous ones. Aside from a few more bruises, dirty bandages, and an oddly vacant expression in their missing friends’ reddened eyes, everything seemed exactly the same.

So why was there this dawning feeling of dread wrapped about his insides like a hand of ice?

A somewhat burdened blink from his bloodied best friend quickly redirected his attention, and the leader found himself distracted by the next task about to be laid so bluntly in their laps.

“I have something… special planned for today’s round. As I’m sure you four are growing quite bored playing the little puppet masters with your friends’ life, I have decided.. that it is time to broaden the field of play…. Instead of answering a question, or predicting an outcome, today, you four will participate…” Eien almost seemed to gloat in the prerecorded film, the fingers of a gloved hand distractedly twirling his captives’ long locks. Jaejoong, who looked startled, bit his lip and pulled from the touch, a ghost of apprehension haunting his handsome features. “Now doesn’t that sound more interesting?” The masked man teased, and the queer unbalanced quality to the man’s tone put all four remaining band members on edge.

Yoochun shifted nervously, leaning into the sick boy currently draped across his lap, hugging a bucket; just in case. It was an unconscious action, as if his body knew to draw strength from the other boy when his mind did not.

“Shall I explain your task then? You must be so eager to hear it.” There was an uncomfortable pause, felt firmly by every member of Tohoshinki and the air seemed to grow thick with tension. The Japanese man took his time, silently examining the fingers of a gloved hand; contemplating each and every one.

The squeak of moving leather sounded strangely loud in the suddenly silent room.

“Each of you… will break your fingers, one by one, until you scream.” Eien purred, counting with raised digits queerly emphasizing his words. “As soon as you cry out, you are disqualified... The deciding factor, of course, is to predict whom amongst you can withstand the most without screaming. I am quite curious who that will be.” The faceless aggressor on the screen smirked behind the hard lines of his opulent mask; obviously quite pleased with himself.

Changmin’s eyes widened at the declaration and Yoochun, perched on the far arm of the chair, donned a particularly stricken expression. Collectively, the gathered group swallowed.

“I must admit, I am somewhat excited. This round should prove rather interesting as your disgusting need to protect one another will most likely complicate this little game.” The man all but leered through the false façade hiding his features, more then a hint of enjoyment trickling through his tone.

“Isn’t that right, little one?” Eien queried, glancing down at the stricken youth who had up until that point remained curiously silent.

Jaejoong’s doe-eyes had widened exponentially, a look of horror donning behind those glazed orbs. His hands were trembling, clenched into fists so tight, his knuckles were now colorless. “No...” He breathed, shaking his head before suddenly surging against his bonds like a mad man. If the chair hadn’t been bolted to the floor it would have tumbled under the strain of his violent thrashing. “No!” Growling, he seemed to almost glare in the direction of the camera, or more accurately, in the directing of his now, watching companions.

“No?” Eien purred, seeming more amused then upset by the defiance radiating of the smaller boy in tangible waves.

“No! Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare! Yunho, guys, do you hear me? Don’t you dare do it! I won’t let anyone else get hurt.. Just.. Just let them kill me.” Jaejoong ordered in a tone they were all familiar with. Yet, the obvious hint of desperation lingering beneath the surface of that command unsettled them all even more then the situation that had caused it.

Yunho’s stomach plummeted into the floor as he gazed shocked and sickened into his dear companions’ dull eyes. A hand rose, covering shaking lips as the leader dared to glance over his band mates’ troubled faces. The collective smattering of horrified gazes tugged at his already pained heart.

The dancer had a fraction of a second to register a hand suddenly grasping Jaejoong’s right pinky finger before sharp nauseating pain exploded up the boys arm and danced brazenly across his face for the world to see. Arching in agony, the captured Korean barely managed to keep from crying out. “You’re not playing by the rules little one.” Eien hissed unpleasantly in his ear, his thumb teasingly tracing the busted knuckle of the tiny digit. Jaejoong shivered and panted through his nose in pain, and Yunho felt his own skin crawl.

The eldest Kim shook his head and pulled away from the rank breath that perpetually reeked of booze. “You can’t make them do this. This is inhuman!”

“This is life. Get used to it. You will all abide by the rules of the game or suffer the consequences.” Eien leaned close then, pressing the mesh of his mouth piece into the battered singers’ ear, and Jaejoong’s blank eyes widened in shock at whatever the man had whispered. Defiantly Jaejoong shook his head, and the Japanese man straightened with a chuckle and a cruel, but curious “Tick tock, tick tock.” The Korean did not reply to the queer utterance, and the oddity of it confused the onlookers. The magnae found himself torn between wishing he knew what the man had said, and thankful that he did not. For he was certain it was something terrible…

Swallowing, Jaejoong averted his gaze and spit out a mouthful of blood and saliva from a bit lip at the man’s boot. A tremor ran through the boy’s slender frame, the small burst of adrenaline fueling his body dwindling far too quickly. “I… Then… Then, I choose the consequences.” Jaejoong growled darkly, jerking as a hand lowered to pet almost affectionately through his mussed locks.

As terrified as Yoochun was for the stubborn boy he thought of as his best friend, he could not help but feel a hint of pride at his hyung’s strength and determination to protect them.

“You don’t get to choose, boy. Your opinion and desires have absolutely no meaning here. You’re only purpose is to sit there and look pretty, and scream for the camera. If you die, it will be because of them.” Eien purred teasingly, seeming more amused by the youths defiance then outwardly angered by it. Changmin’s nose curled in distaste, and he could not quell the simmering hate boiling like venom in his chest for the evil man who had turned their existence into such a living hell.

“You sick psycho.” Jaejoong muttered vehemently, irritated and just as infuriated at the situation as the watching magnae; his desperation to protect those he loved lending fire to his anger. “I won’t let you do this!.. I... I’ll bite off my tongue and bleed to death before I let you hurt them.” The singer growled surprising the older man, who was caught between chuckling and snarling at the threat. Jaejoong did not cease his struggles to ponder the queer expression clouding his tormentors’ gaze, but Junsu and the others could not help but wonder what that strange look meant. It made them uneasy, but then, everything about that man was unsettling.

The Japanese man eyed the boy silently, amused by his over protectiveness and inspired; a terrible and delightfully delicious idea forming in the fractured cobwebs of his mind.

“Look kid, the harder you make this for me, the harder I’m going to make it for them. Do you understand me?” The man breathed darkly, the rough fabric of his mask pressed firmly against the bound boys’ skin, scratching the delicate flesh as his hand tightened around the newly broken finger. “The more you speak out and fight against me, the more pain they’ll be put through. Instead of breaking bones, I’ll make them cut off fingers and chop off toes. Do you want that? Hmm? Do you want them to cut off their own limbs to save your pathetic life, only to end up hating you for the disfigured wretches they become?” The mans free hand slid down the boys exposed and raw neck, fingering the wounded tattoo the metal cord had bit into his pale skin; causing the breaks to sting. The Japanese man watched his captive with eerily mad eyes, eagerly drinking in every minute reaction as if it was the finest cut of steak served to a starving man.

Jaejoong panted and jerked at the sensation, holding his tongue physically to keep from spitting the desired retort burning his mouth to be released.

Shaking his head Jaejoong swallowed, steeling his nerves against the pain radiating up his arm and the unfamiliar feeling of helplessness bubbling through his stomach like bile. The minuscule drop of his shoulders, that tiny display of defeat, sent a thrill of elation through his captor and a huge smile crept across his hidden features.

“Good. Now, be a good little flower and hold still hmm?” The masked madman purred teasingly, releasing the now limp and swollen digit as his fingers curled around the one adjacent to it. Without further warning, the appendage was wrenched painfully to the left and nearly snapped in two, busted at the knuckle. Yoochun flinched and looked away as Jaejoong arched hard against his bonds, biting a torn lip viciously in an attempt to keep from screaming.

The pain was nearly unbearable.

Eien smirked in delight at the boys suffering, giving the useless finger one last delicious wrench, earning himself an agonized mewl, before he straightened. Redirecting his gaze to the camera, he cocked his head, his hands sliding almost possessively to rest atop the youth’s shoulder’s keeping him upright, albeit weakly. “That is all I will allow you to witness for the time being. The bench mark has been set. Each member must break a minimum of two fingers without giving voice to your pain. If you do not, then of course, you forfeit, and your little friend here will have suffered all of this for nothing.” He sneered almost teasingly, the leather of his gloves squeaking as his grasp tightened upon the Korean boy. Jaejoong bit his tongue, refusing to further acknowledge the man’s attempts to torture him for his band mates’ benefit.

Defiantly he jerked from the touch, hissing an angered and thick “Stop it,” at the figure behind him. The ringleader snorted and promptly cuffed the back of the youth’s head; hard. The pleasure he exuded as Jaejoong crumpled forward and did not rise again was palpable.

“You will declare your candidate at the beginning of your task. I, choose you’re valiant leader. You must choose another. Do not think for a moment that only two of you must participate. You must all do as I command, or you will loose. Must I remind of the consequences should you fail?... I should think not. Oh, and to be fair, if by some miracle the little brat here out lasts you all, I will be gracious, and consider that a win for you four. So with two candidates, the odds are clearly in your favor, yes? I can be very generous when I so choose, don’t you agree?” He smirked teasingly. “Oh, and do keep in mind,” The man nearly purred, leaning forward to gaze intently into the camera; the whites of his eyes glinting ominously beneath the black rims of his mask. There was something so unnatural about the madness in those dark orbs. “If I so much as suspect that you are not giving it your all, or attempting some rather pathetic ploy at rigging the round…” The man growled in warning, a hand sliding down to fist meaningfully in the crumpled figures hair, momentarily choking him as he pulled him back sharp enough to strain his windpipe. Jaejoong gasped, eyes clenched as his skull collided with the wood of the chair and a strange coldness pressed into his throat. Light glinted off the blade digging cruelly into the young man’s skin, flashing in ominous warning.

Yunho’s hand tightened around the remote control.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Without even glancing at his suffering captive, the Japanese tormentor gave the youths abused throat one last vicious dig, drawing blood, before dropping his hold; straightening elegantly.

“Do not disappoint me.”

Quietly, as the video ended and the same familiar newscaster appeared, the leader did not move, rigid and tense. The television flickered and went black as the remote in the boys hand creaked.

Man-Young, stricken and weary, slumped in his seat; a weathered hand lifting to scrub over paled features. “He can’t actually expect them to do this...” He mumbled, glancing beneath rough knuckles to the detective standing at his side. Utatane, stoic as ever, swept firm eyes across the gathered boys. No one moved, each seemed rooted to the spot, too shocked or lost in thought to offer their own opinions. Sighing, the man fished the pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, and tapped the elder Korean’s shoulder, directing the man out of the room.

“It would seem that they have little choice..” The detective replied, slipping two sticks from the box and extended one to the manager as he climbed to his own feet, retrieving his ashtray as they made their way to the door; seeking a secluded area to converse.

The door clicked closed behind them but still the remaining boys did not move. For a long moment, they did not even seem to breathe. The world stood still, and a rainbow of fear, apprehension and worry colored each vocalists eyes as they sat in silence.

All save one.

Junsu shifted first, swallowing as he gazed up to the obviously upset boy whose arms were currently squeezing the air from his lungs. “Yoochun-ah?” The ill boy called in a soft tone, uncurling from about the bucket he had been hugging so firmly and gently set in on the floor as he searched out the blonds eyes.

Changmin to the right rose to his feet suddenly, a hand ruffling through long locks. “I need some air.” He stated distractedly before padding down the hall.

Junsu nodded, but did not reply. Warm fingers grasped the baritones shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and the soft touch quickly drew the boys’ attention. “I need to use the restroom, Yoochun-ah.” The tenor informed, and a furrow marred the former American’s brow for a moment. A quick glance to the arms wound around a tiny waist alerted the boy to the problem and he sheepishly released his companion; not having realized he had grabbed him in the first place. Junsu offered a faint, somewhat unsteady smile before he climbed to his own feet, a hand pressed to an unsettled stomach as he too disappeared down the hall. Yoochun remained a moment longer, following the younger boy with his eyes before he glanced to the silent figure next to him.

He was unsure what to do, and for a moment he did nothing. His mind was all a jumble. The video had shocked him, and admittedly, frightened him. As he was sure it had probably done to the others. But that did not help quell the uncomfortable riptide of confusing feelings struggling in a tug of war inside him.

When he heard the door to the bathroom open and close and the tell tale shuffling of slippers on wood, he finally realized what he needed. Slipping off the couch, he padded down the hall, eyes down cast as he sought company and a shoulder to lean on.

Yunho remained where he sat.

Had he been conscious of his surroundings he would have realized how painful the silence in the room really was. But he was not, and the stifling aloneness went unnoticed. Dark eyes remained rooted on the black television screen, replaying the ghosts of memory over and over again like a bad movie and no matter how hard he tried he could not find the stop button.

For what seemed like hours he sat motionless, staring unblinking into the void before his eyes.

Only when a sharp crack snapped through the room, and pain jerked across his palm like a whiplash did he finally snap out of his statue like state. Confused chocolate orbs blinked, and glanced down, surprised and somewhat bewildered to spy the shattered remains of the television remote tumbling from his fingers.

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  Continue to Part 2