tell me, would you kill to save a life ; 2/14

[januarys_lovers]

The horizon line, broken by Port Ville's architecture, looks hypnotizing, nagging. Bright orange and pink streaks reflect against Jongdae’s windows, and he can only watch, powerless, as the day slowly fades out. Minutes pass by on the DVD player, hours die out, and Jongdae looks Port Ville's street lights turn on, one by one. He has always found it easier to fight his demons when it was daylight, because he could see them coming, he could avoid the shadows, but in the night now crawling towards his building, he is an easy prey. Tonight, it will be even harder to win.

Jongdae lets out a soft sigh as he pushes away the book he was only pretending to read. His fingers are numb from the hours he spent gripping the hard cover as though it was vital. His heart is still beating as fast as it was when he came home after his lunch with Dahye. He ran all the way back home, but what he was desperately trying to outrun never left his side. It's right here, and it's calling him.

Jongdae glances at his bedroom door from over the couch. Breathing is harder than it should be. He has no idea how he is supposed to act and feel now that he's learned that Sehun's killer hasn't been stopped at all. Even worse, he could escape anytime now. Justice hasn't been served, and it could start all over again. The Bomber hacking Port Ville's channel at random hours, the terror, the bombings, the deaths...

Jongdae's breath catches in his throat, and the book slips out of his hands. It lands on the carpeting with a soft thump, but the sound echoes in his head, repeatedly stabbing his eardrums. He winces, blinks away from his bedroom and closes his eyes. Darkness engulfs him, and colours soon start staining his eyelids, memories painting themselves on the black canvas. The brain-splitting pain fades away as faces fill his mind. Jongdae can't help a small smile from tugging at the corners of his lips at the grins, the glances and laughter he is reminded of.

His hand knocks into a hard surface, and Jongdae opens his eyes, confused. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize he's standing in front of his bedroom and a couple more to finally give in and push the door open. He steps into the room, his soles silent against the thick carpeting, and glances at the opened window. The horizon is still there, though much darker. There's a faint golden aura rising above the city, thrown there by all the lights, lit-up panels and neon signs. People are coming home after a long day of work, filling Jongdae's ears with tired greetings and relieved chuckles. Life is at its height, noisy and overwhelming, but in Jongdae's room, silence reigns supreme.

Jongdae draws back his attention on his bed as he walks to it. Glancing over his shoulder - a reflex from a long time ago - he kneels down and shoves his hands under the bed. His fingers knock into something cold, metallic, and they run along sharp edges until they close around the corners. Jongdae tightens his grip and pulls his finding out. The carpeting makes it a bit harder, considering the weight and the size of the large box coming out, but Jongdae doesn't stop pulling until it's completely out. When it is, he steps back, still on his knees, and lays his hands on his thighs.

The metallic surface of the box catches every hint of light, from the red glow of Jongdae's alarm clock to the neon pink of the sign in front of his bedroom window, but nothing radiates from it. If anything, it looks cold, lethal, as though nothing would ever be able to warm it. Jongdae reaches out and follows the outline off the heavy padlock which locks the box. His fingers slowly close on it, and he tilts it as his other hand plunges under his shirt to seize the key hanging low around his neck. His necklace rattles against the box's side as he slides the key into the keyhole. With a light flick of his wrist, Jongdae unlocks the padlock. It opens with a click that echoes in the room.

Jongdae stares, his blood turned to ice. It's been so long since the last time he opened that box that he can see little specks of dust whirling around the padlock. He follows them as long as he can, but when they inevitably disappear in the shadows or land softly on the carpeting, he has no other choice than to face the box again.

“Okay,” he whispers. He rubs his palms together and takes a deep breath before grabbing the edges of the top. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes, locks his jaw and opens the box with too much strength. The top knocks into the bed frame and bounces back, but Jongdae opens his eyes just in time to catch it before it falls back on top of the box. He chuckles slightly. His heart is beating so loudly in his chest that he can't even hear any other sound coming from the streets, and adrenaline floods his veins, burning his muscles one after the other. He's feared that box so much for the past five years, to the extent that it has turned his room into a sort of temple with silence and nightmares as holy beings; it represented everything he had lost and it was there, threatening him under his bed with a voice of its own. Jongdae opened it, and the world hasn't ended. He opened Pandora's box, and now that he's staring at the bundle of tissues, the pictures and other relic of his past, he feels more alive than he ever did those past five years.

He takes the press cuttings lying on top of everything and puts them away without a single glance at the bold titles. (Warehouse blows up in the docks: where is Alpha? Second week without Alpha, criminality level rises. Are Alpha, Heize and Nightblade dead? Six month anniversary since last Alpha apparition: Port Ville mourns her hero)

His fingers then graze a smooth and light fabric, and Jongdae can't hold back a smile. He grabs the neatly folded piece of clothing and takes it out. The weight on his palms feels familiar, and it welcomes Jongdae with hundreds of memories of the time when it was weighing on his shoulders, engulfing his body in darkness and flapping behind him as he was running on Port Ville's roofs. It still carries the faint smell of sea, with an even lighter hint of gasoline and ashes. Jongdae remembers when he ripped the cloak off his shoulders after Sehun's death, but he also remembers those times when Sehun smoothed it out on his collarbones or when Dahye made sure it wasn't inside out.

He turns the cape around to check the other side, but his eyes catch another old friend in the trunk. Jongdae lets go of the folded cloak and shoves his hands into the box to pull out an empty pair of eyes staring back at him. He lets out a faint chortle as his fingers automatically find back their spots on the mask he is now holding. The black vinyl material looks alive under the artificial light, almost liquid. Jongdae slowly tilts it on one side, then the other, before drawing back his attention on the box. He straightens up on his knees and rummages through the mess inside, until he finds what he was looking for. His breath catches in his throat, and he reaches out to take two other masks. The dark purple one has softer curves and stretched out edges. It goes a little lower than the other mask, the material mimicking the outline of Dahye's nose. She looked like a bird with this on, like a fierce eagle, all sharpness and precision, and she probably would have made it her code name if it wasn't for the Sailor's Gazette naming her Heize for her constant use of smoke grenades.

The other mask is dark blue, the exact same shade of the night draping Port Ville, right between the golden glow of the city and the thick black of the sky. It has nothing of Jongdae and Dahye's masks' curves, as it looks much more chiselled. Even the holes for the eyes are made of straight and sharp lines, the inner corner dipping down a bit, to fit Sehun's natural eye shape. Everything on his mask screams blades and knives - he wasn't called Nightblade for nothing after. Jongdae turns it between his fingers with a soft smile. He slowly lifts it up and presses it on his face. The material feels as familiar on his skin as the cape was between his hands, but Jongdae is too aware of the difference between his mask and the one he is wearing. He remembers Sehun's eye smile, how his eyes would turn to slits, the wrinkles hidden by the mask but the mischief still obvious all over Sehun's face. His throat constricts and he pulls off the mask. He carefully puts it on top of the cape.

He looks inside the trunk again, arms dangling over the edge, and his fingers shakily close around an old photograph. Three smiling faces stare back at him, bodies huddled together and limbs tangled. A seventeen-year old Dahye is on the far left, her face somewhat rounder, her features softer. She used to curl her hair back then, so light waves frame her face. She flashes white teeth at the lens, her arm wrapped around Jongdae's waist. He too looks much younger, with his middle parted hair, result of laziness and a sudden lack of caring, and his smaller frame. He follows his own arm to the wide shoulders it is wrapped around, and his heart misses a beat when he catches pointy teeth, soft lips and pale skin. Then it speeds up drastically in his chest when he dwells on the button nose, the roundness of the cheekbones and the playfulness of the eye smile. Jongdae watches as seventeen-year old Sehun laughs at the camera he's holding above the three of them, and it breaks his heart.

He lets go of the trunk and sits back on the carpeting, his eyes still trailing on the picture. They fall on his nineteen-year old self's arm around Sehun's shoulders, and that is only when he notices Sehun's free hand curled around his wrist. It looks tight and almost desperate, his index finger pressing against the inside of Jongdae's wrist while the other fingers dig into his skin.

Dahye and Sehun had been by his side for a year only. Jongdae had been Alpha for three years. Sehun had two years left to live.

And Jongdae makes up his mind.

Lexie Wright's is a place with no name, no sign. It doesn't need any. People know it because they've been told how amazing it is, or because they stumbled upon it in the dead of night, drawn to it by mesmerizing jazz melodies. For the wealthiest, Lexie Wright's is a handwritten invitation in a golden envelop which mysteriously ended up in their mail box despite the lack of stamp. For Jongdae, it used to be a source of information, whether he was expecting it or not. He can't remember how many cases he solved just by losing himself for a couple of hours in Lexie Wright's. Whoever you are, the club never meets expectations: it goes beyond them, and it never ever fails to deliver.

Jongdae stands on the opposite street, his eyes jumping from one client to the other at the front doors of the club. A woman is singing inside, her voice husky and drawling but mesmerizing as it hits every note perfectly. Jongdae can't make out the lyrics over the chatter inside the building but he'd bet his life on a love song. A sad, broken song, for those who don't pay attention, but an implied threat for an ex-lover, a promise of revenge, for the others. Lexie Wright never plays only a game at a time, she uses levels and layers like no one else so that even what sort of game she is playing remains a mystery. Jongdae doesn't even want to know how many men have lost their heads - both metaphorically and literally - trying to fathom her.

He sighs, thinking about the headaches she gave him back then, and finally steps forward. He steps out of the circle of light thrown on the concrete by a lonely street lamp, and walks into the golden glow luring new clients in. The double doors open easily, and Jongdae is sucked into the club by softened lights, luxurious decorations and the comfortable aura the oval room has. It's like travelling back in time; days of glory, frivolity and pleasure brought back to life by the ceiling built in a dome shape and the few columns circling around the room. Small round tables are meticulously spread out, red candles and crystal glasses waiting to be picked up presiding over every single one of them. Everything is simplicity and delicacy, from the wooden stage to the neatly organized wall of alcohol bottles behind the bar, but it is merely a disguise for the inexperienced eye. Nothing has been left to chance. This wouldn't be Lexie Wright's club if it had been.

Jongdae keeps his head low, his face hidden by the large hood he's pulled up. He has to reach his goal as fast as possible, because his ripped jeans and hoodie clash horrendously with the fancy evening wears surrounding him, and he knows from experience how efficient Lexie's men are. He makes his way between the groups of people, slipping between bodies high on adrenaline and alcohol, and dozens of perfumes engulf him. Pieces of conversations fill his mind but none of them stop on him. He hurries up, going from column to column, his head still low. He knows the way by heart, so he stays focused on the very slight frizzling he makes out under the usual background noise of Lexie Wright's. It's easier for him to catch it than to make out the exact words of the too numerous conversation going on around him, because it comes from a communication device, and, well, waves are kind of his things.

Mid-twenties daddy's boy at the bar acting up, a low voice says over the radio frequency Lexie's security guards are using.

Jongdae presses himself against the back of the column, dipping into the shadow just before a very tall man walks by him. He glances at his broad back and the muscles flexing under the high quality suit and pities the spoiled brat who thought he could rule the roost here. Jongdae is also grateful, because it means one less guard to deal with.

He walks out of the shadow and hurries towards the very discreet door now only a few steps ahead. Another guard is guarding it, even taller than the first one. His piercing eyes scan the room under furrowed brows, and they flash danger when they land on Jongdae. His right hand immediately flies to his belt, under his fancy jacket.

“Sir -” he starts, but Jongdae jumps over the remaining distance and presses his fingers against the man's temple.

The man's expression turns blank and his arm falls back against his thigh. Billions of connections, waves and frequencies are now opening to Jongdae, welcoming him inside the man's mind, and he plunges deep into it. He pushes the right buttons, triggers the nerves he wants to and distorts the smallest of waves. Then he withdraws with a soft whisper.

“Tell her I'm here.”

The man doesn't blink, doesn't react. When Jongdae pulls his hand away, the tip of his fingers still tickles from the energy and the hints of electricity he handled. He can't help the smile blooming on his lips. It was easy, merely a push, but it has been so long and, it feels like his body is waking up after centuries of sleep.

The man steps aside, and Jongdae shoves his hand in his pocket as the guard opens the door for him. He puts the mask on his face in one swift motion and steps forward. It's so easy to fall back into old patterns, so easy, and so relieving, like breathing in a lungful of fresh air. Adrenaline floods his veins, makes his skin crawl under his clothes, and tenses his muscles. He glances over his shoulders as the guard closes the heavy door behind him, and finally draws back his attention to the hallway stretching at his feet. Something crackles on the back of his head, and a blank voice raises over the radio wave.

M'am, Alpha coming in.

Jongdae takes in a deep lungful of air. He feels his chest expand, then shrink in as he breathes out. It is time, he thinks, time to go back to what he was five years ago. He blinks, gathers his courage and looks up at the camera he knows is already on him. He stares at the black eye for a couple of seconds, while trying not to let the red cold iris at its centre freeze him on the spot. No one talks back in the radio, but nothing else happens, which is his cue to start walking. He follows with careful steps the narrow corridor, white wallpapers closing in on him. The club's background sounds fade out more and more with every step he takes, the soundproof walls a too powerful obstacle for Jongdae's senses. He could vaguely hear the clatter of cutlery coming from the kitchens when he first entered the corridor, but they're long gone now, along with everything else. Jongdae tries not to focus on his breathing as it slightly speeds up, his nervousness taking the best of him. The sinister metallic creaking of the cameras turning towards him then following him down the hallway doesn't help at all, but the artificial eyes stuck on his nape at least force him to keep his cool. Lexie Wright has never done anything to harm him, or at least not that he knows of - which is actually very different when it comes to her - but she's still part of Port Ville's mob. She has blood on her hands, and probably several police officers watching her every move, waiting for her to make a mistake. Jongdae can't help but feel like he's walking straight into the lion's den.

He finally reaches the end of the corridor, and he stops in front of the only door there. The cameras all tilt back to their original angles, and Jondgae braces himself. The door opens without a sound and two dark eyes dig holes into his face.

“Baekhyun” Jongdae greets with a slight nod.

The man staring at him answers with a smile. He has changed quite a bit over the last five years. His hair isn't silvery, like it used to, but now deep black and cut shorter, which gives his piercing eyes even more intensity. Right now, they're wandering on Jongdae's body, from his shoes to the tip of his hood, and when they stop again on the darkness covering Jongdae's face, a playful smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Fully dressed in black, and probably carrying dozens of weapons on him, Baekhyun, Lexie's right-hand man, radiates danger and power.

“You're not dead,” a light, musical voice says behind Baekhyun. The latter finally steps aside without a word, slightly bowing when Jongdae steps inside the room.

He's been in Lexie's private office a countless of times before, but he was expecting the years to have changed the place. When he glances around him though, he feels like he's jumped back in time. Everything is there, from the green lamp on the large wooden desk, to the sparkling necklaces hanging from a dozen of nails on the wall behind, without omitting the heavy red velvet curtains hanging here and there. The air is still and thick, heavy with tension and secrecy, both reinforced by the lack of windows. It is really a den, but no lion is sitting on the throne here. Instead, it's a lioness flashing her white teeth at Jongdae in an intense crooked grin.

Jongdae takes in the woman standing a few feet before him. She's like she's always been: impressive, hypnotizing, and dangerously beautiful. Her golden blonde mane frames her face in wild curls running down her bare back and following her curvy frame, sometimes getting mixed with the sparkling dress she's wearing. She's the oddest mix between innocence and power, her round cheekbones clashing with her long fake lashes and the cold and clever blue of her eyes, but just like the rest of her club, nothing in her appearance has been left to chance. Despite the obvious lack of weapons hidden in her very tight dress, Lexie Wright stands before Jongdae like she’s heavily armed.

All things reconsidered, she's more of a dragon than a lioness.

“You seem pretty alive yourself too,” Jongdae finally says in lieu of a greeting.

Lexie Wright's red lips spread into a somewhat flirty beam. She raises a hand, curls her fingers into thin air and winks at him.

“I'm a resourceful woman,” she says, almost singsongs, with a playful note in her voice.

Something pops behind Jongdae, and he whirls around, heart jumping up in his throat. Baekhyun smirks at him with a raised eyebrow, his long fingers holding a bottle of champagne he just uncorked. Jongdae forces his breathing to calm down while he recomposes a neutral expression for his face. The hood may be hiding most of his features, he'd rather still not show any weaknesses here.

“I'm not here to drink with you, Lexie.”

She completely ignores his words, sweeping them away with another smile. Her eyes, whose intensity is beautifully enhanced by the golden eyeliner following their almond shape, burn Jongdae's face. He has never known if she found out who he really is, but that wouldn't even surprise him. She looks at him like she knows each one of his secrets. Which she may, for all he knows.

“You could have sent me a card,” she continues. She presses a hand on her heart while frowning. “I was so sad.”

She glows, both literally - from the discreet hint of light delicately spread over her soft cheekbones, to the golden dress she's wearing - and metaphorically, her aura suffocating. She's pinning him down with her icy blue eyes. He feels himself shrink until he's smaller than her when she barely reaches his shoulders, even with those vertiginous high heels she's wearing.

“I saw you,” he tells her. “At the memorial service they did for me.”

Lexie bats her eyes, looking very pleased at Jongdae's words. She's wearing so many masks that he has trouble reading into her and trusting the too obvious sincerity she's displaying on her face. He feels very aware of his surroundings, the lack of emergency exit for him, and the fact that he's never needed one in the couple of years he's come to her doesn't do anything to reassure him. He's also painfully aware of Baekhyun as an outside atom to their conversation. Feeling the skilled assassin move behind his back makes him nervous, so when he catches his scent getting closer, he glances over his shoulder.

Baekhyun meets his eyes, obviously as pleased as his boss was to see Jongdae that nervous, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he put a half filled flute of champagne between Jongdae's fingers and joins Lexie in a few strides. He gives her the other flute, which she accepts with a graceful gesture.

“Thank you, Baekhyun,” she says, her eyes turning soft for a short second as they land on the only man she might trust. When they fly back to Jongdae, they're playful again. “That's how serious I am about my friendship, darling,” she says.

She raises her flute in front of her and smiles at him.

“To friends who never die,” she cheers, before taking a sip of the sparkling liquid, her gaze still glued to Jongdae. The latter feels the silent compulsion laced in her irises. He raises his own glass and lets his upper lip sink into the alcohol. Baekhyun smiles behind Lexie, and Jongdae wonders for a short second if they poisoned him, before internally laughing at the idea. If there's a thing he knows for sure is that Lexie never plays with such simple rules.

She draws the flute away from her lips, and turns her head towards Baekhyun. The pair seems to be working with a silent bond that Jongdae cannot grasp, since Baekhyun immediately reacts to her silent order. He takes her flute away from her hand and stands there while she takes a first step towards Jongdae. He visible tenses, and she laughs lightly as she stops right before him, leaving only a few inches between them. Jongdae tilts his head on the side to bury it deeper into the darkness thrown over his features by the hood, and Lexie's smile widens. She lifts her hands and smooths out Jongdae's hoodie on his collarbones.

“If you're not here for the champagne,” she whispers. “Is it too daring to think that you're here for me?”

Jongdae keeps quiet. It's as though the past five years didn't even exist as she plays her favourite game to play with him. He catches the blue sparkles of her eyes from the corner of his, still intent on not meeting her gaze, and the light catching on her highlighter. He can't help but wonder how many men found themselves in his position before being stabbed by her adorable, thin veiny hands.

Lexie stares at him and the silence thickens around them. Jongdae distracts himself with the regular beating of her heart. It never speeds up, never slows down. She's always calm and in control. Finally, she sighs and steps back.

“I like you better in your full costume,” she says. “Don't you want people to know you're back?”

Jongdae chooses not to answer her question. He has lost too much time beating around the bush, and he now reckons that he has humoured her long enough.

“I need to ask you something,” he begins, but she interrupts him with another dismissive flick of her wrist.

She looks into the darkness under his hood for another couple of seconds and finally turns around, back to Baekhyun.

“I know why you're here,” she says. Her voice has lost the playful note and the flirty intonation. She glances at Baekhyun and takes back her original spot next to him. “I knew you wouldn't be able to resist your past calling you.”

Jongdae freezes. Coming to Lexie was obviously a good idea as she is always aware of what is going on in Port Ville, whether it concerns her gang or Beaulieu's mob, but he wasn't expecting her to confirm his biggest fear with such a patronizing indolence. He thinks about Dahye's black board and the white press cuttings, and ice runs through his veins. He still had a flicker of hope that Thorne wouldn't be involved at all, but Lexie's expression is adamant. Jongdae feels himself getting blown away by the warehouse explosion all over again.

“You mean - You mean Thorne really is behind it?”

Something close to confusion flickers through Lexie's eyes, but it’s too quick for Jongdae to be sure. Even if it had stayed along with the lighter blue splinters of her irises, he wouldn't have been able to read it anyway. He feels her tense though, and catches the smirk on Baekhyun's lips fall from his face.

“Thorne?” she repeats. She glances up at Baekhyun, the latter towering over her and draws back her focus on Jongdae, her playful smile back on her lips. “You know the rules, sweetheart. You only have one question, and trust me, it's not the question you want to ask.”

Jondgae frowns. Once again, he's painfully aware of the connection the two share, and how it pushes him away, making him an easy prey for their sick-mind games. Jongdae doesn't want to play anymore, he just wants the truth.

“What question should I be asking then?” he snaps at her, and her smile only widens.

“Darling” she soughs in her most beautiful honey voice. “What you really want to know is when and where the other members of the so-called Invisible Burglars gang will be going at it again.”

Her eyes stand out against the beautiful blonde of her hair and all the gold she's wearing, two irises so blue they're almost white.

“Trust me,” she says with a wide, so wide smile.

Jongdae lands smoothly on the fire escape stairs, crouching down until his palms press against the metallic surface. It's still warm from the long hours of ruthless sun shining down on Port Ville. Jongdae's landing has sent vibrations through it, making it crawl under him like a snake. He follows the vibrations down to the first floor, and lets his senses crash on the harsh concrete with them. From what he can hear, the alley under him is empty, except not for the cat currently tearing a bin bag open with its claws. Jongdae listens to the feline purr as mountains of fast-food wrapping cascade from the hole it has made, but he quickly draws his attention back on the rest of the street when he remembers the reason of his presence here at this ungodly hour.

He can see the jewellery shop's front window at the corner of the street, clean and almost opaque as the street lamps reflect against it, and he mentally sighs. He was hoping Lexie's indications would be false just so he could then gather the courage to barge into her club again and demand to know everything she does. Her knowing smile as she gave him the address of the shop is still raising big bold question marks in his mind, and he can't shake the feeling that she has played him somehow. His mission comes before his ego though, and if she's right - which she probably is - he'll be able to kill one bird with two stones tonight: he'll stop a robbery and he will get to interrogate some of Thorne's men. With a bit of luck, the whole case will be closed by tomorrow and Thorne will end up once and for all in Port Ville's prison.

In the meanwhile though, Jongdae has to grin and bear it. Aside from the usual nocturnal sounds of Port Ville's night life, the street is silent and still. The lack of action has Jongdae sighing again, this time out loud, as he gets back up on his feet and decides to sit on the railing. The vinyl of his costume slightly creaks at his movements, and Jongdae imagines it to be his suit protesting at the five years it spent sleeping in his trunk. It still fits him though, albeit larger at some places like his thighs and arms - where he used to be much brawnier. Other than that though, both the black jumpsuit and the long cape felt nothing but familiar when he put them on.

But it's temporary, Jongdae has to remind himself. He just wants to send Thorne where he belongs, and then it'll all go under his bed again. He locked the Alpha part of his life in the trunk for a good reason after all, and he's not ready to face that reason again.

Feeling himself stumbling closer to topics he does not want to explore, Jongdae mentally shakes himself. He grabs the very large hood still dangling on his back and pulls it up on his head, his features now hidden by both the mask and the thick shadow thrown over them. The street is still dead under him, but he knows better than to hope. Those nights spent waiting for something to go wrong have always been the longest, even when he had Heize's voice joking in his ear, and Sehun rambling next to him. There was one night though, that ended up being very different, and Jongdae cautiously unfolds the memory, his legs dangling off in the void lurking behind him. This is not safe, his mind warns him, this should stay in the limbos of your head for it is lost forever, but for the first time in five years, Jongdae suddenly yearns to have it back. The rain, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, Sehun's lively laugh ringing close to him, the look he had given him -

Jongdae straightens up, his senses suddenly on full alert. He grips the railing on both sides of his thighs and leans forwards. He's heard something on the other side of the alley, he's pretty sure of it. It was discreet, barely distinguishable, but it was there. He internally curses himself and his daydreaming, his eyes now glued to the rooftop across from him. Someone was walking up there, he would bet his life on it, but this doesn't make any sense. The Invisible Burglars gang - or whoever they are - use Thorne's M.O which means van and ground crew, so why would there be anyone on the rooftop?

Jongdae silently untangles his legs as his knuckles tighten on the railing. He uses his hands for support as he crouches down on the railing. The few feet of void under him thicken, waiting for him to make a mistake and fall over, but Jongdae's balance is stronger, and his eyes too focused on the rooftop to care about the ground anyway. He bites his lips as he mentally jumps on every sound he hears to decipher it. There's his cape hanging down to the metallic platform behind him, the slight breeze ruffling through the detritus on the street, the engine getting closer, and the numerous TV sets blasting news or movie dialogues, but nothing coming from the rooftop.

Jongdae's eyes go from the top of the fire escape stairs he's currently sitting on to the rooftop on the other side of the alley to gauge the distance. It's an easy jump, one that he could take on his worst days, and he finally decides to go check it for himself. For some reasons, he can't stop thinking about the black silhouette who visited him in the cinema the other day, and it’s making him uneasy and fidgety.

Just when he stands up on the railing, his cape wrapping around him and his leg muscles tensing so that he doesn't fall, a whole bunch of other sounds erupt in the alley under him. Jongdae startles, taken aback by the proximity, and he glances down only to catch six men being very active around a black van. He curses himself and his constant inability of paying attention to everything around him, and immediately forgets the rooftop as he crouches down again on the railing.

“This time we only go for the wedding rings,” one of the men says in a husky, low voice.

“It breaks my heart to leave all those diamonds behind,” someone grunts, and Jongdae catches one of the men elbowing another.

“You can stay to steal everything if you want, but don't come crying when the cops will frame your greedy ass.”

Jongdae follows the conversation, eager for a name, anything that would give him the start of a clue. Adrenaline burns his veins as it shoots through his body. He waits perfectly still, like a shadow in the dead of the night until he deems it right to fall on them, like a curse coming from the sky. He mindlessly bites his upper lip as his body keeps leaning forward, inches by inches, until he's feeling gravity gnawing at his calves. The men are now walking away from the van, and getting closer and closer from the stairs Jongdae is sitting on. A few more steps, and he'll have them all at his reach, just a few more steps, a few more inches and he'll be able to take down at least two of them. He tenses, narrows his eyes at the men and readies himself. In five, four, three, two-

A wild scream tears the night apart as one of the man on the back crew is suddenly pulled up, his legs erratically beating the emptiness under his soles. Taken aback, Jongdae watches him as he struggles like a puppet in the night, and it takes him a few blinking to make out the very thin cable and the metal claws in his chest holding him up. The five other mobsters start screaming, pulling their guns out and gathering under their still struggling buddy. His screams have grown thicker and more desperate as blood fills his mouth.

“Take me down, take me down!” he begs his friend, hands convulsing around the grappling iron in his chest, his intonations ending in a hopeless sob.

“Shut the fuck up!” one of the men yells at him.

They're all aiming at the rooftop, turning on themselves and scanning the night sky with their eyes, the tips of their guns jumping from one shadow to the other. Jongdae is climbing up the fire escape, jumping from one railing to the other, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He grabs the edge of the roof and hauls himself up in one swift motion, his gaze still focused on the building on the other side of the alley. The man has stopped screaming, but Jongdae still hears him quietly sobbing. At least he's still alive. As for the five other thieves, they're still erratically searching their surroundings, guns loaded and fingers hovering over the triggers. Jongdae hears their hearts beating so loudly in his ears that it almost jeopardizes his focus. He gains momentum and sets off without hesitating. His legs gather speed and strength, and when he reaches the edge of the roof, he pushes hard on them. He feels his cape fill behind him as he jumps over the alley, his body ripping through air until he lands smoothly on the opposite building and immediately comes to a halt. The cape wraps itself around his limbs, engulfing his body in a cloud of darkness before it finally falls back in place as Jongdae's head snaps on his right.

He catches a heartbeat too late the silhouette jumping off the roof, but he does hear the screams, as well as the guns shooting.

“Fuck.”

Jongdae rushes to the edge of the rooftop and glances down, only to catch the silhouette jumping from one man to another, body graceful and lethal, as each impact ends up with a thief collapsing. He moves so fast that Jongdae is pretty sure none of the dozens of bullets shot have reached their target; so fast that by the time hops on the low wall running around the rooftop, the five thieves are down, and the silhouette is standing in the middle of the circle of bodies. He looks up, faceless face aimed at Jongdae, and the latter can't shake the feeling that under the hood, he’s smiling at him.

The man whirls around, so fast that for a short fleeting moment, Jongdae only sees black on grey. He pulls out something from his belt. It catches the yellowish glow of the street lamp at the corner of the street when it raises, and Jongdae immediately tenses.

“No! Don't!” he screams, but the man doesn't even flinch.

He throws the blade, and it cuts the cable neatly. The sixth man falls with a loud thump and a pained moan at the man's feet who, once again, looks up. Jongdae finally jumps off the roof. His body takes in the shock when he lands on the concrete, the vibrations sent through his bones and shaking down his spine, but he straightens up without any harm, and faces the man. He's dressed exactly like he was at the cinema - black hood, black leather jacket, black pants, black shoes - and Jongdae thinks he even catches black eyes under the hood.

The man slightly tilts his head, seemingly curious as he takes in Jongdae's appearance, and it's quite unsettling.

“Who are you?” he asks, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. There are three heartbeats ringing in his ears, which means that the man did kill the five thieves. The sixth one is currently bleeding out at his assailant's feet, whose heartbeat is even calmer than Jongdae's.

“Who are you working for?” he asks again.

This time, his tone is harsher, threatening, but it does nothing to break the man's composure. Instead, he straightens and suddenly bows down, with his arms open wide on each side and his head still up towards Jongdae. The obvious playfulness of his posture sends a chill down Jongdae's spine that the low chuckle coming from the man's throat does nothing to ease. He remains in that position for a few seconds, danger and grace sticking to his body lines, from the way his gloved fingers curl up in the air or how his long legs are crossed, and it looks so out of place, so unexpected that Jongdae can't help but stare, mouth agape.

“What do you think you're doing?” he snaps as the man straightens.

He takes a first step towards the stranger who reacts in a heartbeat. He grabs Jongdae's wrist and pulls him close with so much strength that Jongdae stumbles forward. His face crashes against the man's elbow who then lets him stagger as an unexpected peak of pain flashes through his nose. Jongdae shakes himself and whirls around, but the man is already running down the alley, towards the lit-up street. He curses under his breath and sets off as well, determined not to let this mysterious man shake him off a second time. He grabs one of the small handle-less blades from one of the thieves’s chest, and speeds up as he aims then throws.

The hooded man has almost reached the end of the alley, but when Jongdae throws his blade, he turns on the right, and jumps up, his body turning around mid-air before he lands smoothly on a pile of pallets. His hands shoots up, and his fingers close around the blade in a perfect catch.

“What the fuck,” Jongdae gasps. He clenches his fists and speeds up, adrenaline now flashing white in his eyes.

The man doesn't waste a second either. He throws the blade back to Jongdae, jumps off the pallets and rushes out of the alley. Jongdae dodges the weapon, and flinches as it easily slices through his cape, but it is nothing in comparison of the disturbing sound it makes when it runs into a body behind him. Jongdae slides down to a halt and looks over his shoulder. He immediately catches the blade now popping out of the sixth thief's chest, exactly where his heart is.

Jongdae draws back his attention to the man, now perched up on the old street lamp, crouched down on the metal bar who overlaps the road and ends with the dirty glass box containing the powerful bulb. He lifts his fingers to his temple and greets Jongdae with them before he gets back on his feet, runs to the tip of the bar and jumps over to the opposite street lamp across the street. Jongdae grits his teeth as he sprints towards the lamp himself. It takes him less than a couple of seconds to climb it, and even less to jump to the street lamp upstream. The man is still on the right side of the street, jumping from one light to the other, and Jongdae gives his everything to catch up with him on the left side of the street. He doesn't fail to notice that their wild race is taking them closer to more lively streets of Port Ville, and he pushes even harder on his legs with a groan, desperate to catch the man before he reaches the fuller streets.

He thinks he hears the man chuckling as they run now perfectly in sync, both on their side of the street, and it only infuriates him more. He grabs one of his own knife in his belt and throws it the best he can while still running and jumping from one street lamp to the other. He hears the blade hit a metallic surface with a tinkling sound. When he glances over, the man is already staring at him, frozen on his street lamp in what Jongdae likes to think is a surprised posture. The blade is merely an inch away from his foot.

Jongdae stops on his lamp, high on adrenaline and anger.

“You weren't expecting that, uh?! Guess you're not the only one who knows how to throw a knife!” he screams.

The man seizes the blade, and Jongdae sees him struggle over it for a few seconds as he tries to pull it out of the metal bar, his frustration quite obvious. Jongdae would relish on the sight, but he would enjoy catching him even more, so he doesn't waste any more time. He tenses his muscles and jumps over to the street lamp the man is still standing on. He catches the latter's hooded face shooting up at him mid-air, and he already feels the pump of victory ringing through his body - but when he lands on the street lamp, the man has already left it with a graceful jump, the blade in his hand. Jongdae curses loudly as he watches the leather-covered back running down the street. He jumps off the street lamp and sets off after him.

They have gotten closer to the City, aka Port Ville's business centre, but it also means residential buildings leaving place for nightclubs and other distractions that are now thrumming with life. The crowd thickens around them, the roads fill themselves with cars and busy cabs, and dozens of voices, of smells and faces rain down on Jongdae, attacking his focus inch by inch. He tries not to mind the loud gasps, the pieces of conversation and the confused interrogations he catches, his eyes going from the man's back to the people he mindlessly pushes away as he elbows his way through them. He needs to catch him fast, before something bad happens, and the urge grows in his chest until it pumps anxiety through his veins.

As if reading his mind, the stranger randomly throws Jongdae's blade over his shoulder, and Jongdae has to slow down to push a couple out of the way. He bumps into them with his shoulder, and hears the man's bone cracks before the pair topples over with a scared yelp.

Jongdae slides to a halt, wincing. He rushes to the man's side, his pained moans filling his ears as his girlfriend tries to help him up.

“I'm sorry,” Jongdae blurts out, apologetic. He kneels down next to the man and helps him as the latter sits up on the pavement. “I'm sorry,” he repeats.

He freezes when he catches, through the crowd closing in on him, a white limo driving away, the hooded man sat crossed-leg on the roof. He waves at Jongdae, probably a wild smile on his face, and Jongdae's heart jumps up in his throat.

“It's you,” the man he bumped into says, and Jongdae draws back his attention on him. He looks pale and dazed as he holds his shoulder with his other hand. “I can't believe you're really back...”

His girlfriend is also watching with wide eyes, her short hair sticking out because of the fall. She's fallen on her face, crushed by her boyfriend's weight, and the concrete has torn apart the delicate dark skin on her cheekbone. Jongdae sends her a sorry look which she probably does not catch because of the hood. He hopes she's not sporting any more wound, her boyfriend's most probably broken shoulder already bad enough.

“I'm sorry,” Jongdae repeats.

“Don't be. You saved us,” the man hurriedly says. The longer he stares at Jongdae, the more fidgety the latter gets, and the now roaring sound of cameras clicking around him does nothing to ease him. That wasn't part of his plan, at all.

The man gestures at the blade lying on the pavement a few feet away with a nod. Jongdae follows his gaze and hastily fetches the weapon. The last thing he wants after this disaster is someone walking around with something like that in their pockets. When he draws back his attention on the couple, they're both still staring at him, but the confusion has left room for two warm smiles that, for some reason, make Jongdae's throat constrict. He slowly gets back on his feet, his cape falling back into place around his body, caging him until it hides his whole body. He sees dozens of faces around him, all watching, gasping or whispering.

“Where were you Alpha?!” someone screams. It's not bitter, it's actually quite the contrary, and a couple of other voices raise to agree.

Jongdae doesn't answer. He looks around him, at the smiles thrown his way, and all he wants to do is scream at everyone. He wants to tell them not to get their hopes up, but every time he opens his mouth it ends in a breathless whisper the roaring of the crowd easily drowns. It's so loud that it rings in his ears and echoes through his whole body, so loud that Jongdae almost misses the police siren getting closer. He winces, his thoughts immediately snapping away from the cold lethargy that was creeping up on him to flash Dahye's face through his mind.

He steps back, and looks down at the couple.

“Will you be okay?” he asks them.

The girl gives him a reassuring nod. She's holding her boyfriend against her, and her other hand is already on her phone, probably to call for an ambulance.

“Go,” she tells him.

Her voice is so strong, so unfaltering and full of trust, and Jongdae isn't sure what to do with it, or how to feel. He opts for a short nod towards them before he walks to the right side of the crowd, hoping they will get the message and step aside for him. They move in unison, the wall of people opening easily as he walks up to them, and their eyes heavy on his nape. His skin prickles under his suit, and the need to get the hell away from here grows stronger and stronger until it finally seizes his legs and forces him to run. People cheer behind him, probably seeing in his sudden burst of speed something worth being excited about, but Jongdae knows the truth. He hears himself hyperventilates as he dives into a backstreet, he hears himself choking on a quiet sob when he climbs over another fire escape, just like he hears himself giving in to the pending wave of anxiety as he jumps from one roof to another.

There's nothing heroic about him right now, there hasn't been since Sehun's death. He may wear the suit, he's not Alpha. He's not who he was five years ago, and the realisation fucking hurts. Trying to stop Thorne will only be justice, but it won't mend the past, it won't fix anything. Some things are just lost forever, but Jongdae misses them, so much that he feels like he can't breathe. He hasn't breathed in five years.

Dahye, sweet beautiful Dahye, makes her presence known in Jongdae's whole building through enraged knocks on Jongdae's door at four in the morning. He's heard her get out of her car with a long list of curses hanging from her lips, and she was probably counting on it, because she's been mumbling wait 'til I kick your ass, Kim since she stepped out of the elevator, all her anger and bite in her voice. Jongdae considers letting her waste her outburst of energy against his door, but then his eyes fall to the suit lying on the floor, and he knows that he needs her by his side more than she needs to scream at him. So he gets off the couch, steps over the Alpha costume, tries not to wince at the memory of his nails scratching his skin because of how desperate he was to take it off, and he opens the door.

Dahye's burning eyes fall on him. Her hair is dishevelled, long strands stuck in knots on the back of her head, and she doesn't wear any make up, but Jongdae knows she's been called to work a few hours earlier. She is, after all, the detective in charge of the Invisible Burglars case.

Jongdae steps aside wordlessly, and she comes in, just as silently. She freezes upon seeing the Alpha costume on the floor.

“So it was you,” she says. Her voice is surprisingly flat, surprisingly low. When she looks back at Jongdae, she looks more hurt than angry. “I can't believe you… Why didn't you tell me?”

Jongdae shrugs and closes his door. He glances at the costume, the black spread over the white of his carpeting, and he thinks about Dahye's board back at the police station.

“You didn't tell me either,” he says. He looks up at her, and she frowns, confused. “You didn't tell me about your investigation on Thorne.”

Her eyes widen, and Jongdae can hear her breath in deeply as she opens his mouth.

“That's not fair, Jongdae. I was trying to protect you.” Her own words seem to reach her mind with a delay, because her sentence ends abruptly and she considers Jongdae with a sombre look on her face. “You can't do this to me,” she says. “We're in this together. I want Thorne to be stopped just as much as you do. I grew up with Sehun.”

Her last words are cutting, bitter, and accusing. They hit Jongdae in full force, but he knows he deserves the blow. She's been through just as much as him, but when she lost her childhood friend, the boy she shared everything with, she became a police officer so that she could save other people's best friends. Jongdae gave up on Alpha, he gave up on three years of fighting with Dahye, and even longer on his own. He just gave up, and she kept fighting his battles in addition to hers.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. He clears his throat, and breathes in deeply. “I'm sorry,” he repeats.

She watches him, silent but so intense. It's still pitched black outside, so the neon signs facing Jongdae's windows are as flashy as they can get. Pink dances on Dahye's hair and compliments the faint blush she still wears on her cheekbones from her hurried race to Jongdae's apartment door. She doesn't look as angry any more, not even disappointed, she's just... Dahye. Strong and present.

“It's okay,” she finally says. She blinks, watches Jongdae and sighs as she deflates.

“I really am, Dahye,” Jongdae continues. “I guess I didn't know how to tell you...” He pauses and tries a tentative light smile. “You did spend the last five years trying to convince me to put the costume back on, and I always said no.”

Dahye snorts, but Jongdae can spot a few wrinkles popping up on the corners of her eyes.

“I did, didn't?” she says. Her eyes naturally fall back on the costume lying on the floor, and she looks distant for a short second, contemplative. She looks almost envious, almost longing. “How was it?”

Jongdae slowly shrugs.

“It was amazing. And then it was just scary.”

She nods with a little understanding smile.

“I can imagine,” she whispers, probably more to herself than for Jongdae. It takes her a few seconds to come back to her senses and to draw back her attention on Jongdae. This time though, her eyes are those of the detective she's become.

“I'm gonna make ourselves some coffee,” she says. “And then you tell me everything.”

And Jongdae does. The coffee mug grows cold between his fingers as he talks, and his eyes trail on the costume more often than not. He tells her about the picture and how happy they all looked - and when she smiles, he makes a mental note to give it to her - he tells her how easy it was to remember how to deal with Lexie Wright, and how thrilling walking into the club was, how alive he felt. He explains Lexie's clue, and how it took him to the alley, and the Invisible Burglars. She frowns at the mention of the hooded man and sighs when Jongdae sheepishly confesses about their first meeting at the cinema, but she keeps silent even when Jongdae mentions how fast the man was, even compared to him, and how agile and precise he was, how deadly. He only stops when he gets to the couple on the street, and the sound of the broken collarbone fills his mind. When he looks up at her, she gives him a slight smile.

“He's okay,” she says before he can ask. “He was taken to the hospital when I got there. He didn't look like he was in pain to be honest. The guy was smiling like it was the best day of his life, and don't get me started on the girlfriend.”

Jongdae makes a face. The neon pink reflects on the dark surface of the coffee, giving it a strong chemical look that knots his already upset stomach.

“I didn't want anyone to know,” he says.

Dahye doesn't say anything, but he feels her getting closer on the couch where the two of them are now sitting on. Her shoulder softly bumps into Jongdae's, her thigh pressing into his, and when he looks at her, she flashes him a sorry smile. She runs her fingers through his hair.

“I wish I could do something,” she apologies. “But that Park Chanyeol reporter was already there, and there's no way I can make him shut up - trust me I've tried before.”

“Don't worry about that. It was my fault anyway.”

Dahye looks like she wants to argue, but she drops it with a small sigh. Her fingers slide down from Jongdae's hair to his nape, and she finally wraps her arm around his waist. Jongdae instinctively scoots closer as Dahye snuggles up against his side. Her cheek feels warm but soft against his shoulder, and her breathing is quite calming. Jongdae focuses on the slow rhythm of her heartbeat as he watches the costume lying at their feet. It looks like a broken body on the carpeting, like it has been thrown there to mark the finding of a murder victim. The black hood is splattered over the floor in a dark puddle that could be thick blood, and it seems to be staring back at Jongdae.

Dahye lets out another sigh as she straightens up. She lets go of Jongdae's waist, and grabs the cup of coffee he's still desperately holding on. She throws him a glance heavy with implied meanings, and walks to Jongdae's microwave.

“Who's that guy anyway?” she asks as she presses a few buttons. Jongdae hears the appliance's waves tingle in his mind, like they always do. “And why would Lexie Wright send you to him?”

Jongdae shrugs helplessly.

“Whoever he is, he's obviously after Thorne. There hasn't been any body drops on Beaulieu or Pavoni's sides, has it?”

Dahye shakes her head as the microwave rings. Jongdae replays Lexie and Baekhyun's exchanged look in his mind when Lexie gave him the location as Dahye walks back to him. She shoves the cup in his hands and throws him a severe look he completely misses, lost in his thoughts.

“Thorne is obviously the weakest out of the three mob leaders, being in the asylum and all,” he thinks out loud. “Maybe there's a new king wannabe in town. Taking down Thorne is probably a lot easier than Beaulieu or Pavoni at this point.”

Dahye frowns.

“If he's after Thorne's territory, he could become a threat for Beaulieu and Pavoni, and that would explain why she sent you after him.” Dahye's thinking face clears for a half amused half jaded one. “Would that be surprising? Nope. The woman never gets her own hands dirty.”

Jongdae chuckles. Dahye has a point though, Lexie probably expects him to go after the hooded man, which is most surely what he'll do anyway. Someone that dangerous and deathly shouldn't be allowed to wander freely in the city, and bringing him in would take Jongdae a step closer to his goal - which is, and always will be, taking Thorne out of the picture

“She may not have given me anything against Thorne, she didn't refute when I mentioned him either,” he tells Dahye, and she lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Of course she didn't” she mumbles. She instinctively grabs Jongdae's wrist and lifts his arm to have him take a sip of his coffee. “Thorne is behind those robberies, we know that. We're just lacking some serious proofs to bring him in once and for all.”

She looks into Jongdae's face, a moment of silence stretching between them. Jongdae can hear Dahye's heart speeds up ever so slightly, and he catches the familiar sparkle in her eyes. His own body reacts to her, and adrenaline burns through his veins as he lowers his cup of coffee again.

“We should go talk to her again,” Dahye says, each one of her words revealing a bit more about the smile she's trying hard to restrain. “And make her give us some useful answers.”

“You know how she works, Dahye. She won't give us more until I've returned the favour. Plus, it's different now, you're a cop. If you're seen mingling with Port Ville's mob...”

“I won't be,” Dahye hastily interrupts. Her smile widens. “Because I won't be going as Jang Dahye. I take care of Baekhyun, and you dig into Lexie's brain for our proofs against Thorne.”

“We're trying to prevent another gang war, not start one,” Jongdae chuckles.

Dahye sighs, her lips falling into a light pout.

“So what now?” she asks. “What do we do?”

Jongdae blinks away, thinking. The top priority is making sure Thorne doesn't get out of the asylum. Once that risk cleared, they'll be able to focus on finding solid proofs against him. It inevitably makes the hooded man their priority, and maybe they'll even learn some useful things when they'll question him. Pictures of the man waving at him from the limo, or bowing down to him flash through his mind. He hasn't forgotten about the low chuckle in the cinema either, or how fast and scarily efficient he is, and something tells him that trying to stop him could be at least as complicated as finding evidence against Thorne.

He breaks himself out of his reverie and looks back at Dahye, whose deep eyes have never left his face. The worried wrinkle crossing her forehead smooths itself out upon meeting Jongdae's gaze. She flashes him a light but understanding smile even though a dark bitter veil falls over her eyes.

“So I guess we're going to protect Thorne's territory now,” she sighs.

She reaches for Jondgae's cup of coffee and drinks a long sip.

“I will,” Jongdae corrects her as she hands him back his cup.

She throws him a nasty look, but freezes before Jongdae can say anything. He frowns at her wide eyes and the upward corners of her lips, confused.

“Dahye?”

“You're right,” she says, excitement unfolding all over her face. She looks like she's just had a revelation which could be a very good - or a very bad thing.

“Am I?” Jongdae says in a small hesitating voice.

“I am a cop.” She grins. “I know exactly what we have to do.”

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