tell me, would you kill to save a life ; 4/14
Port Ville is beautiful by night. It's alive, thrumming and almost fairy-tale like as neon colours highlight forgotten corners, and main spots turn into forgotten places. Jongdae has always liked the atmosphere falling on the city with the night's cloak, the slight tension and the intense freedom pushing back any boundaries drawn during daylight. He knows the city is dangerous, haunted by evil and darkness, but it still stands strong. It fights back, and Jongdae - well, Jongdae is the weapon, and he loves that feeling more than anything else. This is where he belongs, to Port Ville’s night.
He lands on the roof of a building, his soles splashing water around him. If Port Ville by night is beautiful, nocturnal Port Ville under the rain is stunning. It looks like tiny magnifying glasses falling all over the city and reflecting the most vibrant colours on the darkest walls, and the sight always leaves him breathless. The rain blurs Port Ville's edges, and gives life to its curves so that the city appears to be crawling, undulating with life, which, for all Jongdae knows, could be the truth. During nights like these, he can't help but feel like Port Ville has a soul, a heart, and a smile that sometimes makes him feel protected. Why would he be the only one hiding in the darkness, after all?
Another cloaked figure lands next to him in a flash of dark blue, and Jongdae smiles at the face hidden under a large hood of the same shade - that exact same shade lingering between Port Ville's golden glow and the night's darkest black.
“I won,” he brags.
He sees way before it touches him the gloved hand flying towards him, but he does nothing to dodge it. The contact is fleeting, playful as the hand slightly shoves him, but it's also heavy, tingling, and Jongdae's smile widens.
“Of course you did,” the faceless man snorts. “You have superpowers.”
His voice is deep and layered with implied meanings. Jongdae hears the joke, but he also catches the hint of tension in the intonations and the jolt of electricity. They're both high on adrenaline and victory, their hearts still beating fast in their chests.
“It was a good night,” Sehun says. Jongdae hears his hair ruffle against the fabric of his hood as he turns his head to glance at the city spreading at their feet, and it makes him all tingly.
“It was,” he nods, but contrary to Sehun, his eyes never leave the latter.
The tip of his hood is pointier than Jongdae's or Dahye's, just like the shape of his mask is sharper, but the eyes he lays on Jongdae are soft and tender.
“We didn't beat our record though,” Sehun says. “We only rescued five people.”
“Let's try again tomorrow,” Jongdae offers, even though his voice does not wear the questioning tone it should. Maybe it's the height, maybe it's the adrenaline or the grateful words they received all night long, maybe it's Port Ville being beautiful and mesmerizing, and being his, or maybe it's just Sehun with his tender eyes and soft lips, but Jongdae isn't afraid. He doesn't feel unsure, nor does he doubt. The electricity is still lingering around them, probably due to an upcoming thunderstorm, but tonight, he wants to think that the universe has shrunk down to him and Sehun. They both are causes and consequences, and it makes him feel so powerful, so confident, so unafraid.
He offers his palm to Sehun to seal the deal, and Sehun puts his hand against Jongdae without an ounce of hesitation.
“We will,” Sehun nods, smiling.
Dark blue fingers slide between Jongdae's black ones, and the glove does nothing against the burning sensation on his skin. It shoots pure fire through his veins, and Jongdae slightly shudders, his breath catching in the back of his throat. He suddenly realizes what night it is, what will happen next. Their first kiss, the ecstatic giggling, their second kiss, and their hands brushing on their way back to Jongdae's apartment. He remembers everything, how soaked they will be, how comfortable and warm his place will feel, how deep the kisses will be. He feels like he's been set ablaze, his skin turning into an inferno as sparkles spurt out from their intertwined hands. Jongdae even tastes gasoline on the back of his tongue, the smell toxic and heavy and that's when his heart jumps into his throat.
He gasps and looks up at Sehun. The latter's hand tightens like a claw around his as Jongdae tries to break free with a hoarse scream. There's nothing left of Sehun's sharpness, nothing of his softness either. It's just burned flesh, blistery skin and jutting out bones. Dark blue has become angry red, and the cape looks like it's merging with Sehun's back, thick black blood sealing them together. Jongdae whimpers as lidless eyes glare at him.
“I'm dying tomorrow, I'm dying tomorrow, I'm dying tomorrow,” the thing - it's not Sehun any more, it can't be - chants, and its voice sounds just like Thorne's.
Jongdae starts screaming as the left eye slowly liquefies, the sticky liquid running down the thing's face. He's still screaming when it pushes him off the edge of the roof, and he keeps screaming as his body falls, sucked in by gravity and void. The certainty that he will never ever stop falling down just makes him scream louder.
Jongdae wakes up with a start, his breath coming out in erratic puffs. He startles when the blanket slips off his body and lands on Dahye's carpeting floor with a low thump that explodes against his eardrum. He clasps the back of the couch he's currently sitting on but the material cracks under his fingers, and it whistles in his mind. He winces with a slight moan and puts his palms against his ears as he curls into a ball. He presses his fingers against his knees and tries to forget how detailed the couch looks, how he can catch specks of dust whirling around, and how his own breathing sounds like a storm raging on against his ribcage. The tip of his fingers dig into his temples, and he locks his jaws as he lashes his power against his own mind, in vain. He's never been able to overcome his own defences, but how he wishes he could. He pictures the rush of electricity, the neuronal connexions, and the thoughts he would change, what he would delete, what he could heal, and it takes him back to a calmer state. He lets out another long breath which ends with a sigh, and he finally closes his eyes as his palms slide against his forehead.
“Damn it,” he manages to croak.
His voice feels like sandpaper against his eardrums, but it's not as loud as everything was a few minutes ago. His heart has slowed down to a much normal rhythm and breathing has become easier already, but Sehun's burnt face is still printed all over his eyelids. He rubs his eyes, swallowing down the tears that were threatening to take over him and then wipes the cold sweat from his nape with a long sigh that empties his lungs. His back cracks when he straightens, and he shudders. It brings back memories of the morning, when a sobbing Dahye was helping him pushing his shin-bone back in his leg, her hands covered with his blood. He glances at his shin and slightly wriggles his leg. At least there's no pain any more, but it still feels stiff.
Jongdae turns towards the coffee table and reaches out to take the bottle of milk sitting on it. Dahye left it here for him, because dairy products always help when he's healing from an important fracture. Jongdae makes a face at the disgusting smell of milk and takes a long sip, internally wincing. He can't even remember the morning clearly. He knows Dahye helped him to her apartment, he knows they've pushed the bone back in his leg together, but even the pain feels distant, like he blacked out a few times. Which definitely could have been the case.
He puts back the bottle on the table, pushing it as far as possible before grabbing the blanket still lying on the floor. He lets himself fall back on the couch before pulling it up on him, until it even covers his face. The fabric fills his vision in tiny repetitive details. The longer Jongdae stares at them, the calmer he feels.
He finds himself tiptoeing around his dream again. It was so vivid, so close to the memories and to reality, and it leaves him with the impression that a black hole is now nesting in his insides. He feels empty right where he used to feel so full, and it hurts like hell. He misses Sehun so much, just like the person he was five years ago. Port Ville somehow felt smaller, like he could hold it in his palms, and he felt so powerful, so capable. He remembers the adrenaline, the delight and the certainty that he was helpful and important. It's all gone now, Port Ville's beauty, the thrill, Sehun and the future they were barely realising they could have together.
Jongdae's phone ringtone explodes in the silent room, and he startles, his breath catching in the back of his throat. He sits bolt upright with a jolt, his eyes wide open as he looks for his phone. He finds it on the carpeting floor next to the couch, and his stomach turns over upon seeing Dahye's name flash on the screen. He throws himself on it and picks up with shaking fingers.
“You're awake,” Dahye's voice fills his ears in relieved intonations. Jongdae still picks up an underlying tension that makes him want to throw up.
“How are they?” he manages to ask, his heart pounding against his ribcage.
“They're okay, don't worry. Mostly okay. Soojung has a concussion, Jooheon a broken arm, and Namjoon a few cracked ribs. Jihoon doesn't even have a scratch. He even came to the police station earlier, but Insung yelled at him so much that he started crying. He had to wait for an ambulance to pick him up and take him back to the hospital because Insung refused to let him drive.”
Jongdae closes his eyes for a short moment, relieved. His insides don't feel like they're crawling up into his throat now that he doesn't have to worry about having killed police officers. He runs his fingers through his bangs as he sits back against the couch, biting his lips.
Dahye's voice is softer when she speaks again, lighter. She knows him so well.
“Insung was pretty pissed,” she says jokingly. “Said that if he were to hear Thorne's name in my mouth once again I would be suspended until I'm eighty.”
“I don't blame him for not believing us,” Jongdae sighs. “I wasn't very convincing yesterday.”
“None of us were,” she retorts. She dropped the teasing tone and the tension is back on her voice. “But that guy, Jongdae... He's dangerous. You told me he was like you this morning, but I don't think he is. Sure, he can heal and run fast and he's strong, but he's not like you, he really isn't.”
Jongdae thinks about the hooded man the night before, how he stopped short when his eyes fell on Dahye, and how he freaked out when he felt Jongdae's power. Which shouldn't even have happened because humans, plain normal humans, never see him coming. It's just his luck though, that when he finally meets someone like him, it ends up being a psychopath intent to kill him.
“I'd give anything to know who he is,” he grumbles.
“I think we should drop it,” Dahye immediately says. If the tension was underlying before, it's now in plain sight, heavy and laced all over her words. Jongdae frowns.
“What?”
“We should stop hunting him down. He's too dangerous.”
“Dahye,” Jongdae cuts her. “Did something happen?”
She keeps silent, and for the first time Jongdae notices how noisy it is behind her. She's probably in the police station, and it's always noisy there, but now, it's a whole ruckus cracking through the phone. Jongdae feels himself tensing as he scoots closer to the edge of the couch, his breath stuck in the back of his throat.
“Dahye,” he repeats, imperative.
She sighs and he braces himself for whatever is about to come.
“Something happened at Thorne's daughter's house,” she begins in a very cautious voice. “She probably locked herself up with all the men she could get her hands on after last night, but-” she trails off.
“She's dead?” Jongdae asks, tonelessly.
“Everyone is dead, Jongdae. I've seen the house. It was a slaughter. There's blood everywhere, and they're all dead. Now, we don't have actually any proof, but it's him, it must be. Insung has made him the department's top priority. Between last night and this, he wants him brought in before the end of the week, and maybe it's for the best, you know. You didn't want to put the suit on anyway, so just-”
“Dahye,” he cuts her. “Don't.”
She sighs, her breath slightly shaky, but Jongdae is too deep in his thoughts to feel her worry. She's right, the hooded guy is definitely behind Thorne's daughter's murder. He's done nothing but taking on Thorne since he's come to Port Ville. The daughter doesn't add up with the rest though, it just doesn't make sense. She may have been the direct hand behind Thorne's men's doings, but she still wasn't at the top of the food chain. Killing her won't make the hooded man the new king of Thorne's territory. So what did Jongdae miss, what hasn't he seen...? He thinks about the hooded man the night before, how he was calmly waiting for the two trucks to drive by the building he was perched on. He seemed perfectly aware of the trap, the guns and the means deployed to kill him, but he still engaged in the fight.
That's when it hits Jongdae.
“It's not about territory at all,” he whispers, frozen. “It's Thorne. He's trying to lure Thorne out.”
“What?” Dahye asks, dumbfounded. “Why?!”
“I don't know.” Jongdae blinks, thinking hard. Why would someone want Thorne out? It's not a friend, obviously, otherwise he wouldn't have gone on a killing spree against Thorne's empire. He's doing everything Jongdae would do if he wasn't sane and bound by laws and - Jongdae's blood turns to ice. “He's lost something because of Thorne. Dahye, it's about revenge.”
“Revenge? But -”
She's cut by a loud voice that Jongdae recognizes to be her partner's, Frank.
“Dahye, come on kiddo, Captain Do asked for us!”
Dahye's breath hitches in the back of her throat. Jongdae can almost picture her fingers tightening around her phone.
“Jongdae,” she begs. “Don't do anything, okay? He's dangerous and he's out for blood, so please, I'm begging you, don't do anything. Or at least, wait for me, okay? We'll work something out together, but in the meanwhile -”
“Hey, Jang you deaf?”
“Jongdae,” she repeats, pleading. “Jong-”
Jongdae hangs up, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He swallows and looks down at his phone, so heavy against his sweaty palm. Dahye's name flashes on the screen again, the ringtone shrilling and ear-splitting, and the two buttons, red and green, stare back at him. Jongdae breathes in deeply and presses the red button. Then he turns off his phone.
Dahye was right. He didn't want to put on the suit again, but he did, and it was for a reason. A very good reason. The man who murdered Sehun could be preparing for his escape right now, and Jongdae isn't going to put his hopes in the psycho who provoked that whole mess. He won't let Thorne put a single toe out of that asylum, and then he'll make sure he's transferred into Port Ville's prison. If it has to be Alpha's last mission, it has to end this time, and not be just paused. He's going to end this, once and for all.
Jongdae pushes the blanket away. He grabs his ankle and brings his previously wounded leg towards him. He winces a bit as the pressure grows in his muscles, but he keeps forcing until his ankle is pressed against his thigh. He breathes in and leans in as he shuts his eyes to complete his short stretching out session. The bone has fully healed, as for his agility, well... it will have to do. His eyes fall on the bottle of milk as he gets back up on his feet, and he hesitates. It's the voice that sounds like Dahye’s in his mind that makes his resolve breaks, and he sighs before grabbing the bottle and drinking what's left inside. He shudders with a wince. He's never liked milk.
It's still early, but Jongdae has to go before Dahye finds a good excuse to throw at Frank and Do Insung to bail out on them and rush back home. Thorne won't probably try anything in broad daylight, but Jongdae could still go and wait on the asylum's roofs. Plus, it could give him a chance to stop the hooded man if the latter has the same idea, which would be killing two birds with one stone. Last night was a disaster, but Jongdae doesn't plan on making the same mistakes twice. Now that he's one hundred per cent sure that the man can take his blows, he's not going to refrain from giving them. Port Ville is his city, no matter how fucked up it is, and that guy isn't going to change that.
Tonight, he's going to end what the three of them started five years ago, and then maybe he'll stop dreaming about Sehun dying or about the smell of gasoline filling his mouth. It sounds good enough a plan for him, so he grabs the Alpha suit left on Dahye's kitchen counter.
It starts raining when hints of darkness begin to loom over the city. Jongdae adjusts his hood on his head, internally groaning. His cape is wide enough for him to wrap himself in it, and it's impermeable, but the rain fills his ears in musical crystalline sounds, droplets splattering on the ground in tiny vibrations that Jongdae's senses can't help but pick up. His focus is already hard to maintain in the plain city background noise, but with the rain howling in his ears, it will be nearly impossible. With his hearing out of the game, all Jongdae has left is his sight, but if the raindrop keeps getting thicker and thicker, even that will be taken away from him.
Jongdae curses as he squints at the asylum's courtyard spreading at his feet, the rain turning into a wall that his eyes struggle to pierce through. He won't be able to wait for something to happen, he realises, and sitting on top of the highest roof of the facility isn't the best option anymore. Thankfully, the asylum is composed of several buildings, most of them smaller than the main one on top of which Jongdae is currently perched. He gauges the distance to the closest building and presses his index finger against his earpiece. He's not Dahye-level when it comes to computer, but finding the frequency used by the asylum's guards was a piece of cake. Having Dahye by his side would have helped him a lot though, but with what happened earlier, she probably still is stuck in the police station - which, all things considered, is definitely a good thing for him. She's probably furious, and that just makes one more reason for his desperate move to work out smoothly.
His eyes still taking in the space between the buildings, he finally sets off. The momentum he's gained is enough for him to reach the other building, several feet lower. The sound of his landing is muffled by the incessant dripping around him. Jongdae slowly crouches down again, the cape closing in on him. He presses his fingers on the ridge for support as he scans the surroundings as carefully as he can. In his ear, voices are going on about yesterday's soccer game, and what they ate for lunch, how hot that new female doctor is, and how boring their job is, but Jongdae doesn't miss a word. Chances are Thorne has men among the asylum staff - which he already proved by having a psychiatrist declare him mentally unbalanced - and any of those guards could be working their way towards Thorne's escape.
Jongdae glances over his shoulders to check the backyard. The site is huge, but since he knows in which block Thorne is locked up, it at least reduces the surface he has to cover. What worries him though is the possible backup Thorne could have asked for. Crooks or not, Jongdae has to make sure no one dies tonight.
He picks up something just as he stands up to walk towards the nearest roof. He freezes and turns around, frowning at the weightless veil of darkness falling over his eyes. It's there, fleeting and slight amid the splattering sound of raindrops against his cape, but Jongdae feels it anyway. It's a faint vibration, something that his brain catches much more easily than his ears. He crouches down, one hand on the ridge and the other against his ear as he immediately starts bending the vibrations reverberating from his earpiece. He winces at the numerous interferences resulting from it, but keeps searching until the device in his ear vibrates in echo with the radio wave Jongdae picked up. It explodes in crackles, and a low, whispering voice finally fills Jongdae's ear.
“- can come, I've got him.”
Jongdae's head snaps up as his heart jumps into his throat. He curses as he scans the surroundings, looking for whoever that message was supposed to reach. It doesn't take him long to find out as one of the asylum ambulance rushes towards the main doors. Even through the wall of rain, Jongdae makes out the deadly metallic glow of guns in the hands of the men who get off the ambulance. He grunts and switches back to the asylum frequency before jumping forward to slide on the roof. The device in his ear crackles with gun fire and screams, shooting urgency and adrenaline through Jongdae's veins. No way he's going to let Thorne put a toe out of that asylum. He'll throw him back into his cell himself if he has to.
Jongdae pulls out a blade from his belt as the gutter gets closer. Between the wind swooshing past him, the rain splattering everywhere around him and the sound of his soles sliding smoothly on the tires, Jongdae misses the sharp thump behind him. He misses the very faint wet sound of lips curling up into a smile, and he misses the slide of fabric against leather. He realizes his mistake a heartbeat too late, when the gloved hand has already closed around his cloak, thus stopping his slide dead and pressing the fabric of his cloak against his neck as he topples over. Jongdae gasps as his back hits the roof with a thud, the shock making him let go of the blade. The hood slides of his head, and he blinks the rain away, arching off his back to glance at the top of the roof. He finds a dark hood unsurprisingly staring down at him as the man holds Jongdae's cape in a clenched fist. He waves at Jongdae with his other hand, and Jongdae sees red.
“You fucking asshole,” he grunts as he flails about to break free.
The cape presses even tighter against his throat, and Jongdae's lungs give a protesting spasm. He tries to use some of the tiles to support his weight, but they're so slippery that each attempt ends in another session of thrashing around, the cape cutting through the skin of his neck. He fumbles with his belt, fingers desperately running along the leather until they close around one of his blades. Jongdae draws it out in a flash, aiming for the fabric tightening around his neck, but a silver sparkle flies right before his eyes, cold and metallic, and pain erupts in his hand. He half moans half groans as hot blood spurts out of the deep cut left on his palm, the sting forcing his fingers open. His blade clinks on the tiles as it bounces down the roof and then over the gutter.
Rage makes Jongdae's blood boil in his veins. He lets the rain wash away the blood on his hand, and lets his cells sew his skin together as he tenses his muscles and grips his cape above his head. He doesn't care about patches of darkness taking over his sight right where there should be pieces of Port Ville's sky, he doesn't care about the air missing from his lungs or the lack of holds. All he knows is that he really wants to punch that guy, and break a few of his bones.
Jongdae uses his hold on the cape to haul himself up. It lessens the tension against his throat, and he finally breathes a lungful of air, relieved. He can feel a bruise blooming on his neck and making his breathing a bit messy and erratic, but he couldn't care less. He glances towards the ridge of the roof as he keeps hauling himself up, and meets the faceless man staring down at him. It's so easy to imagine the latter's eyes go from the cape he's still holding to Jongdae's hands using it as a mean to climb back up, and Jongdae's mind draws the conclusion in a heartbeat. He freezes. The hooded man steps forward.
The tiles are too slippery, and their two bodies are too heavy for the hooded man to maintain his balance. He slides down, which makes Jongdae slips closer to the gutter as well until he is once again stopped dead by the cape tightening around his throat. It draws a broken moan from him that ends in a silent gasp as white sparkles fill the edges of his vision. He looks up only to see the hooded man hanging on to the ridge with one hand, the other still firmly closed around Jongdae's cape. Which makes his two hands very busy, Jongdae realizes. If he had enough air left in his lungs, he would chuckle, but he'd rather send the last atoms of oxygen straight to his muscles instead of wasting them on the victorious feeling swelling in his chest.
Choking or not, Jongdae doesn't fumble this time when his hand flies to his belt. The ripped fabric of his glove catches on a blade, and he secures his hold around it. Above him, the hooded man tilts his head, looking more amused than afraid. Jongdae thinks he hears him groan something, in a tone too light and low for him to catch it in the rain and the cracking in his ear. The gunfire has stopped, and it means only one thing. Thorne is about to get out.
Jongdae raises his hand, the tension in his muscles gathering strength and speed, and he knows he's about to hit the bull's eye. That is, of course, until the hooded man chuckles and lets go of his cape.
Jongdae barely has time to register what is going on before his ankle hits the gutter and his body slides off the edge of the roof. He glances down at the wall of rain opening under his feet, the void sucking him in and the ground getting dangerously close. His fall is suddenly stopped mid-air when the hooded man's hand closes around his cloak again, but this time the tension is too strong. Gravity pulls on Jongdae's ankles, but the cape around his neck refuses to let go. His body is the battlefield, his lungs the bombing site, and Jongdae yields to the darkness crawling on the edge of his vision as he dangles off the roof. As his conscience fades to black, he catches a voice, low and sighing, but oddly warm, oddly familiar.
“Do you ever stop,” it says.
Then darkness falls, and Jongdae does not hear anything anymore.
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