Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: HAN JISUNG

Jisung stands on the cracked sidewalk, head tipped up to the rain-splattered skyline. Around him, buildings lean tiredly against one another, their facades crumbling as if they’d given up hope long ago. For a moment, he wonders what it’d take for one to just… collapse.. Most people are too busy following their own scripts, sticking to the ever-blaring slogans on the billboards overhead, they probably wouldn’t even notice.

NEXUS FOR THE FUTURE. PROTECTION FROM INGANOES.

Jisung’s heard those lines a million times, chanted like prayers during his childhood and echoing now in his older years. It all feels so hollow. He scoffs quietly, flipping his hood over his head to block the drizzle from his face, shoving his hands into his pockets as he blends into the crowd. Welcome to the future, he thinks bitterly, who really needs to be protected. He’s too drenched and tired to give it much thought.

As the rain picks up, he ducks under the awning of a small, nondescript drugstore. The cashier behind the counter has his music up loud enough through his earbuds that  Jisung can hear it across the store—some bass-heavy track thumping in rhythm with the rain. Behind the counter, a small TV plays the news, headlines flashing with more reports about Inganoes, plenty of them getting captured, some still in hiding, all running from Nexus officers. Jisung rolls his eyes as he heads over to the candy aisle, pausing to watch the guy behind the counter slouch further into his chair.

I swear, if I have to see one more “Public Safety Warning”… He exhales sharply, pulling his hood lower over his eyes. He’s just here for snacks. Focus on the snacks, Jisung.

He scans the shelf and quickly glances up at the lone camera in the corner, angled toward the back of the store. Amateurs, he thinks. He tugs his hood forward, knowing the unnatural orange glow in his eyes would give him away. There’s the familiar tingle in his fingertips, a slight pressure behind his eyes. Just a small twist of his power, barely noticeable, and the camera shifts into dust. Jisung smirks as he shoves a couple of ramen packets and snacks into his torn backpack, the same one he’s had since middle school. Thank you for your cooperation, old friend.

The cashier’s still lost in his own world, head bobbing along to his music, completely oblivious to Jisung’s little shopping spree. He’s even dozing off, head nestled in his arms on the counter. Jisung rolls his eyes but feels a bit of sympathy for him too. Can’t be easy working in this junk. Not that he’s going to stick around and donate.

Once he’s loaded his bag with snacks, he swings by the water bottles, stuffing two into his bag, and then spots a pack of chalk and some scissors. He grabs them, too. Just as he’s almost out the door, he spots a Snickers bar. Might as well. He swipes it, slipping it into his pocket as he heads for the exit.

But just as he’s stepping out, a large hand clamps down on his hood, jerking him backward. His heart jumps into his throat, his skin crawling with sudden panic. Crap, crap, crap. The hood falls from his head, and he turns to look up at the man—a towering, broad-shouldered guy with arms like tree trunks. He glares down at Jisung, his gaze sharp but not unkind.

“You gonna pay for that?” the man asks, voice gruff, eyes darting to Jisung’s pocketed Snickers.

Jisung’s instincts kick in, his brain spinning through the options. Big, built like a boulder, definitely married or just really sentimental for an old divorce—silver ring on the finger. Soft spot? Kids, maybe? Jisung puts on his best pitiful look, tilting his head slightly, eyes wide, shoulders slumped.

“Sorry, sir,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, “I just… I haven’t had anything to eat in days. It’s just a piece of candy. Didn’t think it’d be missed…”

The man looks him over, taking in the ragged hoodie, dirt-stained jeans, and scuffed sneakers. The man’s hard expression falters, his brows softening just slightly. Score.

With a long sigh, the man releases Jisung’s hood. “Alright, kid. Go on, grab yourself some ramen or something. Real food. On me.”

Holy crap, it actually worked. Jisung barely keeps his face neutral as he practically skips to the ramen aisle, grabbing a pack. He even finds a microwave tucked into the corner of the store, meaning he can eat without having to find somewhere to boil water. Bonus points!

As he’s shoveling down noodles, the man lingers nearby, watching. Jisung pretends not to notice, focusing on his food. Probably gonna give me some lecture or something. Whatever. Not my first rodeo.

“How old are you, kid?” the man finally asks, his voice low.

Jisung pauses mid-bite, trying to figure out how to handle this. He shuffles the noodles in his cheeks, debating. Quick, think of something convincing.

“Twenty-six,” he blurts. Why would you say that? Idiot.

The man raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Twenty-six, huh?”

Jisung shoves another forkful into his mouth. “Yeah. Uh-huh.”

The man snorts, but there’s a softness in his eyes, a kind of understanding. “Uh-huh. You got somewhere to go after this?”

Now Jisung’s hackles go up. Red flag alert. “What’s it to you, old man?” he snaps, sounding tougher than he feels.

The man raises his hands, a bit flustered. “Whoa, whoa, no need to bite my head off. I know you’re not 26. You barely look 18. Just… you look like you could use a safe place to stay for the night, is all.” He glances away, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve got a couch, and it’s not right sending a kid your age out into the rain.”

Jisung studies him, sizing him up. The guy’s older, maybe late thirties, with a total dad vibe, fumbling and shrinking back. Nope. No danger here, Jisung’s gut tells him, and he’s usually pretty good about reading people. 

Then again, he’s learned the hard way that trusting strangers can backfire. But it’s been days since he last slept somewhere warm, and the guy doesn’t seem like a creep.

Finally, Jisung shrugs, finishing off the last of his noodles. “Sure. Why not?” He stands, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, trying to act casual. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere better.

The man lets out a relieved breath, smiling as he stands up. He extends a hand. “I’m Choi Si-won, by the way.”

Jisung stares at the hand for a second, considering. He rarely bothers with names, not that they mean much on the streets. But he figures it won’t hurt to play nice. “Han,” he mutters, giving a brief shake before pulling his hand back.

The man’s smile widens, and he gives a small nod. “Alright, Han. Let’s get out of here.”

They step outside, and as they walk through the downpour, Jisung feels an unexpected warmth in his chest. It’s a strange sensation, and he’s not sure he trusts it. He’s been on his own long enough to know better than to hope for kindness. But, maybe just this once, he’ll take his chances.

“Lead the way, old man,” he says with a smirk, shoving his hands back into his pockets and leaning back on his heels.

Si-won laughs, shaking his head as he leads Jisung down the street. And for the first time in a while, Jisung allows himself to feel a sliver of hope, though he’s careful not to hold on to it too tightly.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: HWANG HYUNJIN

The rain drizzled steadily, tapping a soft, rhythmic beat against the concrete streets. Umbrellas bloomed like flowers among the passing crowd, shielding pedestrians from the dreary weather. The city, usually so vibrant, was now muted under the heavy grey sky, its colors washed away by the endless rainfall. It had been like this for days, the relentless downpour marking the height of the rainy season, leaving everything damp and gloomy. The night deepened the shadows, giving the city a darker, more foreboding feel.

Hyunjin stood in the shadows, leaning casually against a lamppost. His crimson hair, slick with rain, fell in damp strands across his face, accentuating the sharp, feline angles of his eyes. The dark eyeliner he meticulously applied each night hadn’t smudged, framing his gaze in perfect, dramatic lines that made him look otherworldly. His black clothing clung to his lithe form, soaked through but giving him the appearance of something both wild and ethereal.

The crowd passed him by, indifferent at first, until he took a step forward into the light. His striking appearance drew eyes immediately—people whispered among themselves, curious and intrigued by the figure who had suddenly appeared from nowhere.

With a practiced flourish, Hyunjin set down the black guitar case he always carried, the case that held everything he owned in this world. He hopped onto a nearby bench, his movements graceful and deliberate, drawing the attention of more passersby.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, and Everyone in between!” he called out, his voice smooth and inviting, carrying effortlessly through the damp air. He punctuated his greeting with a playful wink and grin, and the small crowd that had begun to gather couldn’t help but inch closer. “Tonight, I’ll be showing you a magic trick!”

The crowd murmured in interest, their earlier indifference melting away. Hyunjin’s words danced through the air, as if a siren call in the deep fog. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a simple, silver coin. It gleamed in the dim light, catching the attention of everyone around.

“Watch closely now,” Hyunjin said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t blink, or you might miss it.”

He held the coin between his fingers, flipping it once, twice, letting it catch the light. And then, with a flick of his wrist, it vanished.

The crowd gasped, but Hyunjin wasn’t done yet. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, as though pulling something out of thin air, and the coin reappeared, not in his hand, but hovering a few inches above it, spinning slowly in midair.

He watched the crowd’s reaction with a sly smile, enjoying the awe and wonder in their eyes, so focused on the coin they never questioned the opaline glow of his eyes. The coin began to multiply, first into two, then four, then eight identical coins, all spinning in a perfect circle around his hand. The spectators were entranced.

Hyunjin grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischievous delight. “And for my next trick…”

With a snap of his fingers, the coins dissolved into a burst of shimmering light, leaving the crowd blinking in surprise. They erupted into applause, and Hyunjin’s guitar case quickly began to fill with donations, the metallic clink of coins and crinkle of bills music to his ears.

He made a few more performances, each more impressive than the last—illusions of birds made of smoke, flowers that bloomed in midair, and cards that seemed to shuffle themselves in impossible ways. All the while, he kept the crowd entertained with quick quips and playful banter, entrancing them further.

At one point, he caught the eye of a pretty young woman near the front. With a smirk, he pulled a single red rose out of his inner pocket, handing it to her with a bow. Her boyfriend, standing next to her, bristled, and Hyunjin’s grin widened.

“Don’t worry, love,” he said, sending a wink in the boyfriend’s direction. “I play for the other team.”

The crowd laughed, though the boyfriend didn’t seem entirely amused as he flushed. But Hyunjin didn’t care. He was in his element, the rain, the night, and the crowd all working to his advantage.

But then, the mood shifted. Hyunjin noticed it first—a ripple of unease spreading through the audience. People began to murmur, their voices growing hushed as they turned their heads. The crowd parted suddenly, and Hyunjin’s eyes narrowed as a group of Nexus officers pushed their way through, their expressions stern and determined.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” one of the officers barked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You are to be restrained and brought back to the Nexus Containment Facility! Surrender yourself immediately!”

The crowd gasped, stepping back in shock and confusion. Talk spread like wildfire.

“An Inganoe? Here?”

“No way… but he seems so human!”

“There must be some mistake…”

“How could someone like him be an Inganoe?”

“He isn't doing any harm!”

Yet not all were sympathetic.

“Get him off our streets!” one voice shouted angrily.

“He’s a freak! A monster!”

“Those things shouldn’t be out here!”

Hyunjin’s heart pounded in his chest, this was always the best part, you see. He plastered a wide, almost manic smile on his face, raising his arms theatrically. “Well, my lovely audience, it seems our show is being cut short!”

With a sweeping bow, he grabbed his guitar case in one fluid motion and, without missing a beat, leaped off the bench and into the crowd. Chaos erupted around him as he pushed through the throng of people, the Nexus officers hot on his heels, their tranquilizer guns at the ready.

As he darted through the crowd, Hyunjin’s voice rang out, dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, look at the little ants scurrying after me! So dedicated, so pathetic. Must be tough slaving to those assholes above you, huh?”

The officers gritted their teeth but didn’t respond. Hyunjin couldn’t help but laugh—a sharp, mocking sound that echoed through the street. He swerved into a nearby alley, his movements quick and fluid, the officers still chasing the illusion he’d left behind.

He laughed, not out of nervousness, no, but pure exhilaration. His heart raced, adrenaline surging through his veins as he leapt over a pile of trash, his giggles echoing off the alley walls. The rain-soaked streets were his playground, and the Nexus officers were just another game.

The chase was the best part. Hyunjin deems himself far enough, slowing to a walk and shoving his hands into his pockets, they were too busy chasing after the fake that by the time they realized Hyunjin would be too far gone. They were nothing compared to him—just little ants scrambling in the dirt, trying to catch something far beyond their reach.

He cut through another alley, whistling to himself while he made his way to a rundown store tucked away in a narrow backstreet. The neon sign above the door had long since burned out, leaving only a few flickering letters to announce its presence. This was home—a forgotten corner of the city where the unwanted and the unseen gathered.

Hyunjin slipped inside, greeted by the familiar musty scent of old wood and damp concrete. The store had been abandoned years ago, its windows boarded up and shelves long empty. But to him, it was a sanctuary. Other homeless people had also made their home here, a ragtag group who kept to themselves. They all knew he was different from them, but they’d learned to mind their own business. Trust was scarce here, but there was a strange sense of camaraderie—a silent agreement to leave each other alone.

Hyunjin leaned against the door, catching his breath. His heart still pounded with the thrill of the chase, a grin lingering on his lips. He loved this feeling—the rush of being on the run, the danger that came with every step. It made him feel alive.

He walked further into the dimly lit room, his movements, fluid, almost like a dance, finding his usual spot near the back. The others gave him a wide berth, their eyes flicking to him warily before returning to their own business. Hyunjin didn’t mind; he preferred it this way. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with his favorite lighter and taking a long drag, the smoke curling up into the stale air.

As he sat there, he pulled out the handful of coins and crumpled bills he’d earned, counting them with idle fingers. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get by for another day.

He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he let his head rest against the cold wall.

“Just another day in paradise,” he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with sardonic amusement.

And with that, Hyunjin closed his eyes, letting the sound of the rain and the distant hum of the city lull him to sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: HAN JISUNG

Jisung wasn’t sure what he expected Siwon’s house to look like, but well , it’s kind of underwhelming. Better than most of the crumbling shelters he’s holed up in over the years, sure, but not by much. At least on the outside. The house sits in one of the more middle-class parts of the city—tacky white paint unevenly slathered over brick and concrete.

Siwon catches Jisung’s lingering stare and lets out a small, awkward laugh. “It’s, uh… not much, but it’s home,” he says, scratching the back of his neck like he’s already apologizing for what’s inside.

Jisung shrugs, adjusting his dripping backpack. “Better than anything I could do,” he mutters.

The hallway inside raises Jisung’s hopes a little—it’s clean and doesn’t even smell like mold!—total win in his book. Siwon stops in front of the fourth door after they trudge up the stairs to the third floor, fumbling with his keys before pushing it open and stepping aside to let Jisung in.

“After you,” he says with a small grin, like he’s welcoming royalty.

The small living room is cozy, with mismatched furniture that somehow works together, and a faint warmth that chases away the cold seeping into Jisung’s bones. There’s a knitted throw draped over the couch, and a faint hum of life that Jisung hasn’t felt in a while.

“It’s not much, but the couch is all yours,” Siwon says, gesturing toward it with an easy, lopsided smile.

Jisung glances around and, with an exaggerated sniff and a snooty British accent, replies, “Bit drab, but it’ll do.” He crosses his arms and sticks his nose in the air for effect.

Siwon blinks, then gives a short laugh. “Drab? Alright, your Highness, try not to stain my drab couch.”

Jisung can’t help the faint grin tugging at his lips. This is the most human interaction that he's had since he was like 12, don’t judge.

Siwon’s smile fades as he takes in Jisung’s soaked clothes. “You’re gonna catch a cold like that,” he says, pulling open a small closet. “Here—shower’s down the hall. You can throw these on after. I’ll toss your stuff in the wash.”

Jisung hesitates, clutching his bag tighter. “I don’t… I mean—”

“The doors lock and you can just give me your clothes and keep your bag with you,” Siwon says gently. “I promise. Take your time.”

That seems to do it. Jisung nods, carefully takes the clothes—a plain t-shirt and sweatpants that are definitely going to swallow him whole—and disappears down the hall.

The shower is nothing short of heaven. Hot water rushes over him, washing away days’ worth of grime and the persistent chill in his bones. It’s been a week since his last proper shower in a cheap motel, and he lets himself relish this rare comfort.

When he comes back, the smell of ramyeon wafts through the apartment, pulling him into the small kitchen. Siwon’s standing by the stove, setting down two steaming bowls.

“Thought you might be hungry,” he says, sliding a bowl toward Jisung.

Jisung’s stomach growls loudly in response, and he flushes, mumbling, “Thanks.” He digs in without hesitation, the warmth of the noodles filling a void he hadn’t even realized was there.

They talk as they eat—small talk, mostly. Nothing important. Siwon asks where Jisung’s from, but Jisung evades, tossing out vague answers. The conversation is harmless, but it still makes his skin itch. He hates small talk.

Eventually, Siwon glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. “I’ve got work in the morning, so I should crash. You good here?”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “You’re just gonna leave a total stranger in your living room?” he teases.

Siwon smirks. “Not much to take. Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Jisung rolls his eyes but says nothing as Siwon disappears into his room. The couch isn’t exactly luxurious, but the blanket and pillow Siwon left for him make it feel far more inviting than any alleyway he’s slept in. He keeps his backpack close—always close—and lets exhaustion drag him under.

Jisung wakes to the faint sounds of movement. He cracks open an eye and sees Siwon bustling around, pulling on a jacket and moving with the efficiency of someone who’s done this routine a thousand times.

And then he freezes.

Siwon turns slightly, and Jisung catches sight of the uniform—the unmistakable black and gray of a Nexus officer.

His blood runs cold.

The stranger in whose house he’s sleeping—the kind man who gave him a shower, food, and warmth—is with Nexus.

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, feigning sleep as panic bubbles in his chest. He can hear Siwon moving closer, hear the sound of boots near the couch.

This is the last time I trust my gut.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: HAN JISUNG

The footsteps draw closer to where Jisung lies, every step sending a fresh wave of panic through his chest. He fights to keep his breathing even, his face carefully blank, though his entire body screams at him to bolt. The presence looms above him now, a shadow poised to drag him into Nexus’s grasp, where there would be no escape.

His heart stutters as a hand reaches down—but instead of yanking him up, it grabs the flimsy blanket draped over him and pulls it higher, covering his shoulders.

The man lingers for a moment, then walks deeper into the apartment.

Jisung exhales shakily, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He needs to get out of here—and maybe snag something on the way to make this near-death experience worth it. His anxiety screams at him louder than his thoughts, but he forces himself to move.

His heart thunders in his chest as he flings the blanket off and jams his feet into his shoes. His bag is over his shoulder in seconds. He freezes as he hears Siwon moving around in another room. Eyes darting frantically, Jisung spots a bowl near the front door. Inside: house keys and a wallet. A glorious, glorious wallet.

Bingo.

Jisung tiptoes to the door, snatches the wallet, and flips it open, pulling out a wad of cash and stuffing it into his pocket.

A door creaks open behind him. Footsteps echo down the hallway. Jisung panics when he sees Siwon step into the living room.

“Jisung? What are you—”

Siwon’s sentence is cut off as Jisung hurls the wallet directly at his face.

He doesn’t stick around to see the aftermath. He’s out the door in a flash, the sound of Siwon’s thundering footsteps chasing after him.

“Stay away from me, you fucking Nexus dog!” Jisung shouts over his shoulder.

“Jisung, just listen to me!”

But Jisung isn’t listening. He throws himself down the stairs, his sneakers slapping against the steps. No way he’s waiting for the elevator.

The wind bites at his face as he slams through the apartment’s main doors, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He hadn’t even had time to change into his old clothes, but at least his backpack holds everything else. It’s his only comfort.

Siwon might be bigger and have the kind of authority that clears a path for him in crowded streets, but nobody—and Jisung means nobody—knows these streets like he does. His nimble frame and sharp instincts are all the advantage he needs.

A few twists and turns later, Jisung slips into a quiet alley behind a diner. He ducks behind a dumpster, ruffling through his bag for something warmer than the thin T-shirt and sweats clinging to his skin. Grabbing a pair of less ripped jeans and a burnt-orange flannel, he changes quickly, keeping himself hidden.

As he straightens his flannel, a sharp squeak startles him. He looks up—and locks eyes with a boy standing in the diner’s back doorway, a trash bag in hand.

A very pretty boy.

“Uh… yo,” Jisung blurts awkwardly.

The boy tilts his head. “Whatcha doing?”

“Uh, nothing,” Jisung replies, trying to sound casual, but his entire body tenses when he hears footsteps echoing down the alley.

“Jisung!”

It’s Siwon. Of course, it’s Siwon. Why is he still chasing him? Doesn’t he have better things to do? Well, technically, this is his job, but still—that’s not the point.

The boy at the doorway glances down the alley, his eyes widening when he spots Siwon. Without a second thought, he grabs Jisung by the arm and pulls him inside the diner, leaving the trash bag forgotten on the ground.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: HWANG HYUNJIN

In a rare moment of calm. His pulse slowed, the adrenaline from the chase ebbing away as the rain outside continued its steady rhythm. For a fleeting second, Hyunjin allowed himself to drift, the ever-present weight of survival lifting ever so slightly.

But even in his brief respite, he remained attuned to the world around him. Every creak of the warped floorboards, every shuffle of footsteps among the others, every drop of rain cascading down the cracked windows—Hyunjin’s senses cataloged them all. He didn’t survive this long by letting his guard down, not even here, in the closest thing he had to a sanctuary.

“Hey, you’re gonna rot your lungs with that.”

The voice came from the corner, gruff and tired, belonging to one of the older men who’d claimed a spot by the boarded-up windows. Hyunjin cracked one eye open, his lips curving into a smirk as he held up the cigarette between his fingers, the ember faintly glowing.

“Relax, old man. Fire’s warm. This dump could use a little heat, don’t you think?”

The man huffed, muttering something under his breath about reckless kids. Hyunjin just chuckled, his laughter low and dry. The others ignored him entirely, knowing better than to engage. It wasn’t hostility—it was survival. No one here asked questions, not about why Hyunjin always seemed to show up with a few extra bills or why his eyes had that strange glow sometimes. Curiosity was dangerous, and they all had enough problems of their own.

He finished the cigarette, stubbing it out on the concrete floor before pocketing the stub. Waste not, want not. Then he pulled his damp coat tighter around himself, glancing at the motley crew scattered throughout the room. They were all lost souls, ghosts of the city who drifted through life unnoticed, just like him.

But unlike them, Hyunjin wasn’t content to stay invisible. Not entirely.

His fingers brushed against the edge of his guitar case, his mind already wandering back to the crowd earlier—the awe in their eyes, the way they clung to his every word. For a brief moment, he’d been more than just another stray in the city. He’d been someone.

Hyunjin sighed, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his face. He couldn’t linger here forever. The Nexus officers wouldn’t give up that easily, and while they were likely still chasing his illusion, it was only a matter of time before they started combing through the shadows.

Standing, he grabbed his guitar case and slung it over his shoulder. The weight of it was a comforting constant, a reminder of the life he’d chosen for himself—a life on the edge, filled with danger, but also with freedom.

“Where’re you off to this time?” the old man asked, not looking up from his seat.

Hyunjin paused, his grin flickering back into place as he turned toward the door.

“Just out for another stroll,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “Gotta keep the ants on their toes, you know?”

The old man shook his head but said nothing more.

Hyunjin stepped outside, the rain greeting him like an old friend. He pulled his hood up, blending effortlessly into the damp, shadowed streets. Somewhere out there, Nexus officers were still hunting him, and somewhere else, a new crowd awaited, ready to be dazzled by his tricks.

As he disappeared into the night, his mind buzzed with possibilities, each more daring than the last.

“Just another day in paradise,” he whispered to himself again, his voice swallowed by the rain. And with that, Hyunjin vanished, leaving nothing behind but the faint smell of smoke and the memory of a fleeting magic trick.

Later that night, three men in stark white uniforms push their way into the damp shelter, their presence as cold and clinical as the fluorescent lights reflecting off their pristine boots. They move with purpose, flashing a photograph at each wary face they encounter.

One of them stops in front of a man hunched in the back corner, his wrinkled hands curled around a chipped mug. The enforcer thrusts the photo forward—a red-haired boy with sharp features and piercing eyes.

“You seen this kid?” the officer barks. “Hwang Hyunjin. Blue-ranked Inganoe. Dangerous. We need to bring him in before someone gets hurt.”

The old man squints at the picture, his face unreadable. He scratches at the stubble on his chin before shaking his head. “Can’t say I have.”

The officer’s jaw tightens. “You sure about that?”

“Look,” the old man grumbles, leaning back against the wall. “I mind my business. Haven’t seen anyone like that around here.”

The enforcer stares him down for a long moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, with a curt nod, he pulls the photo back. “If you do, you know what to do.”

The man doesn't reply, just giving a tight smile as the officer moves on to the next target.

Chapter Text

Jisung barely had time to process the hands yanking him out of the alley before he was shoved through the doorway, the door slamming shut behind him. His breath hitched, body tensed, ready to fight—except his captor didn’t attack. Instead, the guy kept moving, dragging him through a dimly lit kitchen filled with the smell of grease and spices. A radio crackled somewhere, playing a song Jisung didn’t recognize.

"Move," the guy snapped, not sparing him a glance.

Jisung barely kept up as they weaved past stacks of crates and a metal prep table, his sneakers slipping against the worn tile. "Oh, yeah, sure, let’s just haul me around like a damn suitcase—totally normal."

No answer. Just a firm tug forward.

A door at the back of the kitchen led to a narrow stairwell, the kind that screamed "people definitely die here." The guy shoved Jisung ahead, forcing him up the steps.

"You could at least buy me dinner first," Jisung muttered under his breath, gripping the railing as he climbed.

At the top, they emerged into a cramped hallway. The guy finally let go, shoving Jisung through another door and forward onto a couch like he was some stray pillow or something.

Jisung scowled. "Wow. Love the hospitality. Real five-star service."

The guy ignored him, pacing instead. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply like Jisung being here was physically painful. "Do you have a death wish? Or are you just stupid?"

Jisung bristled. "I’d say bold and resourceful, actually. But thanks for the concern."

"You led a White Suit right to us."

Jisung blinked. "Oh, cool. So we’re just skipping introductions and going straight to the blaming-me-for-your-problems part."

Before the guy could snap back, a door creaked open.

A woman stepped in, eyes flicking between them before settling on Jisung. She took him in—his disheveled hoodie, the way he was still half-braced to bolt, the faint tremor in his fingers that he was totally ignoring—and sighed.

"He a runner?" she asked, voice calm but firm.

"Yeah," the guy muttered. "And an idiot."

Jisung put a hand to his chest. "Wow. You’re really going for the ‘bad cop’ routine, huh?"

The woman’s lips twitched, like she was amused but too tired to show it. "Who are you?"

"Han Jisung," he said, shrugging. "Professional escape artist. Sometimes freelancer. Occasionally a pain in the ass, apparently."

The guy scoffed, muttering something under his breath.

The woman ignored him. "I’m Wheein. This is Yeosang." She gestured toward the guy, who still looked one second away from throwing Jisung out a window. "We help Inganoes get to safe zones. Are you one?"

Jisung hesitated. His gut said to lie, to downplay, to make himself small. But… it wasn’t like he had a choice anymore, did he?

"Yeah," he muttered. "I am."

Wheein nodded, like that confirmed something. "Then you can stay. Just until the heat dies down."

Yeosang stiffened. "Are you serious?"

"It’s one night, Yeosang."

"One night too long."

Jisung huffed. "Jeez, dude, do you ever relax?"

Yeosang shot him a glare. Jisung beamed back.

Wheein sighed. "Look, Jisung, you’re safe here. Get some rest. We’ll figure out the next steps in the morning."

Something in her voice made it hard to argue. Jisung swallowed, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Okay."

Yeosang didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he exhaled sharply and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Fine. One night."

Jisung flopped back on the couch with a grin. "Aw, thanks, roomie. I’ll try not to snore."

Yeosang turned and walked out without another word.

Jisung watched him go, still grinning. Yeah. This was gonna be fun .

Chapter Text

Wheein left quickly after that. “I’ve gotta close down the shop”, she had tossed over her shoulder as she disappeared down the stairs. Her voice was cheery, making a loose attempt to put Jisung at ease.

This left him alone with Yeosang, who was being pleasantly quiet now. But Jisung could feel his stare making Jisung want to both lash out and curl into himself. His skin prickled; the guy was intimidating; he’d give him that.

Jisung barely moved, only shifting enough to scan the room under his lashes. The place wasn't big, he’d be able to cross it in only a couple of strides. It was a cramped living area with a couch shoved against one wall and a wobbly, coffee-stained table in the center. There were two windows on one wall on each side of the TV hanging on the wall. Both were pretty small, and one had a sheet taped over the bottom half. There was a hallway leading to more rooms on Jisung’s left. 

Jisung didn’t have to look to know Yeosang was still staring. He could feel it—the weight of someone’s gaze pressing against his back, making the hairs on his arms stand up. He forced himself to ignore it, licking his lips and leaning forward before muttering, “So how many people are staying here anyway?”

A pause. Yeosang pursed his lips, squinting like he was swallowing a lemon. He still looked wary.

“Six,” he said finally. “Before you, that is.”

Jisung hummed, not fully acknowledging it. Instead, he pushed off the couch and wandered toward the far side of the room.

The place felt too tight for six people. The air was thick with cooking oil and old wood, like the scent has embedded itself into the floorboards. His socked foot nudged against the edge of a tattered rug, and dust stirred in the dim light. Could use a cleanup . 

He tapped his fingers along the wall as he walked, half to keep his hands busy, half to feel how hard it would be to turn to dust. 

His stomach twisted.

He bites his lip, trying to stave off the feeling of anxiety. He moves back, leaning against the arm of the couch, flicking his gaze back to Yeosang.

“Must get cramped, huh?”

Before Yeosang could snap back, the door behind them slams open. The loud bang sends Jisung’s pulse rocketing. The door hits the wall with enough force that the pictures on the wall shake slightly.

“Sangie! You brought in a stray!”

Jisung nearly jumps out of his skin. His head snapped toward the source of the shouting, only to see a guy barrel into the room. The guy moves fast. One second, he was just inside the doorway, and the next, he was throwing an arm around Yeosang’s shoulders, all sharp grin and bright eyes.

“Well, well, well, who are you, newbie?” His voice is bright, and he speaks quick.

Jisung blinks and crosses his arms, shifting his weight onto one foot. “Could ask you the same?”

The door opens again, this time less aggressively.

A group filed in, one after the other.

First was a girl with a slicked-back ponytail and sharp eyes. Her gaze flicked to him instantly, lips twitching into a smile. Behind her, two more girls stepped in—one tall with long, dark hair, and the other shorter with her black hair cut into a sharp bob. They walk into the room with an easy confidence.

And lastly—Wheein.

She shut the door behind her, dusting off her hands before flashing Jisung a grin. “Here is the rest.”

Jisung barely heard her. Too many people. Too fast.

The air in the room shifted, no longer just thick with cooking oil but alive with movement, voices, and the weight of too many stares.

He tensed, instinct screaming at him to move—to do something. Instead, he curled his fingers into his sleeves, forcing himself to stay still.

The loud guy’s voice cut through the buzz like a blade.

“So, what’s his deal?”

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang muttered, voice flat.

“I know, I know,” The boy—Wooyoung, apparently—waved him off. His gaze still sharp on Jisung. “So? What’s your deal?” Yeosang sighs.

Jisung stares. “My deal?”

“Yeah. Are you, like, dangerous? Stupid? Both?”

Jisung’s eye twitched. “I could be dangerous. But I’m smart enough to see that you aren’t that bright.” He says sharply.

Wooyoung shouts out a laugh.

“Alright, children, that's enough.” Wheein steps in. “Let's do this properly.”

Jisung reels himself back in.

“As you know, I’m Wheein,” she said. “You met Yeosang. The loud one’s Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung wiggled his fingers in an exaggerated wave.

“That’s NingNing.” Wheein points to the girl with the ponytail.

She smirks. “Hi, stray.”

Jisung grits his teeth. “ Not a dog .”

“Debatable,” Wooyoung muttered.

“The quiet one is Momo,” Wheein continued, ignoring them.

Momo nodded once, shooting him a smile.

“And that’s Tzuyu.”

The tall girl lifted a hand in what might have been a wave. Or maybe a dismissal. Jisung couldn’t tell.

Silence stretched.

Jisung shifts, exhaling slowly and relaxing his shoulders.

Wheein claps her hands together, breaking the tension with a smile almost too bright. “Alright, enough staring at the poor kid. Let’s get you settled.”

She gestures for Jisung to follow, and the rest of the group steps aside, still watching him, some with curiosity, others with that strange, unreadable look. Yeosang moves first, and Wooyoung throws one more glance at him, grinning sharply.

“Come on, stray,” Wooyoung teases, calling him like you would a puppy.

Jisung rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I’ll show you a fucking stray. ”

“Stop it, Wooyoung,” Momo says in a quiet voice. Her presence is a lot calmer, like a steadying weight that almost immediately makes Jisung feel less exposed.

Tzuyu stays silent, trailing behind them as they walk through the hallway.

“Your room is the last one here,” Wheein says.

Jisung stays a couple of steps behind, his head turning slightly, his eyes flickering over each door. They are each decorated with their names.

Wheein, Momo & Tzuyu, Ningning, Wooyoung & Yeosang.

Then a blank door. Wheein opens it, and Jisung hesitantly wanders in. It's small. A single bed, a small dresser, and a window, covered mostly by a sheet, are the only things in the room. It smells faintly like clean sheets and something else, stale, but nothing he can't deal with.

“Here,” Wheein says, setting down a small bag of food—water bottle, granola bar, and an apple. “Eat if you're hungry. We’ll leave you to settle in for now.”

Jisung nods, but his mind is already running. He hesitates before picking up the bag, looking at Wheein’s retreating back.

“Are you sure it's real?” he asks, feeling nothing more than like that stupid hopeful kid of his youth.

Wheein stops, half turned in the doorway. She tilts her head, her smile softening just a little.

“Yeah, it’s real. We’ll get you to the safe town when you're ready.”

Jisung’s stomach clenches, the doubt rising again. “And you just expect me to believe that?”

Wheein doesn’t flinch. “I don’t expect anything. I’m just giving you the option.”

She walks out, closing the door behind her with a soft click, and Jisung is left standing there, feeling the weight of everything.

The room feels smaller now that he’s alone, but somehow safer than he's felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

Hyunjin walked the dimly lit streets, his hood pulled low over his eyes. The damp city air carried the scent of rain and concrete, a reminder of the storm that had passed the night before. His boots barely made a sound as he moved through the alleyways, keeping the shadows as he always did. But he wasn’t just passing through this time, he had a purpose.

NEXUS has always been a problem, recently, though, something had shifted. For some reason small groups of rogue officers were acting outside of the usual chain of command, snatching Inganoes off the streets and taking them somewhere other than the usual containment centers. The rumors had spread like wildfire among the strange Inganoes who still dared to show their true eyes in the dark corners of the city. No one who was taken ever came back.

A few other Inganoes knew of him and his escapades—word had spread over time. Some saw him as reckless, others saw him as a revolutionary, someone who would no longer hide their identity all the time and still wander the city mainly unharmed. Tonight he has been sought out.

Two girls approached him in the back of an abandoned storefront, their eyes flashing briefly in the dark. Moka, with bold blue and shifting purple eyes, and Minju, whose pastel purple and blue hues glowed softly under the flickering streetlight.

“We need your help. Our home was raided by this group. They were dressed as NEXUS officers but… They took our friends, Minju followed them, but they didn’t take our friends to their normal center. They ended up at this warehouse on the southside of the city. Neither of us would be able to save them, so we need your help.” Moka explains.

Hyunjin agrees.

Minju then led him to a different alleyway with a broken-down payphone, her fingers trembling as she drew a small circle of light in the air. The energy rippled like water, forming a portal just large enough for Hyunjin to step through.

“Please. Get them back for us.” Minju pleads, her eyes wide.

Hyunjin nods, saying nothing as he stumbles through the portal.

The sensation was strange—like being pulled through static—but in an instant, he stood outside a decrepit warehouse on the edge of the city. He clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. He lets his cold fury roll over, then he starts the trech closer to the warehouse.

Hyunjin pressed himself against the wall, his breath steady despite the rage clawing at his chest. The guards at the entrance were oblivious to the predator in their midst. With a deep inhale, he pulled on the familiar warmth of his ability, weaving an illusion of emptiness around himself.

A swift slash of his pocket knife, and one fell. The second barely had time to gasp before he, too, collapsed soundlessly to the ground.

Fourteen.

Moving inside, Hyunjin stalked the hallways like a shadow. Five officers laughed together, oblivious. Hyunjin pulls again. Their laughter turns into gasps and trembles. Giant spiders, dead relatives, the screams of the dead. Hyunjin lets his deepest rage pour into harsh illusions. Deep in their heads, they barely even notice as Hyunjin slices into them one by one.

Nine.

Further inside, he hears a faint noise. A whimper. A sharp breath. Pushing open a heavy door, he found her—a young girl, barely conscious, her body battered and bruised. But she was healing. Her wounds stitched themselves back together before his eyes.

She looked up at him, her pastel pink eyes still glowing faintly. “Are you here to help us?”

Hyunin crouches beside her, his expression softening for just a moment. “I’m Hyunjin. I’m getting you out of here.”

She grins up at him, teeth bloody. “Wonhee.”

“Nice to meet you, Wonhee. Are there others?”

Her grin tightens as she pushes herself to her feet, swaying only a moment before straightening. The woulds that should have crippled her were gone.

“I can get you there. They’re being guarded, though.”

“Alright, then,” Hyunjin murmured. “Lead the way.”

They move swiftly through the halls. Wonhee led him to a large, bolted door, with two guards stationed outside. They made no sound as they fell.

Seven.

Inside, ten Inganoes huddled together, their expressions torn between fear and desperation. A NEXUS officer loomed over them, his voice dripping with mockery.

Hyunjin stepped forward. The officer barely had time to react before the world around him twisted into a waking nightmare. Hyunjin’s illusions engulfed him, drowning him in pure horror before the knife met his throat.

The remaining guards attacked, but they were slow. Sloppy.

Hyunjin was not.

When the last body hit the floor, he turned to Wonhee. “Get them out of here. I’ll meet you outside.”

She hesitated, but his gaze was unwavering. She nodded, then ushered the others away.

Hyunjin stood in the silence, staring down at the fallen NEXUS officers. He could leave them unconscious. He could let them live.

But he didn’t.

One by one, he made sure they never got up again.

Then, stepping over the bodies, he left.

The rescued Inganoes were delivered to safety, each choosing their path forward. But three remained—Wonhee, Yunah, and Iroha. They had people waiting for them.

Moka and Minju were already in tears when they arrived. The reunion was silent at first, then filled with hushed cries and trembling hands gripping onto each other as if afraid to let go.

As a final thanks, Minju handed Hyunjin a small, folded paper. “It's an address,” she whispered. “A haven for people like us. If you ever need it. Or want it.”

Hyunjin stared at the paper for a long moment before shoving it into his pocket. He waves after the girls, and they walk away giggling and holding hands.

He wasn’t ready for a haven. He tells himself.

They wouldn’t want him there anyway.

Chapter Text

It’s cold.

Not just cold—weaponized. Manufactured. The kind that doesn’t drift in naturally but is forced in through vents at full blast, rattling the metal above him like a cruel lullaby. The air conditioning hums relentlessly, engineered to drain him of any heat, any flicker of strength. The concrete floor beneath his bare skin steals warmth like it’s hungry.

He doesn't move. He can’t. Every shift makes the thin uniform drag across his skin like ice-wrapped sandpaper. His limbs are tight, drawn inward, locked in place not out of comfort, but as a last defense against the shaking. They want to see him shiver. He won’t give them that.

His eyes are half-lidded, lashes crusted with sleep and frost, but they flutter open when he hears it again:

"Blow out the candles!"

The voice is bright, expectant. Happy. It echoes strangely in the sterile concrete, bouncing off the walls like it doesn’t belong. He blinks slowly. There are no candles here. No cake. No voices.

But for a second—less than that—he sees the blur of faces, all smiling too much, leaning in, too many voices speaking at once. “Make a wish!” “Hurry!” “Smile for the camera!”

His head jerks down. He curls tighter.

The cold is punishment. He knows this. It's calibrated. Designed. Fire can’t bloom in a blizzard, and his body has been forced into winter. He hasn’t even tried to summon the heat in days—weeks? He doesn’t know anymore. Not after they took away the light, the time, the sound.

Still, sometimes—when his breath rattles from his lungs and he can’t stop the tremble in his fingers—he feels it. Just at the edge. The flicker under his skin. The warning. The curse.

The candles had flickered once too.

Tiny orange flames, dancing. He’d stared too long, felt too much. Hands on his shoulders, voices stacking over each other, pressing in—crowding. Telling him to smile. Telling him to breathe.

Then there’d been a sound. A rushing. A roar.

He remembers fire rising—not in lines or waves, but in spirals, alive and ravenous. A tornado of heat and light and screaming.

His skin hadn’t blistered like the rest of them. The fire had welcomed him into its warm embrace, like an old friend.

Now there’s only cold.

He opens his eyes again. The veins in his arms are deep violet, vivid against the translucent pallor of his skin. His breath fogs the air like smoke, but it doesn’t warm him. Nothing does.

He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t speak.

He waits.

They’ll come again. With questions. With needles. With their blank, unblinking stares. And he will give them nothing. Not the heat. Not the fire. Not the boy they think they can still shape into something useful.

“We love you, Minho, never forget.”

Because they have already taken what he had left.

Chapter Text

Waking up has always been a chore for Jisung, and today is no different. He is used to waking up in all sorts of different places, always on the run, never quite safe enough to genuinely relax. For the past two weeks, though, something's been different. He hasn’t had to jump from a slightly comfortable alley, rusty bench, or hard concrete slab in any abandoned shelter in forever, which has helped him rest up for the next time he's off on his way again. 

And yes, he is planning on leaving, swear. Just because Wheein says he can stay for as long as he needs, or because Ning Ning’s cooking isn’t the worst thing he's eaten, or the fact that this is the longest he’s stayed anywhere since he was thirteen, did not mean he was staying. He plans on leaving tomorrow anyways.

Jisung peels his eyes open to acknowledge the incessant knocking on his– the door.

“Hellooooo? Jisung? You alive in there, or do we need to send in a search party?” Wooyoung . He throws the wonderfully comfortable blankets off himself and stumbles over, creaking open the door just a crack and glaring at the interruption of his morning drifting. Wooyoung grins at him through the crack. He waves with what Jisung thinks is too much energy for it being so early in the morning. Or what Jisung thinks is early in the morning, he doesn’t have a phone to check.

“Are you always this loud? Or did I do something to deserve the VIP treatment?” Jisung opens the door wider, walking over to the bag of donated clothes from the others and grabbing a random hoodie.

“Oh, good! Was starting to think we’d adopted a very quiet, very moody ghost.” Wooyoung shoves the door open and moves around the room like he owns it—well, in a way, he does. He starts to straighten out the covers on the bed.

Jisung struggles pulling the hoodie over his head without holding his long sleeves in place. “If I were dead, do you think I’d still be here to deal with your voice this early?” His voice comes out muffled behind the dark purple fabric.

“First of all, it’s past noon. Second, you’ve been doing the whole ‘lone wolf hiding in a shoebox’ thing for two weeks now. It’s time to come out.” Wooyoung has now slouched onto Jisung’s– the bed. 

Jisung scoffs, “To do what? Group hugs? Trust falls? Family Jenga night?” He yanks on some jeans with only minimal holes in the knees.

Wooyoung cracks a laugh at that. “Time to stop lurking in the shadows like an off-brand Batman and help out around here. While you’re here, you pull your weight. House rules.”

“Right, because canned food doesn’t teleport here just based on our vibes and collective trauma.” 

Wooyoung giggles. “Exactly. But today the vibe is: get up and help Wooyoung haul inventory or suffer the consequences.”

Wooyoung shooed Jisung out of the room, closing the door behind them. 

“Wow. You guys really lean into this whole ‘ team spirit ’ thing, huh?” Jisung rolls his eyes but follows Wooyoung close behind.

“Mhm! It’s called being part of a functional ecosystem. You ever tried it, little stray?”

Jisung chooses to ignore the little nickname, “Briefly. Didn’t take.”

Wooyoung lets out something that sounds somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Yeah, well, lucky you, I’m persistent. You don’t have to like it, but you do have to move.”

Their voices fill the silent hall. It feels cozy. Like a home.

“Are you always this bossy, or am I just special?”

Wooyoung glances back, “Oh, you’re definitely special. But yeah, bossy is how we get stuff done around here. Now, let's get a move on before I make you do the dishes too.”

Jisung mimics zipping his mouth shut and follows Wooyoung down the rickety stairs towards the loud diner.

Time goes on like that for a while, Jisung even gets on casual speaking terms with Yeosang. He helps around in the back of the diner, and sometimes even works at the tables, even if he has to wear a mask during his rounds. He also learns that they do also have family Jenga nights, but they also drag him into other games as well.

After a while, he stops thinking about the tomorrow that he will finally pack up his minimal stuff and skitter away. And now he just thinks about how tomorrow he will be helping around the diner and who he will share a shift with next.

But none of this helps the jittery feeling constantly under his skin, the tremble in his hands when a customer stares at him for too long. The thought that they know . That they know what he did, who he is, and what he can do .

Wooyoung helps when he slings his arm over Jisung’s shoulders after a particularly tough shift. Ning Ning's sharp eyes but soft smiles help too. Even Yeosang helps when they just sit together in warm silence.

Something in Jisung still whispers to him when he sits alone in the room Wheein gave him, the room now with a sign of his own hanging on it reading his name in curly script and glitter glue, a gift from Momo and Tzuyu on the day marking his monthiversary, staying at the diner. The whispers tell him that he will mess this up somehow, ruin it, and bring it to dust. 

It all comes down to a random day in his third month, when he is helping sort boxes with Wooyoung in the kitchens. They listen to the news on the TV as they push boxes around filled with their new batch of goods.

Jisung is mostly tuned out, picking up a box of canned beans, when suddenly the subject on the news changes.

“Possible red or orange ranked Inganoe is still on the loose today, last seen in the shopping district of–” Jisung tries to focus on moving the box across the room.

Don’t listen.

Don’t listen.

“Considered dangerous and unstable. He is male, appearing to be in his late teens or early twenties, with burnt-orange hair, unwashed or disheveled clothing. He may be traveling alone or posing as a displaced civilian.”

Just move.

Just move.

Just move.

“Nexus Officers have reason to believe he remains within city limits—”

“Citizens are reminded: Do not engage. Do not approach, speak to, or attempt to detain the suspect under any circumstances. Instead, report any sightings or suspicious activity to NEXUS Dispatch via the Emergency Line or through the Civilian Alert App.”

“Jisung, breathe.”

Breathe.

Jisung snaps out of his thoughts sharply. He looks to see Wooyoung, with a gentle but firm grip on his shoulder. Jisung sucks in a heavy, shaky breath.

“It's okay, I need you to breathe with me, though.” 

Jisung feels warmth behind his eyes, seeing himself reflected in Wooyoung’s wide eyes. Jisung sees his own glowing orange eyes shifting in the reflection.

He looks around. Dish towels and dirty dishes in the sink are actively drifting into grey sandy dust. The curtains are being eaten away by an unseen force. Jisung looks down to see that the box he is holding is turning to nothing before his very eyes, the cans inside being eaten from the inside out. By the time Jisung lets the box drop, it's all gone before it hits the floor.

“Jisung. Look at me, it’s okay. Breathe with me.”

Jisung feels his blood rushing in his ears, and the smell in the air threatens to make him sneeze. 

Tears are dripping from his face, but they too don’t reach the floor.

He takes another deep breath.

“Good. Again”

The world comes into focus again. But the room he stands in has been changed. 

“I think you should go back upstairs. Take a shower, go to bed early. I’ll finish up down here.”

Jisung says nothing, but turns away to the stairs anyway. As he begins his ascent, he hears—

“Again, this is a Class Red-Level Alert. Stay aware. Stay safe. NEXUS is working tirelessly to restore peace and control.”

And then one last sound of a pile of dust hitting the floor, before that too is gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Lee Felix

The bell rang sharply, jolting Felix from his thoughts. He blinked at the board, the blurred Hangul scrawled across it no clearer now than it had been that morning. Around him, chairs scraped, backpacks zipped, and voices rose in chatter that might as well have been white noise.

He didn’t move until the classroom had emptied.

No one looked back at him. No one ever did.

Felix slung his bag over his shoulder, feet dragging as he left the room. The hallway bustled, all noise and elbows. He hugged the wall, keeping his head down, careful not to bump into anyone—not that they’d notice if he did.

Someone brushed past, muttering something. He caught the tone, but not the words. Maybe it wasn’t meant for him anyway.

Down the stairs, out the front doors. The school loomed behind him like a weight. He didn’t look back.

The sky was washed-out blue, too bright for how tired he felt. His legs carried him down the cracked sidewalk, each step a little slower than the last. Students split off in pairs and groups, peeling away toward corner stores and cafés, homes and subway stations. Laughter trailed behind them.

Felix walked alone.

The streets blurred together, unfamiliar signs passing in a language he barely understood. He recognized a few characters here and there—ones he’d practiced late at night when sleep refused to come—but they didn’t form anything useful. Nothing that made this place feel any less foreign.

A dog barked from somewhere behind a gate. A motorbike screamed past. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust.

He kept walking, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against a chill that wasn’t really in the air.

At the corner, he waited for the light even though no cars were coming. Just something about the red man blinking on the crosswalk sign felt like a rule he shouldn’t break.

He didn’t need more reasons to feel out of place.

When the light changed, he crossed.

Eventually, he reached the barely familiar stretch of road that led to his new home.

He didn’t rush.

There is no car in the driveway when he opens the door, the house is colder than the pleasant warmth from outside, an appreciated break from the gloomy rain.

He kicks off his shoes and walks past the empty living room and jogs up the stairs before locking himself in his room.

The walls are still plain white as when he moved into the room, none of his old posters on the wall yet, simply because Felix had no desire to put them up yet. He nudges two boxes out of his way to the bed. The bed is a simple twin-sized mattress. Felix has to lie on it angled in order not to have his feet hang over; there is only one flattened pillow and a thick blue duvet on it, unmade from this morning. 

Felix slumps down face-first, letting out a loud groan. He rolls over and digs his phone out of his backpack pocket; the battery is down to thirty percent. He spends longer than he wants to admit just doom-schrolling, and he eventually lands on a video covering the recent capture of a young inganoe. The video shows a little girl, no more than 10, being cuffed and led to a large black van parked outside of her elementary school. She is dressed in a pretty pink dress with a floral pattern on the skirt, her white stockings stained with streaks of dirt. She is crying and begging at the camera for her mom, her eyes glowing a stark violet.

“Young Inganoe was contained after a violent attack against a classmate. The victim, a young boy, luckily was able to escape with minimal injuries thanks to quick N.E.X.U.S. action. The incident was reported by their teacher after she witnessed the Inganoe and the other student arguing on their way back from lunch today at approximately 12:45. Now over to talk with the teacher and witness.”

Felix bites his lip, his own eyes burning.

“There was so much happening, toys flying everywhere. I tried to stop her, little Iroha, she looked so scared.” The teacher was on the screen now, clutching her hand to her chest as she explained.

“And what about the victim? Where was he? What do you think started the incident? Did you ever suspect that there may have been an Inganoe among the children?” The news person pushed the microphone closer as they badgered the woman.

“What? No, Iroha has- had always seemed normal, just a regu–regular little girl. Always sharing with her classmates, getting involved during lessons, everything! I’m sure she never meant to hurt anyone!”

“Who all was hurt? You reported the incident, did it–”

There is a call from the little girl, Iroha.

“Mrs. Choi! Help me! I want my mama, I want to go home!”

The men in the neat N.E.X.U.S. uniform move to pick the girl up when she starts to drag her feet, but the moment they touch her, two of them go flying back a couple of feet. More uniformed men grab for her, but they get pushed back, too.

“Mrs. Choi!”

“Stop it! You’re scaring her! Let her go-!”

The camera turns back to the news person, but Felix can still see the commotion behind her.

“Again, we see the Inganoe making another violent attempt–”

Mrs. Choi pushed passed two officers and reached out for Iroha, “It’s okay–”

“This Inganoe is an obvious danger to the people around and must be contained–”

Iroha doesn’t push her teacher away, and the woman picks her up gently.

“Who knows what it could have done–”

Mrs. Choi is led into the van alongside Iroha, and the door slams shut.

“This incident portrays another attempt of violence against our people by the Inganoe today–”

Felix shuts his phone off and covers his eyes with his hands. One thing for sure is that Felix has noticed something different from his home in Australia. The public outlook on the people, called Vireans as a whole, but Inganoes here. In Australia, while they are seen as an abnormality, they aren’t usually condemned . The dangerous were monitored and, if needed, they were contained, and the weak were mainly able to roam free, with identification on hand, also monitored.

But they were still considered alive. 

Tears start to flow down Felix’s face as he thinks about the place he was forced to leave. 

Closing his eyes tight, Felix thinks of another place, somewhere empty of people. He thinks of the towering buildings and the bright sun, someplace he can have for himself.

And when he opens his eyes, he is there.

Chapter Text

In the early days at the facility, Minho used to cry. The shoves from the guards, the cold eyes of people in lab coats and suits, the frozen air of his room—everything was too sharp, too cruel, too permanent. They had taken his name the moment he stepped through the door, replacing it with a string of numbers. He’d cried hardest when they strapped him to a table and pressed a tattoo gun into his skin, carving the numbers there like he was property.

But as time passed, the tears dried up. Sadness gave way to envy. Quiet, gnawing envy for those who still had freedom. For the guards who could step in and out as they pleased, returning to their families, their dinners, their lives. And with envy came anger, hot and bitter. What right did they have to rip him from the sun, from the warmth and the air? What right did they have to see themselves as superior, when Minho could end them in a single blink?

The door clanged open, screeching on its hinges. Minho flinched, pressing deeper into the corner where he huddled against the chill. Three figures in burnt-orange uniforms and black helmets filed in. Two seized his arms; the third pressed a baton hard against the back of his neck. Without a word, they hauled him into the sterile white corridor. A fourth guard shut the cell behind them, then moved to lead the way.

They marched in silence, save for the scrape of Minho’s shoes against the floor. He didn’t bother to walk on his own—let them drag him. Call him petty. His eyes drifted to the bright orange stripe painted endlessly along the walls, the only splash of color in a world of white.

Door after door passed in a blur until they stopped at one more lock. The lead guard swiped a card, and the cafeteria doors swung open. Conversation died instantly. A few voices picked up again, cautious, as the guards shoved Minho forward and into the food line.

Minho accepted his tray without a word and scanned the room. Most tables were already filled with clusters of gray faces, conversations barely more than murmurs. He had no interest in their empty glances. Instead, he spotted a nearly empty table near the back—occupied by only one other detainee.

The boy sat hunched, his stiff white uniform hanging loose on his frame, the same as Minho’s. Only, the weight of it showed differently on him. Thick, heavy boots anchored his feet to the floor, scuffing faintly against the tiles when he shifted. Around his wrists, chunky metal cuffs rested over the thin sleeves, connected by faint grooves where they had rubbed the fabric raw. His eyes stayed fixed on his tray, expression unreadable. Minho slid into the seat across from him, setting his own food down with deliberate slowness.

Silence stretched, but Minho let it. He studied the other, noting the band wrapped tight around his upper arm: red cloth marked with a sharp, flame-like emblem enclosed in a circle; a red rank.

Minho doesn’t bother to glance at his own band, where the same emblem was etched into orange fabric. Orange, not red. A step lower. A reminder that even among the condemned, there was still a system that sorted them into cages within cages.

His eyes lingered on the red band again, wondering what difference it truly made. To the guards, to the scientists, to the rest of the world. What had the boy done—or failed to do—to be marked as something so dangerous?

The boy didn’t look up. Neither of them spoke. Minho turns to his food.

Bland, all of it, nothing special; just enough to give the basic nutrients. A single scoop of sticky, lukewarm white rice, a shallow bowl of indiscernible soup, one cube of plain tofu, and a single boiled egg, cold, rubbery, and dry.

Minho forced the spoon to his mouth. The rice was cold and tasteless, the tofu spongy and wet, the egg dry enough to stick in his throat. He washed it down with the lukewarm water, swallowing hard.

His hands move out of habit more than hunger—scoop, chew, swallow. The scrape of metal on metal filled the silence.

Across from him, the boy shifted, cuffs clinking softly against the table. Minho takes another bite. Minho glances up with a blink as the table shifts. The boy is looking at him through his black bangs, his eyes are sharp; his iris’ glowing indigo surrounded by a vivid violet ring. For a moment, Minho is mesmerized. The boy is on the shorter side, but his stare pierces Minho with looming acknowledgement. Minho looks back at his food. A shadow fell across his tray as the other detainee stood from his seat and moved past, tray in hand. The scrape of weighted boots passing by.

For a moment, a sleeve brushed against his arm. When it lifted, something paper-thin was there, pressed between his elbow and the metal table surface. A folded slip, small and inconspicuous.

Minho didn’t blink. He didn’t reach for it. He kept eating, spoon scraping against the tray, forcing down another mouthful of cold rice. The red Inganoe leaves, feat dragging.

He shifts his arm on the table, covering up the rest of the slip of paper. To look would mean risk. To react would give away both of them. So Minho chewed, swallowed, and kept his eyes on the tray until he finished and was dragged back to the cold room before testing.

Felix sprints around the corner to his street, runs through the front door, up the stairs, and into his room. He slams the door behind him and leans against it, chest rising and falling too fast in anxiety and anticipation. His schoolbag slid from his shoulder and sat forgotten on the floor as he jumped onto his bed. His mind wouldn’t stop circling the same memory: going from his bedroom to the sudden open sun and light breeze, the empty streets surrounding him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, remembering the moment from yesterday—the panic, the desperate reach to get out—and then, the sudden snap. One moment, he was somewhere else; the next, he was standing right back in his room, gasping.

At first, he worried that it’d just been some sort of hallucination, but now, he had to know if he could do it again.

Felix sank cross-legged to the floor, pressing his palms against his knees. He tried to breathe the way the meditation apps told him to do: in slow, steady pulls, out with even slower exhales. Nothing. Minutes stretched. His thoughts grew louder if possible, not quieter. His legs started to ache.

And then, without warning, the floor vanished from beneath him.

Felix toppled backward, his head and back striking something solid and cold. He sucked in a sharp breath and opened his eyes.

Above him stretched the open sky. Tall buildings rose all around, crowding his horizon. He blinked, sitting up slowly.

And froze.

Another city hung above him high in the sky—upside down, perfectly mirrored. Towers gleamed with lit windows, and behind the glass, he thought he could see shadows moving, cars driving on the roads. It was almost transparent and had a light shimmer to it.

His mouth went dry.

He turned in place, taking it all in. It was midday, sunlight sharp against the concrete, but the streets were silent and cool. No cars lined the curbs. No voices echoed between the towering buildings. Not even a stray pigeon flapped overhead.

Only him, the empty city, and the reflection above.

The air felt different here, lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Felix dragged in a breath and let it out slowly, eyes wide.

He pulls himself up from the floor, brushing stray pebbles out of his hands and clothes. The empty street stretched in every direction. He spun in the middle of the road, arms shifting out around him on instinct. A stray breeze ruffled through his hair, cool and gentle against his sweat-damp skin. “Hello?” He called, his voice lightly cracking. The sound bounced down the buildings and came back to him.

Silence again.

He tried again, louder this time. “Is anyone else here?” The echo was still left unanswered.

Felix laughed at the absurdity of it all, his voice whispering back at him from the glass and steel. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking, the weight of each footstep sounding strangely amplified in the quiet.

And then he wished, idly, that the streets weren’t so bleak. That there was something alive here.

He froze mid-step. Beneath his sneakers, the pavement shifted. Faint lines spread outward like spiderwebbing cracks—except they weren’t cracks at all. They bloomed into color, twisting into chalk-drawn spirals, flowers, suns with lopsided rays, clouds fat and rounded like in all the cartoons.

Felix’s face split into a grin.

Everywhere he stepped, colors followed. Blues, greens, yellows, pinks, scribbled into being by some invisible hand. He laughed and suddenly bolted forward, racing across the street. With every leap, every stomp, a fresh spray of color unfurled in his wake. He twirled, hopped, and skipped, painting whole blocks with a storm of chalk and paint.

He danced until his chest ached, until sweat stuck his shirt to his back, until he collapsed against a lamppost, grinning like a fool.

That’s when his stomach growled. Loud.

The joy in his chest dimmed. Food. He hadn’t eaten since school, and this place—whatever it is—doesn’t seem to have any functioning restaurants. Still, the thought lingered: What if…?

Felix clenched his fists and thought of shelves stacked with snacks, the fluorescent hum of fridges, the neon glare of a convenience store sign. He pictured bags of chips, kimbap, candy bars, and ramen.

The air seemed to ripple.

When he opened his eyes, a grocery store sat across the street. Its doors already slid open.

“Holy shit, okay cool.”

Felix swallowed hard. He walked in slowly, every sense braced for alarms, for some clerk to leap out and scold him. But there was no one. Only aisles and aisles of food, perfect and untouched. He loaded an armful of bags into his grasp—chips, biscuits, a bottle of soda.

At the doorway, he hesitated. Even here, even in this impossible world, the old fear prickled at him: stealing. He lingered on the threshold, heart thudding, before quickly forcing himself to step outside. Nothing happened. No alarms, no chase. Only the quiet city waiting. He relaxed.

Minutes later, he lay sprawled in the grass of a park that hadn’t been there before, crumbs scattered over his lap. He tore through the chips, salty and stale but real. He stared up at the mirrored skyline and chewed, letting the silence press in around him.

How strange it was to have all this—snack, parks, color, peace—and yet no one to share it with. His laughter earlier already felt thin, echoing in his own ears. The chalk drawings were bright but meaningless when only his feet ever touched them.

Felix sat up slowly, brushing more of the crumbs from his shirt. Was he the only one who could step into this place? If so, it was both a blessing and a curse. Because this wasn’t just some escape—it could be something else. Something bigger.

Then it hit him.

He imagined the others out there, the ones hiding from Nexus, running through the alleys and basements. What if he could bring them here? Give them this strange hollow safety, this space to breathe?

But it all hinged on one question.

Could he pull something—or someone—through with him?

Felix stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers as though they might hold the answer.

The park swayed gently in the breeze. The mirrored city glowed above, people going about their lives, unaware of the boy lying alone in the grass below.

Chapter Text

“All of this shit is too overpriced…” Hyunjin hissed, tossing a box of blackish-blue hair dye into his basket alongside a stick of eyeliner and a few snacks. His hair had grown out enough that his roots were starting to show whenever he caught his reflection.

After his latest run-in with the law, he’d decided it was time to go with something less conspicuous. Black would do. He’d have to hit the laundromat soon, too—his clothes were beginning to feel grimy.

As he made his way toward the counter, a pair of sunglasses caught his eye. Cute. He plucked them off the stand as he passed and slipped them on, watching the faint opalescent shimmer in their reflection before ducking behind the counter.

The cashier sat slouched on a stool, absorbed in a game on her phone—completely oblivious. Hyunjin snapped his fingers twice in front of her face, just to be sure.

He didn’t doubt the hold of his illusion, but better safe than sorry.

Spotting a small key hanging from a hook beneath the counter, he reached for it, holding his breath as it hovered close to her knee. His ability faltered around direct contact—too risky.

He grinned as the drawer clicked open, snatching a handful of bills from the top. Guilt prickled faintly—she’d probably lose her job over this—but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He shut the drawer, stuffed the cash into his pocket, and bagged his haul before slipping toward the exit.

A rush of cold air hit him as the doors slid open. Behind him, he heard a confused, distant “Hello?” But he kept walking. The doors shut, and the sound was gone.

Walking through the crowded streets, he slipped between people, hiking his guitar case higher on his shoulder. He turned down a side street, but before stepping into the alley, a massive screen above caught his attention—a NEXUS announcement.

The broadcast displayed a boy about his age: orangish hair with brown roots, baby fat still clinging to his cheeks despite his gaunt frame. Scrawny, weak-looking, but his eyes were sharp—alive in a way that made Hyunjin pause.

The caption scrolling beneath the photo read:
Possible Red or Orange Rank. Considered Dangerous and Unstable.

Typical.

Hyunjin tore his gaze away and turned his back to the crowd.

In his room, Jisung’s panic was only escalating. He was on the floor, his back pressed against the leg of his bed, trying his best to keep his breathing under control.

In for four.
Hold for seven.
Out for eight.
Repeat.

A knock came at the door before it creaked open. Wooyoung poked his head through, his face pinched with concern, lips pressed white together.

“Sung?” Wooyoung’s voice was softer than usual, stripped of its usual boisterous energy.

Jisung couldn’t respond. His breath came in shallow gasps as his heart raced. Wooyoung entered cautiously, sitting beside him on the bed. He didn’t touch Jisung, but his presence was grounding.

“I had a friend,” he said after a moment, voice low. “We were really close. Before all this. He was like you—Red Class.”

Jisung turned his head slightly, sniffling as he tried to focus through the haze.

“He could mess with gravity,” Wooyoung continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I used to joke about it. Said he was cheating at the gym, making the weights lighter. He thought it was a stupid joke, so he’d trip me up all the time.” A faint smile tugged at his lips when Jisung huffed. His eyes, though, were watery.

“Nexus found him two years before they found me,” he said quietly. “Stormed his house. Dragged him out kicking and screaming. In front of everyone—his family, his neighbors, me.”

Jisung reached over, gripping Wooyoung’s hand tightly.

“Nobody did anything,” Wooyoung whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t do anything. I just stood there. I was so scared I couldn’t move. I watched them take him—and I did nothing.”

The room fell silent, his words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake again,” Wooyoung said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, but his hand held firm in Jisung’s. “I don’t care what it costs me. I’m not letting them take you.”

Jisung couldn’t stop the tears. He didn’t have the energy to fight them back anymore. Wooyoung squeezed his hand tighter, but didn’t move. Eventually, exhaustion overtook Jisung, and he slumped against Wooyoung’s shoulder, his breathing finally evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

When he woke, it was dark. The room was quiet. For a moment, the tension seemed to ease. Wooyoung was still beside him, asleep, tear tracks faintly visible on his cheeks.

Then the peace was shattered with a violent bang.

“Freeze! Hands where we can see them!”
Nexus.

“Wooyoung,” Jisung hissed, shaking him. “Wake up!”

Wooyoung stirred groggily. “Wha—?”

“Wooyoung, get up! Nexus is here.”

That snapped him awake. His eyes widened in terror. “Jisung, what do we do? We need to get Yeosang—we need to get Yeosang!”

Jisung’s chest tightened, his hands pulsing. “I… I don’t know. What about the others?” His voice trembled, panic threatening to break loose again.

He pulled Wooyoung to his feet. “Okay, come on. Let’s go find him—we’ll figure it out.”

They crept into the hallway, hugging the walls as the sound of boots and slamming doors echoed around them. Jisung’s breath came in shallow bursts as his senses heightened, every noise sharp enough to cut.

When they reached the living room, Jisung froze and ducked behind the wall. Yeosang was there—pinned down by two Nexus guards, arms wrenched behind him. The room flickered and distorted around them, glitching at the edges like a broken screen.

One officer jabbed a syringe into Yeosang’s neck. His body went limp. The distortion stopped.

“No,” Wooyoung whimpered, stepping forward, but Jisung caught his arm and dragged him back.

Yeosang’s eyes met theirs for a fleeting moment—calm, resigned. Silver, glinting like metal. He shook his head once.
Don’t.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched. Tears streaked down his face as he let Jisung pull him away.

Back in Jisung’s room, Jisung slammed the door shut and locked it. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would buy them seconds. His eyes darted to the small window above the fire escape.

“Wooyoung, come on!” Jisung said, voice cracking as he pried it open.

Wooyoung hesitated, anguish twisting his face. “What about the others? What about Yeosang? We can’t just leave them!”

“We don’t have a choice!” Jisung snapped, desperate. “We’ll get him back, I swear—but if we stay, there won’t be a chance.”

More tears spilled, but Wooyoung nodded and climbed out the window with shaking hands. The night air was cold as they hit the fire escape. Jisung closes the window behind them.

Below, Nexus officers swarmed the street, flashlights slicing through the dark. Jisung crouched low, gripping Wooyoung’s hand as they crept along the rusted railing.

Then—bang.

A window behind them burst open. Jisung’s heart leapt as an officer lunged out, grabbing Wooyoung by the arm.

“No!” Jisung screamed, scrambling to pull him back, but the officer’s grip was unrelenting.

“Go, Jisung!” Wooyoung gasped, fighting back. “Go!”

Jisung shook his head, panic clawing up his throat. The officers pulled something out—the same type of syringe as before. Wooyoung’s body went slack. Rage exploded in Jisung’s chest.

“Dammit!” he shouted, voice breaking as his ability surged. The metal beneath his feet disintegrated. The fire escape collapsed, swallowing the officers—and Wooyoung—with it.

But Jisung didn’t stop. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting through his legs, but he kept running. Tears blurred his vision as the street cracked and turned to dust behind him.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?!” he screamed, his voice hoarse as flashing Nexus lights closed in. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he kept running—until a hand yanked him sideways, dragging him into a narrow alleyway.

He thrashed, panic flaring, until a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Stop moving!” a voice hissed.

Jisung froze, eyes widening as he saw a perfect copy of himself sprint past the alley, Nexus officers chasing after it.

His breathing slowed, confusion mixing with adrenaline, and he sank his teeth into the stranger’s palm. The stranger let go with a curse. “Did you just fucking bite me?!”

Jisung stumbled back, turning to face his so-called savior.

Chapter Text

Hi readers,

I am posting today to explain that, for the time being, this work will be on indefinite hiatus.

I am having some issues with how I want this story to continue, and although I know where I want it to go, I haven't yet figured out how to get there. 

In the meantime, I will be working on another fic, though when I will post it is unknown.

Thank you for reading so far, and I hope that when I come back, I will have brought with me a new and improved fic.