22-rotted roots
"The Seoul Institute, in recent years, has come to consider itself above the crown. It's current director, Choi Nayoung, has refused to report vital information and there are rumors that she has breached protocol by experimenting on sanctioned outside the facility, in her own home. The drugs she is manufacturing have not been greenlit by the crown or the advisory committee. I beseech His Majesty to open an investigation into these activities before the Seoul Institute grows too bold."
- Excerpt from memo written by a member of the Royal Advisory Committee to Yi Seojun, tenth ruler of the city-state of Seoul
_ _
Yukhei looks better, Taehyung thinks as he bows in greeting. Less washed out and unsteady, though his eyes remain haunted. It's just him and Mark today, in yet another empty apartment procured by Vasters—a keycard arriving by express package only a few hours after Taehyung texted him with the request. Taehyung has come alone, because there are suspicions brewing in his mind and he thinks it's better to keep Jungkook away from this darkness, if he can.
"Thank you for meeting me," he says to Yukhei as they all take seats on the uncomfortable artisan furniture.
"I told you, I want to help," Yukhei says. His fingers drum against his knee in a nervous tic that reminds Taehyung of Jungkook. "In any way I can. I owe you my life."
"You owe Mark and Ten your life," Taehyung insists and Yukhei smiles at Mark, who flushes and fidgets, tapping his foot.
"You would have done the same for me," Mark says, shrugging with deliberate casualness.
"Yeah," Yukhei says quietly, then focuses back on Taehyung. "So, what do you want to know?"
"As much as you can tell me."
"I don't remember a lot. The drugs ... made everything blurry. Time was strange. But..." His eyes glaze over with memory. Mark takes his hand, squeezing tight. "They experimented on us. Injected us with things. Sometimes it burned, sometimes it made me black out, but others ... it was like there was an earthquake under my skin. So much power. They had this room. More like an arena ... underground. Reinforced. Once they put me in there and they did something to my mark and the walls shook. The floor beneath my feet. I thought I was going to tear apart."
"They unlocked your power?" Taehyung asks, leaning forward. He hasn't been able to break the encryption on the data he stole yet—has a program running on it right now back at the apartment—but he's long suspected that the Institute knows how to manipulate their marks. That what was done could also be undone.
Why else would they be so afraid?
"Yeah," Yukhei confirms with a nod. "Yeah, they did it a couple times. To me and others. Some of them went into that chamber and never came back out."
"Shit," Mark whispers and Taehyung internally echoes the sentiment.
"Do you know what they were testing?"
Yukhei shakes his head, then pauses. "I think ... they were testing the strength of the mark? And the limits of what we could do. I would hear snatches of conversation sometimes ... they think we're getting stronger. Each new generation. And that maybe eventually, the marks won't be enough. But I don't know what else they want."
He curls his free hand into a fist, staring down at his knees. "Sometimes ... I think they just liked to watch us suffer."
"Of course they do," Mark says darkly. "It's the only thing that brings their cold, twisted hearts joy."
Taehyung sags back against the couch, turning this over in his mind, trying to line the pieces up. Could it be that with each new generation, the mutuation produces stronger abilities? Have they been modifying the marks since the Cataclysm or is this a new problem? Are their powers simply destructive? Taehyung has always believed there had to be more to it than that, but now doubt is creeping in.
"I'm sorry," Yukhei says into the silence. "I wish I could be more help. Remembered more. It's just ... it was hell."
"It's okay," Taehyung promises. "I understand. And you have helped."
Yukhei nods, though Taehyung can't tell if his assurance had any impact. Like Jungkook, Yukhei is haunted by ghosts that no one else can see. The reality of that is obvious in the sorrowful gaze Mark rests on the defensive curve of Yukhei's spine. Taehyung wonders if that's how he looks at Jungkook. If his desire to take Jungkook's pain away radiates so blatantly from his own face.
"If there's anything else we can do to help," Mark says, dragging his attention over to Taehyung, "that isn't breaking into more high security buildings, just let us know."
"I think our break-in days are over," Taehyung says, standing. "But I will. Take care."
He bows and Yukhei surges to his feet to return it, Mark mirroring him.
"I'll contact you if I remember anything else, Ghost-ssi."
"I appreciate it, Yukhei-ssi, Mark-ssi."
He leaves them to the quiet of the apartment, slumping against the wall of the elevator as it carries back down to the ground floor. On his neck, his mark burns with phantom pain.
_ _
Sohyun looks as beautiful as always, even dressed in her casual house robe as she opens the door of her apartment for him. He's getting sick of the sight of it, but he doesn't let himself hesitate at her threshold, stepping inside with enough confidence to ignore the itch of his healing wounds under a layer of shirt and bandages.
"Welcome back," Sohyun says, rocking up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
It's been a mere day, but he didn't want to ignore her summons a second time, even though Jimin looked ready to tie him up to keep him from going.
"I've passed your test, noona," he replies, keeping his voice light and cheerful. "Are you going to be honest with me now?"
"I suppose you have proven yourself." Sohyun presses a hand to his stomach, right over the cuts, and Seokjin doesn't manage to suppress a flinch. She soaks it in with a small smile. "Still sore?"
"What can I say, noona?" Seokjin shrugs. "You fucked me well."
She likes that, he can tell, though she keeps most of her delight off her face. "Come on." She drops her hand and gestures him towards the living room. Her blonde hair is loose today, falling in a silky cascade down her small back. Her lethal grace reminds him of Jimin sometimes, as uncomfortable as he is with that comparison.
He sinks down opposite her on the sofa, forcing away another wince at the persistent ache inside of him from her rough treatment and the memory of the sounds he made when she took him too fast, his face pressed into the pillows to muffle the fall of them from his mouth.
(Let me hear you, she'd commanded and that was perhaps more humiliating than the fucking.)
Now she crosses one leg over the other, a perfect picture of dainty femininity. "You're right, Seokjin-ah. You've proved your loyalty admirably. Far better than I expected."
"What would have happened if I failed?" he wonders.
"A tragic accident, probably," she demurs, and he isn't surprised at her answer.
"Ah, well I'm happy we've reached a better outcome."
"Me too." She smiles at him before her face settles into a familiar, serious expression. "Now let's talk business."
"You're planning a coup," Seokjin says, because he's pretending to be loyal, not overly stupid.
She hums and nods. "This new king is weak and fragile. A pale imitation of his father. But he's still trying to consolidate power around him. The best time to strike is now, before he can. Very few will mourn his death."
"They'll also target the throne you've stolen," Seokjin points out.
Sohyun waves a hand. "They'll try. The Eight have always been sharks, aroused by the slightest scent of blood in the water. But that's what I have Minseok for. With the city police firmly on my side, as well as the royal guards, there will be little chance of them succeeding, though they're welcome to try." She smiles, every bit a shark herself.
"And where, exactly, do I fit in?"
"I could use a handsome man to put on my arm," Sohyun says. "And a right hand."
Seokjin pauses, seemingly contemplative. "So I'd be your hand ... and your public lover? Or does marriage factor into this, noona?"
"You didn't want to marry me before, Seokjin-ah," she points out, playful but sharp. "I wouldn't force you now."
For the time being, is left unsaid. He wonders, privately, if he's a conquest as much as he is an ally. He refused her once, and for all that she pretended not to be affected, she's nursed this grudge for years.
Now she wants to hang him off her arm for everyone to see: here is the one that got away, ground beneath my heel. She's always known that he's a match for her when it comes to wits and manipulation—it's part of what first drew them to each other—and as a result, he doubts she'll ever fully trust him. But she's operating from a warped picture of what she perceives him to be. The Kim Seokjin she remembers.
"But I'm sure you've thought of the power this would grant you," she continues, gaining intensity. "A chance to get out from beneath your family's heel."
Ah, she must have noticed, then: him giving up his medical and moving to a dead end job, the rumors that circulated of his grandmother's disapproval and then his ... distasteful habits.
"I have," he says, adopting a relaxed pose and a charming smile. "Why else would I be here, Sohyun-noona?" He pauses, realizes the offense that statement could cause. "Not that I didn't miss a spot in your bed."
There, that's satisfied her. He can tell from the pleased tick in the corner of her mouth, visible briefly before she schools her features again. "So are you in, Seokjin-ah?"
He lets his smile widen and sharpen, to match her earlier one. "I'm in, noona."
"Good," she says. She plants both feet on the ground, leaning closer to him. "We have a plan in place, that you'll learn the full details of when the time comes. But for now, there's a problem I need your help with."
He keeps himself relaxed, even as his stomach pinches tight with sudden nerves. "I'm listening."
_ _
The apartment is quiet when Taehyung slips back inside—morning still a few hours away. But he's surprised to find Yoongi at the stove, stirring a pot of what smells like galbitang.
"Hyung," Taehyung hisses, alarm overriding the rumble of his stomach at the prospect of food. "You shouldn't be up."
"They have so much meat here," Yoongi mumbles, not looking up from the pot as Taehyung reaches his side. He's swaying slightly, but staying upright. "I put pork in the stew. Seokjin's fridge was full of it. I can't remember the last time I ate meat."
Taehyung can't, either. Normally, in the outer sectors, they made do with vegetables that were always close to overripe, rice, and whatever bread they could scrounge up. Meat was expensive, reserved for the wealthy, since livestock consumed far too many precious resources to keep in large numbers. Once, on Taehyung's eighteenth birthday, Hoseok managed to buy some pork that Yoongi had made into bulgogi, and Taehyung nearly cried at the taste of it. His mouth waters now, thinking about getting to eat meat again, but he's still more concerned for Yoongi.
"Yoongi-hyung, you shouldn't be up," he repeats, wrapping a careful arm across Yoongi's back to steady him.
Yoongi flinches and his fingers tighten on the spoon. He doesn't pull away, though, and Taehyung can't tell if that's a good or bad thing.
"I'm fine," he insists. "I just ... wanted to be useful."
Taehyung swallows. "You're hurt." (So badly. Worse than Taehyung has ever seen, and that fucking terrifies him.) "You don't have to be useful right now."
Yoongi shakes his head. "You've all been taking care of me so much."
Taehyung presses his mouth to the curve of Yoongi's shoulder, feeling the rough of bandages beneath the thin layer of Yoongi's sleep shirt. He's probably too cold, Taehyung should fetch him a robe or a blanket.
"We're paying you back," he says gently. "For all the years you've spent taking care of us."
"It's my job," Yoongi says. "I'm the hyung." His fingers are trembling, making the spoon rattle against the side of the pot.
Taehyung reaches out and closes his hand over Yoongi's, stilling it. "I know," he says. "But right now, you need to focus on getting better."
Yoongi shudders in his grip. "I can't sleep, Taehyung-ah." His voice drops to a whisper, raw and so frightened it digs furrows into Taehyung's chest. "Don't make me get back in that bed. Every time I lie there and close my eyes, he..."
Another shudder and a pained noise that slips from Yoongi's mouth, unbidden. Taehyung pulls him closer, trying to make himself into armor that Yoongi can wear. He thinks he'd wrap himself around Yoongi and stay there forever, if that's what Yoongi needed.
(Yoongi, who's always believed in him and never blamed him for his mistakes. Yoongi, who showed him what a fierce and powerful thing love could be.)
"I won't," he whispers back, shifting so he can put both arms carefully around Yoongi's waist. "I won't, hyung. But let me help you. Keep you company, at least, okay?"
"Okay," Yoongi says, finally relaxing a little in Taehyung's hold. "The soup just needs to simmer a little now. And the rice..."
"We can heat that up in a bit," Taehyung decides. "C'mon, come sit down." He guides Yoongi by the hand over to the table and urges him down.
Yoongi groans quietly when he sits and Taehyung freezes, still holding his hand. "Hyung?"
A blush tinges the top of Yoongi's cheeks and his hunched posture radiates shame that Taehyung is suddenly desperate to soothe away.
"I'm ... I'm sore," he mutters, refusing to meet Taehyung's eye. "Inside ... still."
Oh. Oh...
Taehyung tamps down on a fresh, searing rage, making sure none of it leaks out onto his face as he squeezes Yoongi's hand. "Do you need to lie down on the sofa instead?"
"No," Yoongi grits out, stubborn to the last. "No, I'm fine." He leans back in the chair, not pressing too hard because of his raw back, and finally looks up. "Where were you? Tonight?"
"Ah, I was meeting someone." He still hasn't told Yoongi or the others about the Seoul Institute break-in and he's not sure if now is a good time. Not sure if Yoongi's going to congratulate him for pulling it off or berate him for recklessness or both. Chances are, Yoongi will be more upset about Taehyung keeping things from him than over the break-in itself, and Taehyung still doesn't know the best way to navigate that. "He had information that I thought could help us."
Yoongi's gaze turns assessing and sharp—the kind of look that's always made Taehyung feel about ten centimeters tall. "What kind of information?"
Taehyung opens his mouth, not entirely sure what's going to come out of it, but he's interrupted by the creak of Seokjin's bedroom door opening and Jimin slipping through. Jimin freezes at the sight of them, eyes widening with a mixture of shock and panic.
He hasn't spoken to Yoongi yet, Taehyung realizes, reading the emotions flickering across Jimin's face: fear, guilt, heartbreak. And then Jimin moves, rushing across the room. Taehyung's mouth drops open as Jimin falls to his knees in front of Yoongi's chair and prostrates himself on the floor in a bow—forehead pressed to the rough fabric of the rug.
Yoongi stiffens. "Ah," he says, upset. "Get up, Jimin-ah."
Jimin's shoulders are shaking with a fresh wave of tears and he doesn't budge.
"I'm so sorry," he hiccups into the carpet. "I'm so sorry."
Yoongi's face twists and he tugs on Taehyung's hand. "Please get him up."
"Chim," Taehyung whispers, crouching next to Jimin. "Enough, okay?" He lets go of Yoongi's hand so he can slide his arm between Jimin's torso and the floor, levering him upright.
Jimin's face is already a mess of tears and he wipes his sleeve across it, smearing the wetness further over his cheeks. It's been a long time since Taehyung has seen him this distressed and once again, he doesn't know what to do.
"Hyung," he says. "Hyung, I'm so—"
"Stop." Yoongi cuts him off and leans forward in the chair, reaching for Jimin. His hands cup Jimin's cheeks and his thumbs brush away more tears. "Stop it, Jimin-ah, you have nothing to apologize for."
Jimin shakes his head. "I got you hurt. I fucked up."
"You defended yourself," Yoongi insists. "I'm never going to blame you for that."
"But—"
"It was my choice to step in. Mine. I knew what I was doing." Yoongi sighs. His face looks caught somewhere between fondness and exhaustion. "You're my family, Jimin-ah. I was never going to do anything else. So please stop feeling guilty."
Jimin frowns, clearly not ready to give this up just yet. Taehyung rubs his back in a soothing circle, though he's not sure it has any effect. This is between Jimin and Yoongi, anyway.
"It should have been me. I should have taken that punishment, it was meant for me."
"I've already survived him once," Yoongi says. "I figured I could do it again. And that was better than letting him scar you too. I'd give anything to keep that from happening to you." His gaze flicks back up to Taehyung. "Either of you."
Taehyung's chest feels tight and achy again. Not for the first time, he wonders what he must have done in a past life to deserve the presence of Min Yoongi in this one.
"I love you, Jimin-ah. You have nothing to feel guilty for," Yoongi says and Jimin starts crying again. He pushes himself up higher on his knees so he can hug Yoongi, burying his face in Yoongi's neck.
Taehyung decides to give them a moment of privacy and gets up to check on the soup still simmering on the stove. He's surprised to find Jungkook already there, stirring the pot silently. He must have been in Seokjin's room, as well, and came out when Taehyung was caught up in Jimin and Yoongi.
"Hey," Taehyung murmurs, putting a hand on his back.
"Hey," Jungkook returns. His tone is neutral, making it difficult for Taehyung to determine what his current mood might be. They haven't kissed again since the night of the break-in, but it still feels like something has thawed between them—like they've laid down the first planks of a bridge to get them back to a semblance of what they used to be to each other.
At least, that's Taehyung's perception. He's afraid he's wrong and letting his own hope blind him.
(There is also the fact that Jungkook kissed Yoongi just yesterday, with an ease that he no longer has with Taehyung. And Taehyung still doesn't know what to make of that or how to bring it up.)
"Soup's almost done," Jungkook continues. "Can you start the rice?" he nods to the cooker sitting on Seokjin's counter. "It's in the cupboard up there."
Taehyung dutifully pulls the bag of rice down and starts spooning out portions. Behind him, he hears Jimin rise to his feet and sit down next to Yoongi at the table. They're talking in a low murmur and Taehyung doesn't bother trying to make out the words, figuring they're owed their private moment of reconciliation.
He starts the cooker with a beep and watches Jungkook turn the burner down on the stove to a lower simmer.
"What did Yukhei say?" Jungkook asks.
Taehyung winces, berating himself for thinking that he could keep the meeting from Jungkook. Maybe that's why Jungkook is being cool towards him right now.
"I'm sorry, I didn't...."
"I've told you before," Jungkook interrupts, leveling him with a frown. "You don't get to decide things for me. You don't need to protect me from anything, Taehyung-ah."
Taehyung winces again. "You're right, I'm sorry."
Jungkook shakes his head, sighing. All the fight bleeds out of him fast—much quicker than it would have a year ago. "Just don't do it again. Did you learn anything?"
Taehyung nods. "Some. He doesn't remember a lot. The drugs ... made things foggy and difficult. But he had some theories."
"Theories about what?" Yoongi asks, startling Taehyung again.
He turns to find Yoongi and Jimin looking at him and he shrinks beneath their twin gazes, equally curious and demanding.
"I think it's time you told us your secrets, Taehyung-ah," Yoongi continues.
"I..." Taehyung hedges, trying to sort out how to word this in his head.
Jungkook doesn't give him enough time, though. He turns off the stove with a flick and says, "we broke into the Seoul Institute."
Yoongi's and Jimin's mouths drop open with such perfect synchronization that it would be hilarious under different circumstances. As it is, Taehyung braces himself for a pending explosion. Fortunately, he has the fact that the rest of the apartment is still sleeping on his side. So instead of yelling like he normally would, Jimin just leans forward and hisses in a furious whisper, "you broke into the Seoul Institute? When?"
"When you were at the party," Taehyung says with a cough. "The night Yoongi-hyung..." he trails off with a grimace, not wanting to say it out loud.
Jimin shakes his head in disbelief. Yoongi is still dangerously quiet.
"Did you get what you were after?" he asks.
Taehyung shrugs. "I hope so? We managed to pull data from their archives, but I don't know what or how much. We tripped the alarm before we could finish."
"What?" Jimin snaps in alarm, half standing. Yoongi grabs his hand to calm him.
"We got out okay," Jungkook says. "And I don't think they got a good look at us."
Either way, Taehyung thinks, it won't matter soon. They'll either succeed in their coup and Seokjin will protect them from his new place on the throne ... or they'll fail and all be executed. It's a thought he's probably best not voicing right now, though.
Yoongi nods, absorbing this. He doesn't seem as shocked as Taehyung was expecting. Or as angry. Maybe he's always suspected that Taehyung would pull a stunt like this. There's definitely precedent for it, with the risks that Taehyung took in the outer sectors.
"Where's the data now?" Yoongi asks.
"I'm decrypting it." Taehyung points to the laptop he set up in a secluded corner of the living room. "It should be almost done."
"Bring it over here," Yoongi says and Taehyung obeys, hurrying to fetch the laptop and set it on the table where they can all gather around it. Sure enough the decryption software is almost done, ready to show them the archive's secrets.
Yoongi snags his hand before he can pull back and tilts his head up to look at Taehyung. "Taehyung-ah," he says quietly. "I'm so proud of you."
Taehyung chokes, shocked.
"You too," Yoongi continues, twisting to catch Jungkook's eyes. "And you." He cups the back of Jimin's head. "I'm proud of all of you." He pauses, an affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his still-healing mouth. "Even if you're all reckless idiots."
"We learned it from you, hyung," Taehyung says, poking Yoongi softly in the shoulder.
"Aish," Yoongi grumbles, but doesn't argue with him.
The rice cooker beeps, jerking them all out of the companionable quiet that had briefly descended. Jungkook waves Taehyung away when he goes to help, taking bowls out of the cupboard and dishing out the rice and soup with quick, efficient movements. Taehyung still insists on grabbing two of the bowls and setting them in front of Jimin and Yoongi before taking his own seat and checking the laptop.
"It's done," he announces when he reads the alert flashing on the screen, heart suddenly climbing up towards his throat and food utterly forgotten.
He can feel the others crowd around him as he opens the folder. There are numerous files—enough that it will take him a substantial amount of time to sort through them all. Each one is labeled with a series of numbers that he isn't sure the significance of. Maybe....
"Are those dates?" Yoongi asks, curling his fingers around Taehyung's shoulder.
Taehyung blinks at the file and the numbers. Fuck, Yoongi's right. They are dates. Old World dates.
"2075," he reads one at random, near the beginning of the folder. "25th of January, 2075. That's ... the year of the Cataclysm."
"Oh my god," Jimin whispers.
Taehyung clicks the file with timorous fingers and a video pulls up, filling the screen. It looks like some kind of log. A woman is seated at a desk, dressed in a lab coat, with her hair pulled back from her face. She looks ... exhausted. Defeated. When Taehyung presses play, a ragged sigh filters out from the speakers in a bust of static.
"Dr. Choi Eunji, Seoul Institute of Research and Development. Log 742. Date: 25 January, 2075. Time: 1:17am."
She pauses. Shakes her head.
"I don't want to give a progress report. No one is reading them. No one is listening to me. I've warned them, time and time again, that the subjects are unstable. We've pushed the mutation too far and too quickly and now we run the risk of causing enormous amounts of destruction if we don't proceed with caution.
"Dr. Kang calls me paranoid. Insists that with our current resources, we can keep the subjects subdued. He's the fool. These people have become more powerful than we can imagine, than we have data for. And they grow more mentally unhinged by the day. I'm not sure if it's the mutation itself that's driven them over the edge or the experiments. Either way, we're heading for a catosphere the likes of which I shudder to even contemplate."
Dr. Choi pauses again, a bitter smile stealing across her haggard face. " But of course, no one wants to hear that."
The video stops. Stunned silence permeates the room.
"Holy shit," Jimin murmurs.
"Play one further back," Yoongi says urgently, squeezing Taehyung's shoulder.
Taehyung is already scrolling through the dates. He locates one from 2072 and hurriedly pulls it up, clicking play.
Once again Dr. Choi Eunji's face fills the screen, but she looks ten years younger instead of a mere three—her features bright and open.
"This is Dr. Choi Eunji, Seoul Institute of Research and Development. Log 178. Date: 5 June, 2072. Time: 2:45pm.
"Testing is going well. We finally have a batch of subjects who have adapted to the mutation without any debilitating side effects and we're getting ready to move into phase two of the testing. The government is impatient, constantly asking for updates. As a result, Dr. Kang has sped up procedures, asking for even more volunteers to undergo the procedure. Hopefully, we can have the numbers that the Blue House wants very soon. Before the famine gets worse and we lose what little resources we have left."
"Famine..." Yoongi mutters, eyebrows furrowed. On the screen, Dr. Choi continues to speak, her tone turning contemplative.
"It's truly incredible, the things we've been able to accomplish, in spite of the current circumstances and everything working against us. The mutation is ... a miracle of science. Proof of all my research that forms of magic do still exist and that there is far more to the earth beneath our feet than we ever believed, presumptuous humans that we are."
She laughs.
"Maybe I'll finally win a medal for this. I mean, other countries have their own testing and labs. Germany has produced some interesting data and so has Japan. But no one is close to us in terms of progress. We're truly going to lead humanity into a new age, I can't believe it."
The log stops, dissolving into a static screen. Taehyung feels like his head is spinning, bursting with questions. But his main theory was correct: The Seoul Institute caused the mutation somehow, and then created a way to suppress the effects of it.
"What are ... Germany and Japan?" Jungkook asks, tripping over the unfamiliar words.
"Old World countries," Jimin says. "I think."
"What does she mean by a famine?" Yoongi wonders. "And magic?"
"Maybe," Taehyung hypothesizes, carefully arranging puzzle pieces in his head, "the Old World was in trouble. And the mutation was created as a way to save it, originally. But something went wrong."
Yoongi hums, contemplative. "That would explain why there are no books about the years immediately leading up to the Cataclysm."
"Of course," Jimin says, bitter. "That would negate the narrative of the Marked destroying a prosperous and peaceful world."
Taehyung shakes his head and clicks another file. And another. And another. Their soup grows cold and the sky lightens outside the windows as they listen to Dr. Choi Eunji talk. There are gaps, places where logs are missing, but what they have still slowly paints a picture of a dying world and a group of scientists desperate to save it, pushing to further and further extremes, driven by mounting public pressure and their own hubris. Of experiments rapidly beginning to go wrong and abilities spiraling out of control because of irresponsible scientific tampering. Of men who created gods and then did not know how to contain them.
The last log is dated six months after the Cataclysm: 7 November, 2075. In it, Choi Eunji sits in her chair the same as always, dressed still in her immaculate lab coat. But her hands are shaking and her eyes hold an emptiness that chills Taehyung to the bone.
"They still won't listen," she says. "Everything is gone. Cities, millions of people, any hope we had of restoring the earth. Instead of hope, we created monsters and through our own blind arrogance and cruelty unleashed them on the world. They can't even count the dead and they've stopped trying. Communication with the rest of the world is completely cut off. No one knows what's left of it, if anything. And here, they're already talking of twisting the narrative. Erasing our part in it. Everything is going to be laid on the shoulders of our creations."
She laughs, a broken sound that crackles through the shoddy laptop speakers in bursts of static.
"Already, they've shifted gears to create a way to suppress the effects of the mutation. Anyone with it will be subjugated, eventually. Ground down until they cannot resist anymore. Nevermind that those who caused the Cataclysm are already dead, killed by their own destructive force. No, this is about power now, and making sure the 'right' people have it in this vacuum.
"They're talking about reinstating authoritarian leadership to help 'restore order.' About ... creating a fucking monoarchy or a council of rulers. It's insanity. The whole fucking world has gone mad. Because of us. Because of me."
She tilts her head up, staring at the ceiling as she continues to speak.
"I wanted to help the world and I damned it instead. And now my power-hungry colleagues are going to reshape it in their image. No one will know the truth. No one will care. Everything is gone. Everything is dead. No doubt my name will be erased from the history books that they'll write, but I hope someday, the truth will come out. The truth always comes out in the end, right?"
She leans forward suddenly, staring directly into the camera.
"So in case this log doesn't get destroyed and someone is listening, here it is: The Seoul Institute used fringe science to create a mutation designed to help a dying earth. It was meant to connect people to the planet, create a flow of energy that could bring life again. But because of our own recklessness, what was intended to be healing became destruction. The test subjects' abilities spiraled out of control and created chaos. Earthquakes, tsunamis, fires, the whole world nearly rent apart.
"But it's our fault. We did this. They were merely weapons we'd already forged. And for that, I'm truly sorry. I hope one day, healing can come. I hope that whatever of humanity survives can find their way into a better future. As for me, it's over. My part is done. I'm only sorry that it's ending like this."
She takes a deep breath and reaches for something out of frame. When she draws her hand back in, she's holding a revolver. She clicks the safety off and looks at the camera one last time.
"This is Dr. Choi Eunji, signing off."
The screen goes dark.
"Fuck," Yoongi gasps, sagging back in his seat.
Taehyung can feel the shock and rage radiating off of him and Jimin and Jungkook, but his own chest is a tangled mess of emotions. He was right, he was right, but he didn't expect to feel so ... empty.
All these years, all this pain, so many ruined lives...
"I don't understand," Jimin says. "What exactly can we do?"
Once again, Taehyung thinks he knows the answer: what he could sometimes feel in his veins, pressing against the mark; what he could hear whispering to him in the dark when the rain fell outside. But he needs proof, so he digs deeper into the files. He clicks through reports written in a form of Hangul that he can't read, littered with scientific shorthand. More personal logs, damaged and punctured by static intervals. News reports that contain photos of a newly devastated earth, ripped asunder and almost dead.
Until he finds it, dated two years before the Cataclysm: a video of a test subject. It looks like only a handful of seconds are playable but those are enough to show him a girl kneeling on the ground, her hands buried in the soil. As they all watch, she closes her eyes and slowly, miraculously, green shoots begin to sprout from the earth beneath her fingertips, stretching new leaves towards the light.
Taehyung presses a hand to his chest and thinks he might cry, watching that fresh life and suddenly flooded with the full knowledge of the magic that sits inside them.
"She..." Jungkook whispers, also sounding close to tears.
Taehyung's fingers curl, clenching the fabric of his shirt.
"We can grow things," Jimin gasps. "All these centuries and we could have..."
Yoongi laughs, a shattered, awful sound and sags back in his chair.
"Of course," he rasps. "Of course we can. Why else are they so afraid of us? We could take their power away. They hoard food and resources to keep all of us beholden to them. But if someone could bring the fields back and the forests..."
"They'd lose everything," Taehyung finishes, reaching out with a shaking hand to replay the short clip of the girl and feeling a responding stab of pain in his nerves.
He was right and he suddenly, desperately wishes not to be. The knowledge that for centuries, the monarchy and the Seoul Institute knew the truth but decided to bury it and grind them all beneath their heel ... it feels too painful to bear. There is too much grief sitting inside of him right now—a whole, terrible ocean that he doesn't know how to weather. The tattoo on his neck burns.
"I always knew they were monsters," Jimin says in a voice that quakes with fury. "But this..."
Jungkook puts his head in his hands. The seals on his wrists stand out sharp and black against the pale morning light.
"We rescued someone from the Institute," Taehyung says. "He said that it seemed like they're testing how to make the marks stronger. That they're afraid they won't be able to control us forever."
"Of course they won't be," Jimin says darkly. "We'll burn them to the ground soon enough."
Yoongi shakes his head. "We need to test this. See if this," he gestures to the video, "is accurate."
"How?" Jimin asks.
"Namjoon," Yoongi says. "He takes some kind of medication that acts like our tattoos do. If he stopped taking it...."
Taehyung tunes them both out as he focuses back on the screen and a folder he hadn't noticed before. This one seems much more recent, dated only a few weeks ago, and contains the name Choi Nayoung. He remembers Jungkook curled up in the vents, gasping for air, and glances at his arm and the crossed out set of initials two up from Seokjin's.
CNY.
Heart shivering, he clicks on the file.
It seems to be some kind of report the Institute is in the process of compiling on its director. Perhaps hidden amidst old archive footage to keep it from being discovered. He skims through memos debating what to do about her and how to best approach the crown, then lands on a document outlining her crimes:
manufacturing of unauthorized substances including but not limited too: suppression pills, aphrodisiacs, sedatives, and others of unknown useexperimenting on personal companions outside the grounds of the Institute organizing the selling of illegal substances to hospitals and other third partiesexcessive cruelty towards test subjects within the Institute
The list is longer, but Taehyung clicks away from it before the nausea churning in his stomach gets worse. He glances across the table at Jungkook, trying to decide what he should do. There are videos here, too, apparently pulled surreptitiously from Choi Nayoung's private server, and he's afraid to play any of them.
"What's wrong?" Yoongi asks him, no doubt noticing the tension in his shoulders. "Did you find something else?"
"The Seoul Institute is investigating its director," he says. "She's been ... experimenting on companions."
Jungkook jerks his head up, eyes blowing wide with understanding. "Nayoung-nim," he whispers.
"I think..." Taehyung says, "you might be in these videos, Kook-ah."
"Don't play them," Yoongi snaps before Jungkook can say anything, reaching over to put a protective arm across Jungkook's shoulders.
"I won't," Taehyung promises. He doesn't care what crucial information might be in them, seeing Jungkook hurt or degraded would break the last solid pieces of him still clinging on. "But they suspect she was also selling drugs. Could ... could members of the Seoul Institute be supplying doctors with medication to suppress the mutation. Like the kind that Namjoon takes?"
"I wouldn't be surprised by anything at this point," Jimin says, fists curled on the tabletop and nails digging into his palms.
"We need to ask Namjoon," Yoongi says. "He might know more. But like Jimin, I wouldn't be surprised."
"Three hundred years," Jungkook whispers, devastation written all over his face. "We could have brought the forests back."
"Presuming we're still capable of that," Yoongi replies softly. "Or if our abilities were warped because of the initial changes to the mutation."
"We need to find out for sure," Taehyung declares, a plan beginning to form. "Like you said, we can test it out on Namjoon."
"Test what out on Namjoon?" Seokjin asks from the front entryway, startling them all.
Taehyung twists to look at him. He seems tired in a similar way to Yoongi—shoulders hunched and skin wan—but Taehyung can't see any visible new wounds on him. Jimin is still surging to his feet and rounding the table, worry clear on his face. He still hasn't explained what this is, but it's clearly something and as Jimin takes Seokjin's hand in his own, Taehyung can see the shape of it.
It's strange, watching Jimin love someone like this. Especially someone Taehyung doesn't really know.
"I'm fine," Seokjin is murmuring to Jimin, a reassuring smile flickering across his mouth. "Really."
He glances around at all of them. "But it sounds like we need to talk." He stops on Yoongi. "And what the hell are you doing out of bed, Yoongi-yah?"
Yoongi sighs and puts a hand on Taehyung's shoulder. "Will you wake Hoseok and Namjoon?"
Taehyung nods and Seokjin frowns, dropping Jimin's hands and moving over to Yoongi. "I'm checking your bandages first."
"Seokjin," Yoongi sighs.
"No buts."
Yoongi grimaces but allows Seokjin to help him stand. Taehyung closes the laptop—which now feels like a live snake with all the information sitting in it—and heads for the bedroom.
_ _
Seokjin eases Yoongi down on the edge of the bathtub, shutting the door behind him to give them privacy. Yoongi doesn't say anything as Seokjin pulls his first aid kit from beneath the sink and opens it on the counter, just sits with his eyes closed. Seokjin can relate to the weariness radiating off him—feel the echo of it in his own bones.
He kneels carefully on the tile in front of Yoongi, mindful of his own aches and pains.
"I'm going to take your shirt off."
Yoongi nods and opens his eyes as Seokjin unbuttons his baggy shirt and eases it gently off his shoulders. Seokjin has done this dozens of times now, with numerous companions, but it feels different with Yoongi. He's never had this level of understanding before, to make the silence comfortable instead of skittish and oppressive.
"I never said thank you," Yoongi murmurs. "For patching me up earlier."
His cheeks are flushed and this Seokjin understands too. He takes one of Yoongi's hands and presses a kiss to the back of it. "Believe me, Yoongi-yah, it's the least I could do."
Yoongi huffs at him, but doesn't protest. Holds still as Seokjin unwinds the bandages and rubs fresh balm on his cuts and lashes. They're all still an angry red, but they stopped oozing, at least. Someday, they'll be pale scar tissue that hopefully won't stiffen too much, or hinder Yoongi's movement. Seokjin makes a mental note to convince Yoongi to allow some massages in the future.
Once he's re-wrapped Yoongi's torso, he settles Yoongi's shirt back on his shoulders and reaches for the string on his pants. Yoongi stiffens on instinct, but relaxes before Seokjin can offer any comforting words.
"I'll be quick," Seokjin promises.
Yoongi huffs again, lifting his hips so Seokjin can slide his pants down his skinny thighs and legs. "I'm used to it, it's fine. I've worn more clothes these last couple months than I have in over a year."
Seokjin hums in wordless acknowledgement and begins undoing the bandages around Yoongi's thigh. He hesitates at the last layer, though, wondering if he should shield the brand from Yoongi's view. He must be telegraphing his internal war too obviously because Yoongi's hand closes around his wrist.
"It's okay," Yoongi says. "I want to see it."
Seokjin nods, squeezing Yoongi's hand. Then, he gently eases back the remaining gauze, exposing the brand. It stands out dark and vicious against the pale of Yoongi's skin and Seokjin watches Yoongi's jaw tense as he stares at it. Yoongi's fingers hover over the wound, like he wants to touch, confirm it's real, but he curls them into a trembling fist instead.
"He'll pay," Seokjin says, at a loss for anything else to offer.
"No he won't," Yoongi rasps. "Not in any way that matters. Death is easy."
"Not for someone like him." Someone who would make themselves immortal, if they could. Who fears death in a way that Yoongi and Seokjin have learned not to.
Yoongi lets out a broken wheeze and hunches forward. Seokjin catches him with hands at his sides, feeling Yoongi's forehead press against his shoulder as he turns his cheek into Yoongi's messy black hair. This is the closest they've ever been, by far the most intimate, but Seokjin's skin doesn't itch at the touch like he was expecting it to.
"What happened to you?" Yoongi mumbles against his shirt.
"A sacrifice," Seokjin says, too tired to elaborate. "Like the one you made."
One of Yoongi's arms comes up and wraps around his back, pressing gently against the gauze Seokjin has covering his own torso, and Yoongi makes a low, sympathetic sound of understanding in the back of his throat.
They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together. It feels like solace of a sort, different from what Jungkook and Jimin have offered him but just as needed. Yoongi doesn't offer any words of comfort and neither does he. They just hold on.
Eventually, Seokjin pulls back with a cough and Yoongi manages a weak smile at him.
"I'll get these re-bandaged."
Yoongi nods and Seokjin carefully spreads more salve over the brand before reaching for a fresh roll of bandages. He winds them around Yoongi's thighs, covering the brand and the other healing welts.
"There we go, Yoongi-yah," he announces when he's finished, rocking back on his heels.
"Thank you, Seokjin-ah." Yoongi pauses, a guarded expression creeping over his face. "If ... if I ever wanted to destroy the brand, would you help me?"
As a doctor, Seokjin should say no. Further mutilating Yoongi's flesh could cause serious physical issues in the future, not to mention the fresh pain that Yoongi would have to endure. But as Yoongi's friend...
"Of course I would," he says and Yoongi relaxes in obvious relief.
"Thank you," Yoongi says again.
Seokjin helps him back into his shirt and pants and then to his feet, steadying him by linking their arms together.
"Right, I think we all have a lot to talk about."
Yoongi laughs, an ugly sound. "Yeah, we really do."
Shuffling together, they head for the living room.
_ _
Thirty minutes later, Seokjin feels like he needs to be sitting down more than he actually is. His head is spinning from Taehyung's revelations and the clips he played on his laptop, stolen from the fucking Seoul Institute. The scream sears the inside of his throat as he watches shock and awe and fear all battle their way across Namjoon's face.
"I don't know exactly where it comes from," Namjoon is saying in response to Taehyung's question about his medication. "My parents saw a doctor when I was a child. When they died, I called a number they left behind and a new bottle has arrived at my door every month since."
"You need to stop taking them," Taehyung says urgently.
Namjoon flinches. "Are you sure? What if ... what if my abilities are destructive?"
"What if they're not?" Taehyung counters. He leans forward on the couch, gaze earnest and soft. "This would change everything. No more starvation. No more dead earth."
Seokjin hesitates, torn. It could put Namjoon at a terrible risk, but if Taehyung's right...
"I trust Taehyung," Yoongi says, quiet but firm. "We need to know, Namjoon-ah."
Namjoon blows out a long breath and nods. "Okay. Okay, then I'll stop."
"Fuck," Hoseok says, shaking his head. He's radiating the same anger that Seokjin can feel like a furnace in his chest, that he can see etched into the lines of the others' faces. So much helpless rage. "Fuck all this time."
It seems incomprehensible, but so did a boarding house before he stood inside one of its dingy rooms. The powerful will do anything to hold onto their power, and their cruelty is limitless. It's one of the lessons Sector 1 carved into him.
Yoongi is turning to him now. "What about you? How did your meeting with Sohyun go?"
Seokjin sighs. "Good news is I passed her test." He ignores the fresh anger Jimin doesn't bother keeping off his face. "So she trusts me now. Somewhat. She's planning a coup, like we thought, and she has Yoo Minseok on her side. Which means that when the time comes, he'll most likely be able to get the palace guard to look the other way."
Hoseok makes a disgruntled sound at the mention of Minseok. Seokjin keeps going.
"They want to assassinate the king at his birthday party in a week. It's ... a good plan." He hates admitting it, but Sohyun has always been smart. He expected nothing less from her. "The event is highly exclusive. Minimal audience and very few opportunities for someone to interfere."
"I'm sensing a 'but,'" Yoongi says.
Seokjin sighs again. "It's so exclusive that in order to get in, you have to win favor with the king. High favor. He has to consider you his best friend because of something you've done for him. Then you can come dine in the palace and enjoy all the finery."
And here, of course, is the catch.
"Sohyun tasked me with finding a way to earn the king's favor. We would need to present him with a ... gift of some kind. Or do a deed that he would approve of."
Suddenly, Hoseok laughs, sitting up straighter on the couch. As everyone turns to look at him, he grins. "That's easy," he says with jagged cheer. "Just give him me."
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