#it's fine he was ex military so i was on the fence anyway

[crplpunkklavier]

got messaged by a cis guy on a kink app couple months ago, dude was straight-ish but in the process of rethinking the label bc he'd just figured out that he's really into trans bodies. specifically if they're hairy. so needless to say he's crazy desperate to fuck me. and it's cool, he's good about it, u know, he's clearly done his own research and doesn't ask me anything invasive, he's respectful he watches his language he lets me speak. i go out of my way to make clear that the reason im on the kink app is that i like bdsm. he's like yeah yeah yeah that's so hot. says he's been wanting to try bottoming. i let the non sequitur slide. he's a newbie. sure ill top him. he buys me coffee. he tries to bone down after that first meeting. i ask him for an assessment of what all he wants to try for our first time. he gets all quiet. texts a day later to say that maybe he'd prefer to start with vanilla because, translated quote, "maybe i am shy." i get it. dude i do. but i gotta look out for myself too and im not gonna be having sex i don't enjoy just to be nice to a random guy. so i text back that thats understandable but that he also has to understand that im gonna be bored and i don't wanna be bored. how about basic impact or bondage. nothing high maintenance. i can bring the material i can take charge ive been missing domming anyway. he goes no no no ill do it ill tie you up. i tell him alright ill bring you a selection of ropes, you can do simple knots, i have scissors, and if you have any questions please reach out.

never heard from him again.

men are fighting the saddest battles out there. send post.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 19

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

“I don’t think your husband likes me very much,” Salena comments, as she and Esme lounge in the shade of the back patio.  

They share a pitcher of non-alcoholic sangria while watching as Chloe entertains the kids in the pool and Kyle and Tyler –chatting amicably- busy themselves at the barbecue; both shirtless and tanned and buff in their remarkably different ways, both clad in swim shorts that sit dangerously low on their hips.  There’s no sign of Ovi; he’d run into town on an errand over an hour again and had yet to return.

“Don’t take it personally,” Esme says, as she stretches her legs and places her feet in the chair across from her; one hand nursing her own drink as the other holds the bottle Addie nurses from as she lays along her mother’s thighs.  “He doesn’t like anyone.”

“I’d laugh, but I don’t think you’re joking.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t like people. He’s just very...I don’t know...guarded. He doesn’t trust as easily and quickly as I do. And he has his reasons. Very valid ones.”

“From his military days?”

“That and what he did afterwards. It wasn’t an easy life. For him more so than me. I wasn’t as involved as he was. I was just the ‘brain side’ of things; he was all physical. And it did a lot of damage. Mentally.”

She refuses to delve further into it. It’s not her story to tell; finding it disrespectful - not only to Tyler himself, but the struggles he’s endured and the progress he’s made- to discuss it with anyone without his knowledge.

“And physically by the looks of it,” Salena says.

Esme nods. “The last job we were on...the one that nearly killed him...it caused the most issues. It was a long haul. Months in the hospital, months in inpatient therapy. If you could see what he was like then, you’d see how far he’s come. How hard he to work to get where he is now. I’m proud of him. I don’t tell him that often enough. I should pretty get on that.”

“Well I may not know exactly what you’re talking about or what happened on this last job you worked, but he’s lucky to have you. You’re strong as hell. If you’ve managed to stick around through all of that and through all of whatever happened in Colorado...”

“I guess maybe I’m old fashioned in thinking that you don’t just walk away from things...from people...without trying to work on them first. And I know he comes across pretty intense, but he’s worth it. I wouldn’t have put all the time and the effort into it if he wasn’t.  He’s a big man with an even bigger heard. You just have to give him a chance.”

“Think he’ll give me a chance?”

“It’s going to take some time. It’s just who it is. He doesn’t like people in his space. Don’t let him get to you. He’s not doing it to hurt you. He’s doing it to protect himself.”

“Men are brilliant at that, aren’t they?” Salena smirks. “Guarding themselves like that? “

“And he’s twice as bad as your average man,” Esme says. “I love him...with all that I am and all that I have...but he’s exhausting.”

The other woman laughs at that. “You know what’s exhausting? Your children. Are they always like this?”

“Always. From the time they get up in the morning. They can’t sit still. Ever. They're all energy, stamina, and fearlessness. Have you seen my son’s face? He got into a fight at school. Defending his brother. Four older kids jumped him, and he kicked their asses. All of them. AT the same time. And I’m not naming names or finger pointing but guess what parent he gets THAT from. Here’s a hint: it’s not me.”

“I don’t think they got anything from you,” Salena remarks. “Are you sure you gave birth to them? Because not one of them looks like you.”

“Right?! I told you. I wasn’t joking. They all look like him. They’re exactly like him; head to toe. Inside and out. How unfair is that? Mind you, it’s still touch and go with Tanner. Personality wise. He’s on the fence but he leans more towards me.  That other ones? All Tyler.”

“Strong genes.”

“Whatever you do, do not say that to him. Because we’ll get into a conversation about it and you’ll have to hear about his dominate DNA and his super sperm and no one...and by no one, I mean me...wants to hear that.”

Salena laughs and reaches for the pitcher of sangria and fills both their glasses. Well you did get one that looks like you. That little nugget is definitely all mommy.”

“So far,” Esme agrees. “But she’s a tough little thing. She probably should still be in the hospital because of how small she was when she was born and all the problems she had, but she was not having any of it. There was no way she was staying there, and she proved all the doctors.  She is a little nugget,” she leans down and presses a kiss to Addie’s forehead, then places the empty bottle on the table and lifts her to her chest. “Won’t be for long eating the way she does, mind you.”

“Speaking of eating,” Salena comments. “I see something I’d like to eat.”

Esme glances towards what has captured her friend’s attention; both Tyler and Kyle standing at the side of the barbecue, the latter talking animatedly about one of his especially daring fireman rescues and dramatically flexing his biceps.  

“Okay as much as it grosses me out because he’s my brother. I’m hoping it’s Kyle you’re talking about and not my husband. Because I have to draw the line somewhere on comments I won’t allow.”

“Honey, your man is fine as hell and I was not expecting THAT when I walked over here today. Not in a million years was I expecting him to look like he does. When you said retired, I thought you meant old man retired. But I’d never disrespect you by taking things too far. I definitely was talking about your brother.”

“Ewww,” she wrinkles her nose in disgusts, then holds Addie out at arms lengths, one hand under her bum, the other supporting the back of her head. “...can you believe that, Addie?  Someone finding Uncle K attractive? Uncle Shrek is more like it.”

“I know you aren't talking about me,” he comments, as he steps up onto the patio, a slight sunburn gracing his broad shoulders, ball cap backwards on his head, sunglasses on.

“You’re the only uncle here so if the shoe fits...”

“See what I put up with?” He winks at Salena. “Thirty-five years of this. Her talking shit about me like that. You think she’s all sweet and cute? Try growing up with her. Pain in the ass.”

Esme smirks. “Kyle used to undress all my Barbies and put them in compromising positions together all over my doll house. And then he’d try and convince our mom that I did it.”

He grins at the memory. “You were a twisted little thing. Even then.”

“I was five! You were eight and sneaking peeks at Mike’s porn collection he kept under his mattress. Don’t even try to deny it. Perv.”

“I was...curious...” he reasons.

“He also used to like walking around in mom’s high heels. He used to steal them out of her closet and parade around like RuPaul.”

“Why is why my calves and my ass are as fabulous as they are,” Kyle concludes. “You ladies need anything? Kids want something to drink.”

“I’m fine,” Esme says. “But Addie needs something?”

“What’s that?”

She holds the baby out to him. “You’ll smell it in about five seconds.”

“Really, bean?” he grimaces as he takes her from her mother. “How does someone so small smell so bad?”

“Because she’s a Rake and they’re all rotten inside. Big and small. Thank you, big brother. You’re a gem.”

“And you’re still a pain in the ass,” he playfully retorts, and then disappears into the house.

“Oh yeah,” Salena sighs. “I would definitely eat that.”

“Please tell me you’re not talking about my brother’s ass when you’ve only known him for two days.”

“I don’t mean eat in a literal way. Or maybe I do. Because I’d let him eat mine like a cupcake.”

“Oh my God,” Esme nearly spits her drink across the table. “That’s my brother! And I have my kinks but...ewwww....” she gags. “...even I draw the line somewhere.”

“Oh, come on! You mean you’ve never done it or had it done?”

“No. Hell no. Just....” she makes a retching noise.  “...I think I’m going to puke.”

“Does he do that sort of thing?”

“I don’t know. He’s my brother. I don’t know what he does in the bedroom. I don’t even want to think about it. He did have an ex-girlfriend that was a dominatrix though.”

Salena’s eyes widen.  

“He met her when there was a fire at a sex show. I do not make this stuff up. It’s the honest to God truth. He’s a fireman. He has met women in the weirdest situations.”

“Has he ever been married? Any kids?”

“No and no.”

“Single?”

“Sadly, no. But he can be. Do you want him to be? I can make it happen.”

“I do not want you breaking him and his girlfriend up just for me.”

“Oh, I don’t like her anyway. We have history. And not good history, either. I can hook you up. Want me to take one of the team? I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do what?” Tyler asks as he joins them on the patio, Declan on his hip, wrapped in an oversized beach towel.

“Nothing,” she quickly and innocently replies. “I’m doing absolutely nothing. What are you doing?”

“I’m bringing you your kid. He wants mommy.”

“Sure he does. You’re his favorite. Don’t bring him here.”

“I’m busy doing shit. Here... go see mommy...” he places Declan in her lap then places a hand on the back of her neck and a kiss to her cheek. “Do I even want to know what you two are doing?” he asks, as he grabs a disposable plastic cup from a stack on the table and pours himself some of the sangria.

“We were just talking about eating ass,” Esme replies, and he scowls. “Were your ears burning, honey? Because they should have been.”

“We do a lot of weird shit, but we don’t do THAT.”

“Salena wants Kyle to eat her ass like a cupcake.”

He nearly chokes on a mouthful of sangria.

“You never learn your lesson about walking in on girl talk,” Esme says. “You wanted to know what we were doing, now you do. Hey,” she snags him by the wrist before he can walk away. “I need you to me a favor.”

“If it involves THAT, you married the wrong guy.”

“Salena wants to feel you up. Let her touch your arm.”

“What?” he laughs. “Why?”

“She told me that she asked you earlier today and that you said no. Because you said it was disrespectful towards me letting another woman do it. Which is very sweet, and I love you very much for, by the way.  So she asked me to ask you. If she could touch your arm.”

Tyler glances back and forth between the two women. “You’re kidding, right?”

“She’s curious. She’s never seen arms like that. She’s lived a sheltered life. If I didn’t know you, I’d want to touch them too. Please? Make her day. Just flex and let her feel them. I promise I won’t get mad.”

“You’re both fucked,” he declares, but relents; quickly flexing his left arm and allowing Salena’s hand to explore. Starting at the shoulder and travelling over both bicep and tricep before ending up on his forearm. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says to his wife, palms coming to rest on the arms of her chair as he leans down to kiss her; long, soft, and enough to make her toes curl.

“Do I get kissed like that too?” Salena inquires as he walks off, frowning when she gets the middle finger in response.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?!” Esme calls after him. “I love you! Just so you know!”

“I now understand why you have five kids,” Salena says. “Because if I had a body like that next me in bed every night...”

“Sorry. He’s taken. He’s all mine.”

“Lucky bitch.” Salena mutters, and then playfully digs her elbow into Esme’s side. “This must be the bonus kid.” she says, as Ovi steps through the sliding doors; giving a sheepish smile and a small wave, clutching a colorful bouquet of flowers in his other hand.  

“This one is my favorite,” Esme declares. “Just don’t tell the others.  Why are you all dressed up?” she asks him, studying the short-sleeved button down and his neatly pressed khaki pants. “You clean up good.”

“Just wanted to look good, I guess. These are for you,” he offers Esme the flowers. “Just because.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Ovi,” she presses a kiss to his cheek as he leans down to embrace her. “I wasn’t THAT mad at you. You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

“I’m going to go and get a refill,” Salena announces, as she stands and grabs the nearly empty pitcher of sangria. “Seems like you two need to talk. And who knows, maybe Kyle needs some help.”

“My brother knows how to change a diaper,” Esme retorts. “No groping him in front of my kid!”

“I make no promises,” her friend laughs, and then disappears into the house.

****

Ovi slips into the chair alongside of her, greeting Declan enthusiastically as the toddler climbs off Esme’s lap and into his.  He’s a favorite with all the kids; affectionate and compassionate and possessing the patience of a saint.

Smiling, she lifts the flowers to her face and inhales deeply, then leans sideways in her chair and presses a kiss to his cheek. “They’re beautiful, thank you. That’s very sweet of you. Tyler’s going to be worried you’re setting the bar too high for him.”

Ovi chuckles at that.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she insists. “You know that, right? I don’t you buying me thing to get back on my good side. You could have just come and talked to me.”

“I know. I guess I was just afraid to. After what happened the other night, I was worried I’d only make things worse. I never meant for things to come out like that; I wanted to talk to you myself. I didn’t want you finding out like that.”

“Well Chloe has a real way of making a mess of things.” Esme concludes. “I guess she told you? That I confronted her. Gave her shit?”

Ovi nods.

“She said a lot of things that were out of line. About me. About my kids. About Tyler. And you know defensive I get. Especially about him. He’s the person she should be talking shit about. Considering he’s the reason you’re even here. That he nearly died making sure you even got to see your fifteenth birthday.”

‘I know. And I told her that. That she had no right saying things about him. That he doesn’t deserve it.”

“No. He doesn’t. And you know what else he doesn’t deserve? Getting dragged back into this bullshit. He gave it up, Ovi. The job. He walked away. Not just to save himself, but to keep his family together. You know important that is to him. Having a family.”

“I do,” Ovi confirms.

“Then why couldn’t you just let him have a life? Why couldn’t you just let him rest? He deserves that. Hasn’t he done enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed enough for the job? For you?”

“I didn’t mean to drag him into it. I just thought he could help with some things. Maybe do some easy jobs from time to time. Until we could get things off the ground.”

“There is no such thing as an easy job,” she argues. “There’s always a chance that something will go wrong. That you could get hurt.  Or worse. But then you went to Nik? Before you even talked to Tyler? What the hell? He’s the first person you should have went to.”

“I just wanted advice,” he attempts to explain. “About how to talk to him about it. And I figured...”

“The last person you should be going to about how to deal with Tyler is Nik. Trust me. She doesn’t even know how to deal with Tyler properly. She just knows how to take advantage of him and manipulate him. You realize that’s what she did, right? That she used his PTSD against him and all the fear he had about not being to provide for his family. She completely fucked with his head. That’s not okay, Ovi. That’s nowhere near okay. Yet you turn around and trust her before you trust him?”

“I never thought about all of that,” he admits. “And I really did only go to her for advice. And then she offered me a job and...”

“Did you really tell her that you felt you something to prove to him?”

Ovi blinks. “What?”

“She told Tyler that he’s the reason you started thinking about the job.  That he made you feel as if you needed to prove to him that you were worthy of his love. That you were worthy of being treated like one of his kids.”

“I never said that. I would never say that.:

“Are you sure? Because that’s what Nik told him. That he’s the reason you wanted to do the job. That he made you feel like you had to.”

“I would never say that!” he insists. “Not everything he’s done for me. Not just in Dhaka but when he came to Mumbai to help, when he talked to my father about letting me live with you, everything in Colorado, and now here.   I would never say that about him. And he’s never made me feel like that. Ever.”

“Are you bullshitting me? Because if I find out you’re lying to me and you did say all that about him...”

“I swear! On my mother’s grave. I never said anything like that. And I never will. Why would Nik tell him that?”

“Because she’s Nik,” Esme grumbles. “Because she wants to manipulate him into her helping. And it worked. You know he agreed, right? To help you. To train you?”

He nods.

Esme scoffs. “You’re going to need a bigger set of balls because he is going to hard core on you. He won’t show you any mercy. You think basic training for the military sounds tough? This will be ten times worse. And when he’s in that ‘zone’, he’s ruthless. Savage. He will break oyu. I’m not even joking. You really think you’re ready for that?”

“I guess I’ll find out.”

“Oh you’re going to find out. When he has you passing out or puking all over the place. I am telling you; you need to be prepared. You need to be ready. Because he will not go easy on you. He might even go even harder on you than anyone else. Consider yourself warmed.

Ovi sighs heavily.

“Why are you even doing this?” she asks. “Getting involved in the job? I don’t get it. I can’t even wrap my head around it. After everything that happened in Dhaka. Everything you saw. Why? Was that not traumatizing enough? Because it sure as hell was for me. And I already had firsthand experience in absolutely shit shows. But that? On the bridge? That was fucked up, Ovi. And I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.”

“You went through more than I did,” he attempts to reason. “You stayed there. With him.”

“Well someone had to because Nik sure as shit wasn’t sticking around.  And this isn’t about me and what I did. This is about you wanting to do the job and me not understanding why. Is it Chloe? Did she put you up to this?”

“I swear it was not her.”

“Then what the hell? It��s not Tyler. It’s not Chloe. Is it me? Did I say something or do something because I...?”

“No!” Ovi interjects. “It’s definitely not you. You’re my mom. The only mom I’ve ever had. That I remember. It’s not you.”

“Then help me understand this,” she implores. “Because I don’t get it. I don’t get why...after everything you’ve been through and after everything that Tyler’s been through...you’d want that life.”

“I honestly don’t know,” he admits. “I just want to do it. I have to do it.”

“That makes absolutely zero sense. Ovi, you need to listen to me. Because I’m going to talk you like a mother. Actually, I am going to resort to begging you. Forget about this. The job. Don’t do this. It is not the life you want and it’s not the life I want for you. I’ve lived that life. Long before you came along. Before Tyler even came along. I have seen what happens to people. Good people that thought they could handle the job and couldn’t. And it didn’t end well. The job destroys you. Slowly. It kills you from the inside out. Until you either put a bullet in your brain or someone else does it for you.”

He nods slowly and swallows heavily, considering her brutally honest words.

“The job never lets you go,” Esme continues. “Even when you walk away. You see that. You’ve been with us for five years now.  You see what it’s done to Tyler. You know the demons he battles with every minute of every day. You’ve seen him when he’s been in the darkest possible places and he’s wanted to kill himself. You’re here on the days he can’t even get out of bed. Why would you want that for yourself? I don’t want that for you. And I know Tyler doesn’t want that for you.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes back tears. “That he’s gone through all of that. That he still goes through it.”

“But you’re still going to do it, aren’t you.  You’re still going to go through with this.”

He nods.

Sighing heavily, she shakes her head in disbelief, then places her elbow on the arm rest and her cheek on her palm.  She glances out towards the pool where Tyler now stands at the edge; arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at Millie, who's in the midst of a rather animated tale, hands wildly moving and gesturing with nearly every word. She’s tall and lanky yet still looks so tiny alongside of him, and when stops talking she copies his stance of arms over chest, hip slightly cocked to the side.  Their resemblance uncanny as they stare one another down; same color and texture of hair, same skin tone, same facial expression.

He breaks first, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. And Millie giggles when he effortlessly scoops her up off the ground with one arm, then shrieks when he tosses her into the water. The twins want in on the action and they quickly scramble for the ladders on the sides of the pool, their bare feet smacking against the deck as they rush towards him.  The fun lasts for several minutes; the kids squealing and each time they’re hurled into the water, making it a competition on who can make the biggest and loudest splash. There’s a smile on Tyler’s face. A genuine smile. For a long time, he’d had to force them for the sake of the kids; the depression so powerful and profound that most days just putting one foot in front of the other was considering tremendous progress. But it’s real now; lighting up his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes. And it’s so beautiful.

“Ovi,” Esme begins, as she struggles to hold back the fold of threatening to me. “I need you to listen to what I’m about to say. And it’s going to sound super harsh and I’m sorry for that and you know that I love you like you’re one of my own.”

He nods.

“But if something happens and you fuck up and you need Tyler to come and save your ass, you better make sure he comes home. Alive. Because if he doesn’t, I will never...ever...forgive you. Do you understand me? If something happens to him and he doesn’t make it out of there and you do, I will spend the rest of my life hating you. Because that is my husband. The father of my children. The love of my life. And if he dies, I will hold you responsible and I will make sure it haunts you until you take your last breath.”

The sliding door opens and Salena and Kyle step out, chatting and laughing as if they’ve been friends forever, Salena now sporting his baseball hat.  And Kyle frowns when he sees his sister’s tear stained face and her attempts at brushing away the remnants of her emotional meltdown.

He glares at Ovi. “What the hell did you do to my sister?”

“Nothing,” Esme answers for him, using the back of her hand to clean up the last of the tears. “You know how I get; how I cry for the stupidest reasons sometimes. I just had a baby three weeks ago. My hormones are still messed up.”

“You sure?” her brother asks. “Because...”

“Because what? What are you going to do, K? Beat him up? I already have one overprotective man in my life, I don’t need another. I’m fine. It’s just my emotions; all over the place.” She gives him a reassuring smile as she pushes her chair away from the table and stands up. “I’m going to go in and start bringing things out. If you want to hold onto little bean there...”

“You kidding? I’m going to hold her forever. I’m never giving this one back.”

“You might have to fight her for over that.  He’s sort of attached to her. That’s his last one and he’s enjoying it all he can.”

Kyle shakes his head. “I keep telling you both. Go for the even half dozen. The procedure can be reversed and then just get it done again after the sixth.”

“Yeah, that’s a no from me, Kyle.  We’ve reached our limit. Five is fine. Neither of us are OCD enough to make it an even number.”

“One more,” he encourages. “A boy.”

“You’re insane. Three boys are enough. More than enough. You want babies, you have them. Find someone that’s actually willing to have sex with you and put your spawn in them. My baby making days are over, thank you very much.”

“I’m kind of one Kyle’s side here,” Salena says. “One more wouldn’t hurt. And you guys make really cute kids, so...”

“No more babies,” Esme insists. “That’s it. We’ve reached the end of the line. And don’t even think about putting this bullshit in Tyler’s head because he comes to me and suddenly thinks another one is a good idea, I’m coming to kick both your asses.”

“Do you want some help?” Salena inquires as Esme heads for the door.  “I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine. I’ll call you if I need you. You’re a guest. So just sit down and do guest stuff. Or get Kyle to flex and feel up his arm. So you can see the difference. Boy versus man. And you’re the former, Kyle. In case there was any doubt.”

“That’s harsh,” he complains. “My arms are just as big.”

“Sure,” his sister agrees. “If you put both of yours together. Then they’re as big as one of Tyler’s.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re a savage, kid. A straight savage.”

“Personally. I think your arms are just right.” Salena drawls, then gives him a wink before following her friend into the house.

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: Disinhibited

An excerpt from the journals of Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee, as provided by Myna Chang Art by Luke Spooner

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks. Kidnappers and murderers, the lot of them. I’m not like that. Sure, I get paid for my work, and yeah, I love a good explosion. Who doesn’t? But my job is to save people. Pull them out of bad situations. Bring them home safe.

I’m not an asshole.

“I didn’t think you were, Ma’am.”

Oh shit, did I say all that out loud?

“Yes, Ma’am, you did.”

Wow, this pilot doesn’t look old enough to shave, let alone fly a chopper.

“I shave, Ma’am.”

“You heard that, too?”

“Yes, Ma’am. My CO warned me this might happen.”

“Name’s Lana, not Ma’am. So, they told you about my disability?” Their word, not mine.

“They said you got a piece of shrapnel in your head. War souvenir. Said you blurt out whatever crosses your mind.”

“Yep,” I nod. “Frontal Lobe Disinhibition. Basically, if I think it, I say it. That’s why I’m freelancing now.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Not a merc. Got it.”

Pilot’s quick. And he does shave. Sexy stubble. Yum. Like to run my tongue up that jawline and–

“Due respect, Ma’am, I’m authorized to tell you to shut up.”

I bite my rogue tongue hard enough to draw blood. Damn it, Lana. Stop scaring the cute flyboy.

He flicks his eyes toward me and grins. “Truth is, Ma’am, I don’t scare easy.”

Oh. Well, then. I smile and shift in the seat. “Just to be clear … You wouldn’t mind–”

“Approaching the drop zone, Ma’am.”

I chuckle. His smile turns to a blush. Tease. “Fine, kick me out of your helicopter. Come on, Diamond, we’ve got people to rescue.”

My German Shepherd sits while I attach a jump harness to her K-9 armor. Takes about three seconds. We’ve done hundreds of these short jumps, and it never gets old. She woofs, ready to go.

“Godspeed.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“Both of you, Ma’am.”

He maneuvers the chopper over the moonlit compound and flashes a cheeky grin at me again. I try to keep my mouth shut, but as usual, the words tumble out.

“I’m probably gonna lick your stubbly jaw when this mission’s over, Pilot. Diamond might, too.”

“Countin’ on it, Ma’am.”

I laugh and step into the air.

~

The research facility sits on a swath of blacktop, devoid of plant life, a big wart on a bald head. The gate hangs open. I toss a handful of debris at the razor-wire fence, but it doesn’t spark. Looks like the power’s out. Not a good sign.

I was hoping this job would be a quickie: rescue the dashing scientist, secure his peculiar research, get home in time for dinner. Guess I should’ve known better. Anything involving Chase Mathews isn’t going to be easy.

“At least the compound hasn’t been bombed yet, huh girl?”

Diamond doesn’t respond. She’s good like that.

A Jeep sits abandoned near the fence. Wet-looking handprints smear the windshield, and a case of medical supplies has toppled onto the asphalt.

We skirt it, watching for movement, hoping for some sign of life as we approach the entrance. Nothing stirs. I tighten my grip on the MTAR submachine gun strapped across my chest, and we enter the facility.

Lobby’s dark, except for orange warning lights at the guard’s terminal. My NVGs flare in time with the flashes, so I pull them off. Diamond’s night vision is more reliable than the goggles, anyway. She’s the most capable combat partner I’ve worked with; I trust her with my life.

She nudges me. I nod, and she ghosts away, into the darkness. Nothing will get past her. A low growl, five yards to the right, alerts me to an enemy combatant. I bring my MTAR to bear, just in time. Two quick bursts, and the bad guy goes down.

I love this fucking gun. Compact and efficient, with a little kick. Kind of like me.

Diamond circles the lobby, vigilant, then returns to my side. I prod the body splayed in front of me. Scrawny dude, white lab coat. Blisters all over his face.

Or are those pustules? Jesus, that’s nasty looking. Diamond keens and backs away. I follow her lead. A blister-thing quavers and ruptures, spurting out thick goo. Hard to tell in the darkness, but I think it’s green.

I’ll never eat lime Jell-O again. Diamond rubs her head on my thigh; she won’t either.

“Come on, girl. Our dashing scientist isn’t going to rescue himself.”

She snorts her disapproval. Diamond had never liked Chase. She’d peed on his shoes every chance she got. My dog’s smart. I should have listened.

~

We creep down the hallway behind the guard station. Emergency lights flicker, strobing the corridor in snapshots of weirdness.

Flash. Body on the floor.

Flash. Smear of blood.

Flash. Heap of clothing, soaked with green sludge.

I wish the freakin’ light would either stay on or go dark. Vertigo pulses with every disco blink.

Diamond lets out a cautionary rumble, and I pull up my gun, ready to fire. A woman covered in angry boils slumps on the floor, back against the wall. She reaches out blindly, hands grasping air.

My first-aid kit’s in my pack, but I’m not ready to take my finger off the trigger guard; Diamond’s hackles are still up. The woman’s mouth opens and tainted saliva gushes out. Looks like pond scum.

I don’t think my emergency band-aids will do you much good, lady.

She jerks toward my voice, moaning. Spit froths on her lips. Several of her boils burst, popping like firecrackers, loud enough I can hear them over my thundering heartbeat. Syrupy goop, smelling of burnt licorice, oozes from the sores. Her body cants sideways and her shoulder hits the floor.

Nothing I can do will help her now. Maybe we’ll find a miracle cure in the lab. Diamond and I hug the far side of the hallway, avoiding her still-seeking arms. The thick fluids pooling around her body seem to throb in time with the emergency lights, and the cloying odor intensifies as we pass.

I’m not sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into, but I sure hope this bug isn’t airborne. Our combat armor should protect us from physical contaminants, but it doesn’t do anything to block out the stink.

We come to a junction. I remember the blueprints and hang a left. The bulb in this hallway’s dim, but at least it’s not blinking. Unfortunately, the path is blocked by a mass of writhing bodies.

All naked–explains the abandoned clothes back there–dotted with throbbing cysts. Many have already ruptured, leaving curdled trails of emerald slime. I stare, fascinated. The people are fusing together; everywhere the goo touches, their skin melds. Limbs, feet, heads, all merging into one giant blob.

Diamond paws the floor. One of the faces snaps up, focusing its attention on her. We back away. A distorted jaw juts out, leering. It trembles, and a body begins to emerge from the fused clump of flesh, first a shoulder, then a torso. Straining to reach us, it makes a squelching slurp and tears free–an arm, two legs.

The legs don’t match.

My stomach turns. The newly assembled monster stumbles and lurches at Diamond.

I shoot it in the head. It stops, but doesn’t fall, so I pop it again, center mass, where a heart and lungs should be. It totters for a split second before collapsing.

Diamond whines; the rest of the entangled mound of creatures squirms toward us. Maybe the gunfire got its–their?–attention. They stretch and heave, inching closer. Unnatural liquids gurgle and flesh splits as they rip themselves apart, rubbery appendages groping relentlessly in Diamond’s direction.

I flip the toggle on my MTAR to full auto and spray the clusterfuck. No way in hell those abominations are gonna get sticky with my pup. I let up on the trigger and watch for movement, then give them another blast, just to be sure.

I guess a full magazine was enough to do the job, which is good because, damn, that’s a scary pile of monsters. But now the hallway’s coated in weird-colored gore. Not gonna risk going through that mess. Doesn’t matter, though. According to the map, all hallways lead to the inner lab, where the research stuff should be stored.

And Chase. Can’t forget him, the handsome, charming scientist. My ex.

~

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks.

The electronic lock is toast and the lab door won’t open. Something’s wedged it shut. I kick it, hard, but that only hurts my foot.

“Chase? Are you in there?” Hope he’s not glued to the mishmash back in the hallway.

Diamond watches my back while I pound on the reinforced steel.

“Lana? Is that you?”

“Yeah, and I wanna see if you still turn me on.” Damn it.

“Are you infected?”

“I can still talk, can’t I?” Of course I can. It’s my biggest problem.

The door cracks open. He squints at me.

“Why’d they send you?”

“No one else’d take the job.” True story.

Diamond and I squeeze through the door and shove it closed again.

“Did you bring a platoon of Marines to save me?” Chase demands.

I spread my arms. “Just us.”

He groans.

Not as charming as I remember.

“If you’re all they sent,” he says, “they’re going to nuke the whole island, aren’t they?”

“Probably. I figure we’ve got another hour before the bombing starts.”

“No, no, no, it’s too valuable,” he mutters, already ignoring me.

Feels like old times.

His motions are jerky. He grabs a backpack and shoves miniature computer drives and scraps of paper into it.

Definitely not a turn-on anymore. Looks like hell, all bug-eyed and twitchy. Kinda soft around the edges.

He stops and glares at me.

Stinks, too.

“Still the motor-mouthed bitch.”

Oops. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, you did. You’ve always been an asshole. The piece of shrapnel just makes it more obvious.”

That hurts. Gotta admit it. A muffled thud from the hallway preempts my snarky response. Diamond snarls, low and intense. The warning tone sends goosebumps up my spine.

“Chase, what happened to those people?”

He shrugs. “Sample got out. Spread a lot faster than I expected.”

“Sample? The research I’m supposed to retrieve?”

“Thought you were here to rescue me.”

“Yeah, but boss-man said you’re low priority. ‘Get the research,’ he said. ‘Grab the scientist, too, if you can.’ That’s what he said.”

“God, I hate the military,” Chase spits.

I have to agree, at least a little. CO didn’t mention the rest of the research staff. Guess the woman in the hall is zero-priority in his book. I call bullshit on that–I’ll save whoever I can.

“Is there a cure, or an antidote?”

“Why?” he asks, backing away from me. “Did you get any of the transfer medium on you?”

“You mean the green goo? No. But maybe some of the others are still alive.”

He goes back to rifling through the science junk on his desk. “I only make the contagions. Cures are someone else’s department.”

Seriously? “So you’re a full-on mad scientist now?”

“I prefer bioweapon engineer.”

I stare at him. Has he always been this cold-hearted?

Diamond barks, two short yips. That’s a yes.

Chase rolls his eyes and I realize I’ve spoken out loud again. He glares at Diamond.

“Bitch.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“What do you think?” He shoulders past me, opening a biohazard safe. Polished steel containers crowd the shelf. They look like those expensive vacuum insulated tumbler thingies. He yanks one out.

“You keep your weaponized slime in a fancy coffee cup?”

He sneers and shoves the container into the backpack. “I can’t believe they sent a brain damaged mercenary to rescue me.”

That’s ‘value-priced consultant’ to you, jerkface. Diamond snarls, exposing her fangs.

“Can you both shut up?” His hands shake.

Wait. Faster than he expected? How did the sample get out?

“A test,” he answers. “Proof of concept for the buyer.”

“You infected those people on purpose? So you can sell that stuff?”

He laughs. “You weren’t very smart, even before the shrapnel.” He zips his pack and turns.

Something’s wrong with his face.

Diamond’s growl modulates into a high-pitched howl–her extreme danger signal. Almost too late, I realize why: Chase is infected. I didn’t see it before. Hard to miss now.

I raise my MTAR. A smudge of emerald gel shimmers on the edge of the safe behind him. “Don’t move.”

He gapes at me, incredulous. “Put the gun down, Lana.”

I shake my head. “You must’ve gotten sloppy with your death jelly.”

“How dare you?” He frowns and scratches at a freshly blossoming pustule on his right cheek. His fingers drip green. “No!”

Diamond moves into a defensive position, guarding me. Chase stares dumbly at his stained hand. He raises frightened eyes to mine.

“Lana, help me.”

My gun barrel wavers. Diamond barks, short and sharp, warning him to stay back, reminding me to follow protocol. Chase reaches out to me.

“Please–” His voice devolves into a mewl. Sanity, whatever’s left of it, drains from his eyes. His face morphs, cheeks melting in a slurry of jade-colored paste. Pus drips from his scalp. He screams and launches himself at me, and for the first time in my professional career, I freeze.

But Diamond doesn’t.

She meets him mid-air, bashing into him with her shoulder. She ricochets off his body, crashing to the floor a few feet from where he lands. Teeth bared, she’s up in an instant, but he’s already charging toward her, crablike, faster than I’ve ever seen him move.

Diamond! Don’t bite him!

I don’t know if I’ve screamed or if she’s read my mind, but she keeps her mouth off him. We slide into a familiar rhythm of charge and retreat, strike and evade. She dodges, giving me a clear shot. I squeeze the trigger. Chase’s head explodes.

Clabbered wet tissue splatters across his desk. Ears ringing, I inch closer and nudge the slack body, but it doesn’t move. His entire head is gone. I doubt anything could survive that, but I give him a double tap, two to the chest, to be safe. Then I drop the gun and rush to Diamond.

You stupid dog. Did the goo splash you? I run my hands over her armor, up and down her legs, check her mouth and her teeth. After examining her doggie armpits for the second time, my panic dissipates. She’s okay; the K-9 gear did its job. She nuzzles my face, and I realize she’s cleaning up my tears. I wrap my arms around her, trembling. Good girl.

~

I call for evac and wait for the thump of chopper blades to split the air.

On a normal mission, I’d feel rotten about failing to bring my target home alive. This time, not so much. I drag a clean duffel behind me. It’s filled with Chase’s notes and computer drives, but not the bio sample. I left that crap behind for the bombs to take care of.

The chopper circles. I flash my light, three quick blinks, and it lands.

“Look, Diamond, it’s the yummy pilot.”

She woofs and thumps her tail.

“Oh, you approve of this one?”

She barks twice; that’s a yes.

“Okay then, let’s go give him a lick.”

Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee specializes in the retrieval of personnel and property from high-risk environments. McGee is assisted by a Hero-Class German Shepherd named Diamond. McGee has recently raised her consultation fees, and now charges a premium for any “mad scientist bullshit.”

Myna Chang writes flash and short stories. Her work has been featured in Daily Science Fiction, The Copperfield Review, Defenestration, and Dead Housekeeping, among others. Find her @MynaChang or read more at mynachang.com.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

“Disinhibited” is © 2019 Myna Chang Art accompanying story is © 2019 Luke Spooner

Fiction: Disinhibited was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

[whatifexo]

Corona - Part 1 (Kai)

(A hacker meets a spy...things have gotten interesting.)

Part 2

The average person can type between 38 to 40 words per minute. According to Google, that translates to about 200 characters per minute. Professionals can type twice as fast, ranging from 325 to 335 CPM. While that may be an impressive speed, you don’t necessarily consider yourself a ‘professional’ in comparison.

If anything, you’re more of a prodigy.

And this is neither a bluff nor an exaggeration.

While the pros are doubling the standard typing speed, you’ve got triple on the pros themselves. For the record, you’ve never actually counted out all the words you’ve typed out in a day (because that’s what newbies do), but Jongdae claims to have done so one rare day he wasn’t busy annoying the heck out of you through your earpiece.

You supposedly hold the world record by a landslide, but besides you and Jongdae, the rest of the world has no idea.

Not even Junmyeon is aware of your true potential.

And no one else can ever find out because naturally, they’re probably going to kill you. But the idea of showing off your skills and achievements has always been distasteful for you anyway, so you’d rather stick with hacking things for a living than becoming part of the president’s trophy display case.  

“Corona, we’ve spotted target Zero,” as always, Jongdae’s voice is unbearably loud through your earpiece. It’s unfortunate that you’re in too much of a rush to yell at him for bursting your eardrums. “He’s heading to the Southside of that seafood restaurant on 24th street. He has the package, but I’m gonna need you to take care of the cams to his nine o’ clock first.”

“Already done,” you smirk as Jongdae sighs. ”Honestly, Chen, when are you going to learn that you’re never going to beat me at the CCTV game?”

“I at least win over you in the martial arts department.”

“Debatable. The results of our last sparring practice prove otherwise.”

“You little-“

“Will you two shut up and let me do my job here?”

Your fingers freeze for only half a fraction of a second over your keyboard at the sound of the third voice before you continue delving into the tracking system on the monitor to your right. Junmyeon usually never intercepts your team’s private calls, but the fact that he went out of his way to risk revealing his voice only goes to show just how shaky this mission has gotten.

“Gramps!” you yell a little louder just to spite Jongdae. “Nice of you to join the party.”

“I have news from team B.” you power on your fifth computer screen as Junmyeon speaks, cracking your knuckles in preparation. “This guy is a slippery one. He’s Hesun’s new ace and he’s already evaded the three checkpoints we set up downtown. I have his name. His real one, that is: Zhang Yixing. Corona, can you pull up his profile?”

You let out a low whistle as you scroll through his info, easily overriding passwords and firewall upon firewall.  Gramps wasn’t joking at all. The guy is the real deal. He’s only been working for Hesun for a month and he’s already been sent on 64 deliveries. His kill rate remains unknown, which makes you nervous.

Not knowing a potential murderer is like throwing Jongdae into a lion’s den. Blindfolded.

Your gut and instincts have always been your closest allies, and the heavy feeling in your chest doesn’t help to comfort you.

“Wait,” the point on your tracker immediately stops blinking, signaling that Jongdae has remained frozen in position. “This might as well be a trap.”

“I’m listening.” Junmyeon says, and you can just picture him raising a tense brow in his office.

“No one in Hesun has carried out this many deliveries in one go, and it’s almost impossible for Yixing not to get caught, no matter how good he is. His injury counts are also surprisingly low for someone who’s documented to have gotten involved in so many street fights. I bet a million won that he’s not alone. He may even have a team with him.”

Jongdae curses, loudly, of course, as soon as you finish giving your little spiel.

“He’s walking into the front of the restaurant. Not discreet at all. It almost seems too easy.”

“Jong- Chen. Get out of the there. Now.”

“Careful, Gramps,” you warn him through the receiver. “You’re going to blow our cover.”

Your fingers begin doing their magic as you pull up a larger map of Seoul, scanning the whole area as quickly as you can before Junmyeon starts peeing his pants or something. He may be your leader, but he’s still a nervous wreck. Kind of like a father, you guess. He’s so protective over his guys that he may just one day keel over from a heart attack due to severe stress or anxiety.

There’s a reason why you call him Gramps.

“We’ve got trouble,” you discover bad news just a mere three miles away from Jongdae’s position. “Hesun sure has upgraded its big bad vans. They’ve got satellites on that thing trying to track Chen down. I can momentarily freeze their system and mask our location, but we have five minutes to pull out before the vans arrive. Maybe even less if Yixing notices that we know what they’re up to.”

“And the package?” Junmyeon sounds so nervous he’s probably biting his already brittle nails on the other side of the line.

“Negative.” you confirm. “I’m sensing another hacker on the other side trying to do exactly what we’re trying to do. This is for sure a trap.”

“A very poorly done one at that.” Jongdae quips. You’ve been working with this guy long enough to know he’s found something out from his excellent observing skills. “Forget this gig. I know where the real package is.”

~~~

Before you became a computer genius, hacker extraordinaire, before you became Corona, you were just a naïve delivery girl. Just another innocent civilian trying to make a living out of this cruel, consumer driven power hungry world.

You worked the night shifts most of the time because the pay was greater. Deliveries consisted of drives that ranged from quick, fifteen minute drop offs to elaborate locations that were thirty miles outside of the city.

You weren’t complaining. You didn’t ask questions about the packages you dropped off, wasn’t concerned about the early or late hours you were working, or the way the recipients never showed their faces when you knocked on their doors.

But then you saw it.

The dark figures surrounding the fence of a quaint little house in a quiet cul-de-sac. The glint of a blade. The light in the kitchen, clicking off in an instant.

You heard the scream. One petrified shriek cut off by a horrible squelching noise. Gurgling. Choking. The quick exit of a dozen footsteps.  

You were only 17 then.

Three years later, you’ve quit the job and have turned completely against Hesun. You met Junmyeon and Jongdae and formed a small, but formidable team.

Gramps, Chen, and Corona.

There are others as well, though you have no idea who they are. You don’t even know what their code names are. But you’re fine with that. You find that knowing less people is better because they’re easier to protect. The stakes are higher, but you can easily keep tabs on these two precious men in your life.

You’ve succeeded in doing this for the last three years.

Just as long as your little family remains exactly like this: small and manageable.

~~~

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Junmyeon circles his desk once, twice, and digs his fingers in his hair before releasing the longest sigh of the century.

In front of him sits the package Jongdae had stolen only hours ago from one of Hesun’s local post offices, the package your team has been searching all over Korea for. Months and months of painstakingly reviewing official government documents, staking out to catch sleazy deals made under the table, and sending Jongdae on incredibly risky missions.

All that work for one sheet of paper wrapped in an overly complicated parcel, carefully creased in the center with a jumble of numbers.

0400, 35.8562129.2247 –K

It didn’t take much time for Junmyeon to decode what all of this means.

“Have you confirmed the coordinates?” he asks you, and you spare him a glance from your laptop long enough to notice the dark, sunken circles under his eyes and the crinkles around his usually ironed collar.

“Those dumb bulbs probably thought we can’t understand military time, so they’ve spelled it all out for us. They’re going to meet Kai at around four in the morning in Gyeongju.”

“I’m not quite following this guy’s plans,” Jongdae swings his legs over Junmyeon’s pristine desk whilst ignoring the latter’s death glare. “He can’t possibly be working for Hesun. Four years in jail because of those rotten jerks and on the day he’s released, he’s going to work for the bad guys?”

Junmyeon loosens his tie before shoving Jongdae’s muddy shoes off the surface of his desk, coughing none too guiltily when your ‘most skilled fighter’ falls off his chair.

This is why Junmyeon absolutely detests holding meetings in his office. That is, unless Jongdae is absent. But it’s not really much of a meeting when Jongdae is gone, and your own home base is off limits so Junmyeon doesn’t really have a choice.

“I don’t believe Kai is that naive, Jongdae,” Junmyeon takes the now empty seat beside you to look over your shoulder where you’re busy with hacking into the CCTVs around Gyeongju. “It’s a reckless plan, but this is his way of getting revenge, and he is going to get killed no matter how good of a fighter he is.”

“What a shame,” you tsk, pulling up a fake ID (a very poorly done one at that) of the famed ex-inmate on your screen. “He seems awfully handsome too.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes from the floor and Junmyeon guffaws.

Kai. Twenty two years of age. Upheld the title of Ruler of the Cells, because prisoners have nothing better to do other than fight each other. His real name is unknown. Gone. Erased even from police records. Any solid personal information on him is unknown, no matter how hard you try to find it. At 18, he was framed with a bank robbery and the murder of a friendly banker.

He was sentenced to at least twelve years in prison, but he is somehow being released earlier. No doubt Hesun’s doing. The company who gave him the wounds is also feeding him the medicine.

And he’s going to accept it.

“Unfortunately, we’re going to save his handsome face.”

“Why unfortunately?” you frown at Junmyeon, but he’s already pulling a pale faced Jongdae to his feet and straightening his tie.

“Oh.”

You’d almost forgotten that Jongdae is the reason why Kai was ever framed.

~~~

Jongdae hasn’t used his actual name in public since the day of his supposed death. Legally, he’s registered as a citizen of Korea under Kim Chen; an actual star chef the world has forgotten about since the destruction of his image through a scandal with racy women’s magazines and a nasty divorce with his wife of ten years. Jongdae is only a cleaner version of Kim Chen who is living a mostly quiet undercover life.

���Mostly,’ because Jongdae was also the supposed banker who was supposedly killed by Kai.

A world of ‘supposes’ has plagued Jongdae all his life. It all started with Hesun, of course. Suppose he follows their orders and succeeds in protecting his parents. Suppose he rises through the ranks so he may one day pull out from the company entirely. Suppose he plays along with the illegal delivery of slush funds between this politician and that corrupt CEO.

The tragic results are this: He plays his part, pretends to die, and lets Hesun run away with the money. He throws an innocent boy in jail. He loses the chance of ever living normally. His parents are dead despite the promise of protection upon his cooperation. He roams the streets for nearly a year before Junmyeon picks up his battered body and soul and trains him to become part of the team.  

Oh, and he’s going to meet Kai again.

Face to face.

Alone, with a mere hacker and an emotional wreck of a boss for backup.

This is the generous punishment that Jongdae has been given.

~~~

“I’m going to quit. I’m going to the Bahamas and take off on my yacht using Gramps’s life savings and I’ll be sipping on piña colada in solitude.”

“I do wonder if you’ll ever grow the balls to say that to his face.” you chuckle, activating Jongdae’s night vision on his specs with a click of a button.

“After tonight I don’t think I’ll get the chance to while I’m alive anyway.”  

An alert message pops up on your screen as Jongdae continues to contemplate his last few hours on Earth. A blue dot on your tracker has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, from around the corner where Jongdae is circling Gyeongju’s park.

Uh oh.

“Any last words, Chen?”

“Where is he?”

“Behind you.”

“Mother of-“

You can only hope that Junmyeon still has that first aid kit lying around in his office.  

~~~

More than anything, Junmyeon is a man of words.

He managed to bluff through being Hesun’s ally, romanced the heck out of his wife, and persuaded his allies to join his side for revenge. For justice. Whatever that means nowadays.

It’s perfectly reasonable that he also be the one to convince Kai into joining your team.  You can’t say that you agree with this plan, you actually think that it’s one of the worst ones yet, but you trust Junmyeon and he’s taken care of you for all these years.

He knows what he’s doing.

Expect maybe he underestimated the simmering anger that Kai has held on to for all this time.

“Wow.” Jongdae deadpans as soon as you walk in the meeting location, an underground bar that’s packed with people for camouflaging purposes.

You’re dressed in black from head to toe, hood pulled up with  a—surprise, surprise---black mouth mask covering half your face. Very rarely do you ever come out of your home base, and whenever you do it’s usually just to go to Junmyeon’s office or the dumpling place down the street. Obviously, your wardrobe doesn’t need to be so extravagant.

Besides, it’s not like you’re heading out to a date or something. Who cares if you look like the grim reaper coming to collect Jongdae’s soul?

Speaking of whom, is currently clutching a cup of ice in his bleeding hand.

“I think you should take a good look at yourself first.” you stare down the blooming bruise on Jongdae’s jaw, and for the first time, you see him flinch painfully when you lightly brush your fingers over his swollen skin.

Usually, he would reply with a joke despite the injury, but his eyes aren’t on you anymore.  You follow his line of sight to where Junmyeon, still in his suit and tie, approaches you at the bar table with a dark silhouette trailing closely behind him.

Jongdae attempts to sleekly hide behind you.

Junmyeon is all smiles.

“Lady and gentleman, I’d like to introduce the newest member of our team.”

You’re the only one clapping.

“Impressive,” you gently pry off Jongdae’s iron hold on your hoodie as you crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the infamous Kai. “I figured you’d take at least a full day to convince the man.”

“I wasn’t the only one doing the negotiating.” Junmyeon winks, and you just barely manage to hold in a grimace.

“That’s real sleazy of you, old man, but I’m more interested in the new dynamics of our team.”

Your eyes have returned to Kai, his face barely visible with his hat pulled down. You can only catch glimpses of a strong jawline, hollow cheekbones, a cut lip. For a moment, you watch him turn his head ever so slightly to survey the place. You follow the visual path he takes around the crowded place.

The mixture of con-artists, ex convicts, high profile officials, and innocent office workers dancing on the floor. The lone barista, a short but built man whose face defies the science of aging. The empty and half-full drinks littering the bar table. The emergency exits at all four corners.  And finally, at your team.

The moment your eyes lock, your body is inclined to shudder under his piercing gaze.

“I don’t drink.” he says suddenly, and you shoot him a puzzled look.

Does this guy have an imaginary friend or something? He’s more mental than you thought.

Except his voice is serious and sharp as icicles. He still hasn’t torn his gaze off of you, even as you turn your body in your seat to encounter the young looking barista standing stiffly behind you. He has a glass of an unknown substance in his hand, stretched out in offering.

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully, retracting his arm to drink some himself. “I hate to waste such good whisky on a good evening, but I’ll forgive your pretty face just this once.”

Clearly, Kai has no plans to humor him. There’s a second of uncomfortable silence in between the DJ switching songs and your team at a momentary loss for words. Junmyeon’s eyes nervously flicker from the barista to Kai. As the music resumes, the defeated barista slinks off dejectedly to the other side of the counter to polish some glasses.

“What a crowd pleaser.” Jongdae mutters, and Jongin automatically shoots him a hardened look.

Your body is yanked backward upon Jongdae’s frightened grip on the hem of your hoodie, and you silently plead for Junmyeon to do something before this mission completely crumbles at the hands of your newest member.

Gramps clears his throat in an attempt to save the situation, but half of his fake cough is drowned out by the blasted EDM thumping from the speakers. This is good news for you as it would be impossible now for outsiders to hear your conversation.

“Pardon our teammate, he has an unexpectedly soft heart.” Junmyeon makes a point not to look at Jongdae’s offended expression, but you can see his jaw flex in slight irritation. “Anyway, this is ________ ________. Our prodigy hacker. You may have heard of her as Corona.”  

“What, he gets to know my real name and I don’t get to know his?”

“I apologize. It was part of our deal, __________.”

“What deal?” you narrow your eyes at Junmyeon, your suspicion brimming.

Junmyeon never compromises fairly unless it is absolutely necessary. He’ll pretend to compromise, make it seem like an even deal, but the other party will later realize that all was in his favor after all. This is how he convinced you to ‘work’ for him, when you wanted nothing more to do with Hesun. He’d coaxed you to make use of your randomly expert computer skills. To make up for the mistake of delivering those illegal items you were unaware of. For taking part in worsening the corruption in your country.

It all sounded awfully patriotic and noble then, but it didn’t take long for you to discover that Junmyeon just needed someone to do half of the dirty work for him. Jongdae does the other, more dangerous and risky half.

And as much as you were cheated, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Junmyeon. His intentions are reasonable, he genuinely cares for his people, he proves to be smarter and more cunning than his outwardly ‘nice guy’ appearance.

You suppose he had to toughen up in some ways after his tragic past.

Since then, he never let anyone take advantage of him ever again. This compromise he’s made is a huge step from his usual character.

“You all have a new mission,” he announces, rolling up his sleeves. This has been a habit of his whenever he’s getting excited or forming an elaborate plan in his head. “Successfully take down Hesun.”

“Ha ha, nice one old man, as if we haven’t been trying to do that for the past three years.”

Jongdae’s finally lets go of your hoodie before he can stretch the fabric beyond repair.

“You are missing the point, Dae,” Junmyeon huffs. There has been a change which leaves a wonderful advantage for us. We now have eyes inside the company.”

You get it.

You sneak a peek at Kai, who holds your gaze hostage as soon as he notices your shifted attention.

Although you’re slightly scared for your life, you’re beginning to see the interesting events that could possibly come.

~~~

It’s not like you all haven’t tried spying before. About a year ago, a newly recruited member on team B was sent to apply for a driver position at Hesun, but was quickly found out and nearly killed if it weren’t for Jongdae hauling his butt out of there within minutes.

You believe his name is Byun Baekhyun. He’s currently still a part of team B, but Junmyeon continues to keep a close tab on him and no longer sends him out on missions.

Spying has become out of the question with the inexperience of your organization. Another time, you volunteered to do it, but Junmyeon firmly refused and actually stopped speaking to you for a good month just for bringing up the idea.

Now that he’s on board with this kind of plan again, you’re almost hesitant to follow along. Almost. Having the ‘Ruler of the Cells’ on your side is somewhat reassuring despite his title sounding downright childish and straight out of a video game.

You’re going to have to trust Junmyeon’s judgment if your gut agrees with him.

“I don’t like this at all.”

Jongdae’s call comes as a yellow ping! on your screen, and since he’s using the emergency function, you don’t have to say hello for the call to go through.

“Get off my fake hotline, Chen. This is only supposed to be used for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency. A matter of my coworker possibly stabbing me in the back at any moment. Literally and figuratively.”

You sigh, setting your chopsticks down and moving your bowl of ramen over to protect your newest baby, a sleek digital keyboard leaving streaks of neon purples and pinks wherever your fingers land. This is the new tool you’re going to use to communicate with Kai.

It’s a big upgrade compared to the old and bruised up keyboard you use for Jongdae.

“Don’t tell me you’re just jealous because the new guy has all the good tech.”

“He does, though! Automatic shoe blades, radar and infrared specs with an updated gps and tracking software, state of the art earpiece, a loaded weapons belt, heck, the old man even bought him a new outfit altogether!”

You smirk, remembering the image of Kai from earlier walking in a back alley in formal dress on his way to a meeting with Hesun’s gangster bosses. Even through the blurry CCTV cams, you still caught the glint of a pin on the right side of his chest, the same one Junmyeon wears with all of his suits.

He didn’t necessarily buy anything new. His own closet makes a sufficient shopping mall.

“So you’re telling me you’d rather play the undercover spy,” you type one handedly on your keyboard whilst reaching for your chopsticks for another bite of noodle. “For the updated gear, that is.”

“What makes you think he’s actually loyal to us?” there’s a hissing noise from the other end of the line, followed by a groan and a thud. Not Jongdae’s voice. He’s once again chatting while out on a mission. “He got scouted by Hesun as a spy. They hire exactly three spies every five years. That goes to show that he’s more than capable of getting revenge himself and ousting our identities.”

“He has no reason to give any tips to his enemy. And besides, he knows he needs allies before he can even dream of getting back at the people who ruined his life. ”

You stop suddenly in the middle of tapping into a concealed meeting room Kai is currently in.

You’re defending him. For some crazy, unidentifiable reason, you’re rationalizing his actions. Normally, you would’ve ditched as soon as you heard about a new member joining. No one has touched your team for as long as you’ve been here. You hate intruders. You don’t like outside people, period.  

Yet you’re giving the new guy a chance.

Maybe Junmyeon isn’t the only one who’s changing.

No…..you’ve both just arrived at the same conclusion.

Your team needs Kai. Maybe even more than he needs your team.

”Corona?” Jongdae brings back movement in your fingers. His breathing has become labored and the distant yelling combined with gunshots tells you that he’s making his escape through the agreed exit route.

“I have to go,” Focus, ________. “There’s a not-so-secret meeting I have to tap into.”

~~~

On a normal night, or should you say early morning, you would be making a second bowl of ramen and reviewing a weekly schedule Junmyeon provides to help you with your hacking jobs. You would be updating your systems or surfing through open ports to download recently released video games for free. Maybe you’d be sprawled on your hammock in the living room, catching some shut eye before Jongdae’s next shift.

You wouldn’t usually be standing outside your heavily guarded door in your Mickey Mouse bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, staring incredulously at the man in front of you.

At 3:35 in the morning.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

You rarely cuss, even when you’re under the greatest amounts of pressure, but this situation is calling for all swear words in existence at the sight of Kai at your doorstep. It’s more of a booby trapped mat he’s standing on in front of a garage door, but he’s standing on it nonetheless, perfectly unharmed.

IM. POS. SIB. BLE.

Kai, still dressed in his meeting clothes blinks back at you calmly. He holds up a manila folder and dangles it in front of your face, stamped with a logo you know all too well.

You could care less about its contents at the moment.

“How did you find this place?” you’re going for a demanding tone here, but the robe and fuzzy slippers probably aren’t helping. “How did you bypass my alarms? My security alerts? Are you out of your mind? Bonkers? A genius? I’ve made it impossible to track me down and yet-“

A quick memory flashes through your head, of numbly heading home from that night at the underground bar after Junmyeon first introduced Kai. You’d had a couple shots to drink. Your hazy senses didn’t bother to confirm the prickly sensation you felt on the back of your neck, the insistent barking of a neighbor’s dog, the flickering light of a lamp post around an alleyway corner.  

You let your guard down at a critical time.

“You followed me.”

“You sure talk a lot for a recluse.” you catch Kai’s lip quirking slightly, and you’re yet again left dumbfounded.

Is that amusement you’re seeing?

“Why?” his intent gaze makes you pull your robe tighter over you. “Why do you care so much about who I am and what I’m doing?”

“I like to know whether or not the people I’m working with are trustworthy.”

Trustworthy.

He’s already ruined that kind of impression the moment he met your eyes at the underground bar. He may look ordinary now with his clean business attire, his hair pushed back, buttons neatly lined up. But you know all too well what kind of scars and secret intentions he may be harboring beneath the surface.

Yet you’re still out here entertaining him.

“I don’t think Jongdae would like the sound of that.” you throw in a curveball, testing Kai’s buttons. Hopefully not pressing too hard.

It works for a split second.

Cold anger lines his face before he pushes it back and relaxes. The corner of the manila folder in his hand wrinkles under his grip.

“His concerns are none of my concern.”

Gulp.

You remind yourself never to have the two hooked up on the same phone line when you’re working. At least then they won’t be able to hear each other and Jongdae could be saved from being verbally slaughtered.

“What have you found about him?” as discreetly as you can, you lean on the garage door to conceal your finger stretching for the emergency button on the wall.

“He’s a world class idiot who doesn’t deserve another breath in this world, but he has good skills.”

To be fair, his response was better than you’d expected, but not all that reassuring either. After saying that last compliment, Kai looks as if he’d just swallowed a bitter pill.

“I’m not going to kill him,” his eyes shift downward. “So you can take your hand off that button.”

You only hesitate for .5 seconds before pulling away from the wall.

“Fair en- hey!”

That slight hesitation was all Kai needed to shoulder past you and make his way toward the actual front door of your secret home.

On the brink of panicking, you consider several options.

One: Actually press the emergency button. Two: Ring up Junmyeon. Three: Reach for the gun under your car, fire and never look back. Four: Kick him where it hurts and run.  

All plausible solutions. All requiring risk.

You choose none of them.

“Wait.” before you can think twice about it, you’ve grabbed hold of Kai’s wrist.

As he stops and turns to look at you, your heart slams against your ribcage in fear immediately. What did you just do? What have you done? Regret, regret, regret, regret. A million conflicting thoughts cross your head.

Then they all halt in an instant.

Kai, a somewhat rigid, unknown figure to you who can freeze water with his icy stares, winces in front of you.

You pull away as he struggles to hide the pain that creases his eyes.

“What happened?” you try to say more demandingly, but your voice comes out softer than you’d intended.

You were wrong.

This is not the look of someone who plans on harming you or your friends. Raiding your secret base and threatening you with your uncovered location was not Kai’s intention. Perhaps he’d also wanted to see the girl behind the computer screens, but he’s mainly come to deliver information about the ‘secret meeting’ he had with the enemy.

Nothing more, nothing less.

You deduce this all before Kai even responds.  

“There was a suspicious guard by the entrance, and I had to change his mind about me before I left.”

“You didn’t….” you trail off, licking your lips nervously.

“I’m not a killer.” he scowls, practically hissing the word ‘killer’ through gritted teeth.

Guiltily, you shake your head, reminding yourself that Kai wasn’t someone dangerous to begin with. He had just been an average Joe then, unaware of the tragic future that lay ahead of him. Set up, falsely accused, thrown in a tangle of revenge and betrayal. He’d been forced to toughen up during the long days he spent in prison.

If only he hadn’t crossed paths with that cursed company, if only he’d taken the day off from taxi driving, if only he didn’t make for a perfect alias, he would have saved himself from a ruined reputation.

He’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’s just like the rest of you on the team.

A wave of sympathy drowns out your suspicion and panic. You turn away to your heavily locked door before Kai can notice the emotion that’s flooded your face.

You know he doesn’t want your pity.

“Stay here,” you don’t fail to notice the way Kai is now gently stretching his wrist. “I’ll be back.”

~~~

Before you can change your mind, you quickly begin cleaning up the mess in your home. The task is a daunting one as you’ve never had a single visitor in years. It takes at least fifteen minutes for you to remove the junk food and other dusty clutter on your table and countertops. It takes another five minutes to collect your dirty clothes from the corner of the living room and chuck them in the laundry basket, and with no time to spare, you power off all your computer screens and tightly shut the door to your working space.

You allow yourself to catch your breath for a few seconds before letting Kai in.

Just as you’d predicted, he surveys the area with one sweep of his eyes as soon as he steps inside.

Your personal space is a small one. One floor, four cramped rooms that consists of the bathroom, kitchen, living room, and the bedroom which you’ve converted into your hacking zone.

With another person inside, it’s easy to feel slightly claustrophobic. Kai’s presence is especially intimidating with his polished shoes, suit and tie, and his dark hair that shows no signs of disarray.

You try not to think about the challenge of what you’re about to do.

“Please, sit.”

He raises a brow at the couch and the first aid kit on the coffee table, taking a seat with questioning eyes.

You cough awkwardly, making sure to leave space between the two of you when you sit beside him.

“We might as well fix that wrist of yours.” you shrug, and Kai seems genuinely surprised that you noticed as if he hadn’t been so obvious about his discomfort.

“May I?” you reach for Kai’s injured hand. He hesitantly places the manila folder on the table before holding out his arm.

“Thank you.” he says quietly.

You hadn’t noticed it in the dimly lit garage, but now that his skin is under the light, you‘re able to see his bruised knuckles. Blood is still oozing out of deep cuts. You guess that this fight was almost fairly matched.

You ignore the urge to ask about it.

“About the meeting,” you change subjects to keep yourself focused elsewhere, casting your eyes down as you roll up Kai sleeves and dig into the first aid kit for the saline wash. “I want to know what happened after the mic failure.”

Before Kai went into the meeting room, you’d asked that he placed a bugging device in his jacket pocket so you can listen in on the conversation. About half an hour in, the audio stopped working and you could hear nothing more.

“I don’t know if they caught on that I was recording, but the man I was talking to did have an earpiece in his left ear. He kept fiddling with it whenever we were about to discuss my role as a spy for them.”

“How convenient,” you scoff, carefully dipping a sterile cotton pad in the saline. “They probably anticipated that you were going to record for blackmailing. There must’ve been a detector in the room. Explains why I was getting such unnatural frequency levels.”

Setting Kai’s hand on your knee, you lightly dab the cotton pad over the cuts on his knuckles. Strangely enough, now that you’re talking, you no longer feel the awkwardness of having a stranger over and bandaging his wounds only by your second meeting.

Keeping this all professional may be the answer to your incredibly low interpersonal skills.

“There wasn’t much you missed, but they did ask me to do something strange.”

You look up briefly from curiosity.

“How strange are we talking here?”

With his free hand, Kai tugs at his tie and unbuttons the top of his collar, brows furrowed in concern.

“They want me to break into the Blue House.”

There’s a brief period of silence.

“They what?”

Kai’s hand jolts in surprise on your knee. You look down to see that you’ve heavily pressed on his wounds.

“Sorry,” you focus your attention back to first aid, discarding the pad and ripping open a packet of gauzes. “Hesun’s getting braver by the minute. They have guts to try something so risky. We might have to speed up with our own plans.”

Not to mention speeding up your lack of solid plans.

Junmyeon had forgotten to tell Kai about an essential trait of your team: a slow ability to make decisions. You swear you’ve witnessed Jongdae and Junmyeon engaging in a few rounds of rock, paper, scissors in between team meeting breaks. You’re pretty sure that’s also how they decided to let Kai in the team.

“They didn’t disclose the information to me, but I guess that this has something to do with bugging the president’s office. Or possibly retrieving classified documents.”

“Of course,” you huff under your breath, wiping away the excess saline with extra gauzes. “Hesun has a talent for making a James Bond movie over everything. When are you going?”

“Two weeks from today.”

“We’ll have an emergency meeting with Gramps and Jongdae as soon as we can, then.”

“Gramps?” Kai snickers.

“It’s an inside joke thing we have.” you dodge Kai’s curiosity for the sake of Junmyeon’s privacy and begin to wrap a bandage around his wrist. Already, there’s a dark red spot seeping through the gauze. You reposition his hand and lift it slowly so you can tighten the bandage, his skin warming your fingers.

For some reason you find it hard to look up.

“Be careful next time.” you say without thinking. “Try not to beat someone up again and nearly break your hand in the process while you’re at it.”

“Is my accuser worried about me?”

You register that he’s referring to you suspecting him for killing the suspicious guard. Embarrassment floods your cheeks, and on reflex you squeeze his wrist.

As soon as Kai yelps in pain, you bend over to blow at his hand.

“Oh geez, I’m so sor-“

It was a mistake to look.                                                                        

Simultaneously, you’ve both moved to blow out the pain, and suddenly you’re face to face with a pair of startled eyes. From this close, you can make out a faint scar that runs down the center of Kai’s chin, and another at the corner of his mouth.

His features are less sharp from up close, less calculating and serious. With his lips slightly protruded in mid blow, he no longer seems like the daunting boy you were so wary of.

A fragile silence rests between you and you’re not entirely sure if it’s worth breaking it.  

“WARNING. WARNING. CODE ORANGE.”

Ah, that should be your cue.

You spring apart faster than you’d expected, and Kai morphs back to duty mode as he whips his head around to look for the source of the noise.

There’s no point in hiding your precious children now.

“It’s my security software.” you race for your hacking room, throwing the door open to find all of your screens flashing with an alert you fear you’re seeing for the first time.

Kai is hot on your heels. He stands and watches from behind you as you begin typing an extensive code to access the CCTVs planted around your hideout.

“What does it mean?”

“Hopefully not what I think it is.”

You’re too focused to be concerned over Kai closely watching you. He may not even understand most of what you’re doing, so it’s relatively safe to show him your work. Besides, the bigger threat is the program that’s awakened since you’d first installed it.

You meant for it to function as a safety net.  A backup in the case of trouble. You were confident you would never need its use.

It takes several minutes of you searching through every angle of the cameras, prompting the program to look with you, before you spot it. A black van with soundless engines rolling through the streets. Nearly imperceptible in the darkness, still several blocks away, but headed towards a way too familiar route.

Code orange.

There’s only one meaning behind it but you hoped it was only a mistake.

“Prepare for shutdown,” you command the program, breathing in to calm your nerves. “There’s an intruder on the way.”