𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗞𝗘𝗥𝗦 // 𝗝𝗝𝗞 (FT 𝗣𝗝𝗠)

#1 - Wishes

The moonlight casts down on his shivering body, feeling it burning into his gushing wounds, blood pools at his trembling feet, betraying him by leaving crimson footprints behind as he drags himself across the pitch black hallway. The white walls he touched are now stained with his red palm prints. Occasionally, they will leave a long slash of blood across the wall when he trips over his broken foot and lands with a crashing thump but his fear have pumped ounces of adrenaline into his collapsing veins for him to pick up his crippling body and chases for the glint chance of survival. Yet all he sees are bloodstained white wall, shut doors and a hallway that seems to be getting endless as he counts on his last few seconds of breath.

Swinging his bloody hand on a doorknob and harshly pushes the door open, he finds himself knocking and shoving his way through the cramped laboratory as he gasps onto his last string of trembling breath, long enough for his to dial numbers into his cracked phone. It was stepped on earlier along with one of his hand, crashed like biscuits under a chunky military boot. Hiding in the far corner of the messy lab, he managed to get his phone ringing at the dialed number.

The call was answered within a few rings, thank god, but his luck is dying when a set of skipping footsteps fumble down the hallway, obviously excitingly searching for their prey. A soft yet cold hum vibrates through the phone, almost sounds like an angel of hope. He sighs shakily and let his saliva coats his bloodied mouth before speaking, "c-code black-", he chokes on his dried blood and exhales at the pungent smell of iron.

The line went quiet for a few seconds before there's a distant fumbling sounding through, "where are you", the voice from the phone sounds irritated yet worried. "It's too late. I'm deader than dead now", the caller laughs dryly at his reflection in the shattered mirror beside him.

Dried blood showering him from head to toes, hair to clothes, even head to heart. A bullet digging into his shoulder blade, swollen eyes void of life and hope, white lab coat torn for the disgrace they claimed him to be and for the crimes they accused him to commit. His gaze lowered down to the bloodstained name tag, the one he worked years for, with his family's name printed on it, "Dr. Rae". For years he worked and committed, the only result he prided over is the faithfulness he held even when justice did him wrong.

The call becomes silent, as if there's a sense of mutual understanding between them, as if they have foreseen such tragedy. "Any wishes that I can fulfill for you, doc?", the voice sighs, calming down from the agitation.

The doctor's breath swallowed, eyes heavy and body slumping. He is a breath away from falling into a deep sleep but the only thing his brain can do is flashing beautiful endearing scenes across his teary eyes. Her generous smile, pearl white teeth, dimples flawing her red cheeks, eyes glowing in love for him. When he unconsciously lowered his gaze again, he saw another smile, without teeth this time. Just big apple cheeks and smiling eyes. The one he called love.

"Watch over them, Kim.....watch over them with your life", his breath hitched when he mentions them, the ones that he bares pouring love for. His voice, laces with regret and guilt, begs shakily. The only thing he wants before he let go of his last string of life is to erase them from his history, to have them completely wiped off the list under his name, he wants nothing to do with them just for the sake of keeping them safe when he's gone. He prays that no one touches them, that no one even knows who they are and only the Kims are capable pulling such miracle.

"Move them somewhere else, forge their names, do anyth", the doctor was getting desperately breathless with his pleadings when the voice cut his off, "-anything to make sure they're not found. I got it, doc. We've got it". The voice sighs for the hundredth times, both annoyingly and in guilt. Annoyed at the doctor's pleading even when he's the one who was choking on his blood but guilty for not being there to pat his back and help him spit out the chunks of dried blood in his bruised throat.