The Red Thread of Fate || Wen Junhui

➶ two ➴

I haven't looked out of a window for the last ten years.

During my stay at the Rogue Soldier Facility, my cell never had a window or any form of light. I have lost track of the time, season, and year.

But judging that it's so cold in the car that our breath comes out in tiny clouds, I can only guess that it's either late Autumn or the middle of winter.

Hell if I know. Maybe the summers have become cold as shit too.

From the car window, my eyes have adjusted to the dimness we've been plunged into. There's nobody else in the garage with us. We are the only car taking up a single spot out of hundreds.

Jihoon is up front, swearing and hitting the built in heater to make it work. It's just one of the many things that doesn't work in this old paint-chipped car. Jisoo—who I'm sitting beside—struggled to take the seatbelt from its holder and pull it over me. He had to literally tear it away and I was surprised at his strength, since his arms look like sticks underneath that coat.

Asking him for help was strange. I don't remember being in a vehicle with safety precautions, and completely forgot about the existence of seat belts until now.

I shiver and rub my numb legs. The cold is viciously attacking what's left of my skin, penetrating the flimsy maroon fabric of the standard Rogue Soldier uniform. I only have the sweatpants and torn hoodie to keep me warm.

"Here." Jisoo murmurs, taking off his overcoat and placing it on my lap. I breath a quiet sigh of relief as some of the warmth returns. I don't have to worry about keeping my arms warm, seeing that they're fake and built to withstand any kind of weather.

"W-what season is it?" I say through chattering teeth.

"What do you mean?" Jihoon chuckles and stops his abuse to turn around and look at me. I force myself to calm down at the amusement written all over his face. I hated it whenever the doctors looked at me like that.

"I mean, what season is it?"

A brief moment of silence comes between us, neither of them sure if I'm serious or not. When Jisoo takes a breath to answer, the door to the driver's side tears open and Sungcheol swings in. The vehicle rocks with the sudden movement.

"Sungcheol," asks Jihoon in a mocking tone, "what season is it?"

Their leader faces him, brows furrowed. "What the hell? Jisoo, what the hell is he talking about?"

Placing a hand on my shoulder, Jisoo responds, "Jihoon's just teasing her."

Sungcheol casts his attention to pulling back the lever that released the brakes before meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Do you really not know?"

I shake my head as a blush of embarrassment climbs my collared neck. How stupid must I seem to them?

"October," he says. "The ninth of October."

"And the year?" I meekly ask.

Jihoon takes a breath to answer—probably with something sarcastic—but Sungcheol puts up a hand to stop him. There's a jagged scar running from the tip of his index finger, through the nail bed, and down to his wrist. I hardly notice it.

Scars have become natural to me. Since I'm covered head to toe in them, they're as normal to me as unmarked skin is normal to others.

"The year is 5399."

My jaw drops open in surprise.

Ten years. Ten years of my life have been stolen from me starting in 5389. That means I was still human—most likely—back in 5389. But now, in such little time, there's nothing human left in me; probably nothing of who I once was.