Acts of Contrition (7/20)
His own breathing is too loud in the small space, the familiar press of the harness against his chest and the comm in his ear failing to ground him.
“Green Leader, this is Green One,” Changmin leans forward, flicking forward shields into place, trying to ignore the slide of sweat down his spine, the unfamiliarity and antiquity of the controls. “Approaching target on starboard side.”
“Copy that, Green One. Keep an eye out for enemy craft.” Yoochun’s voice fills his ear, calm and even, but it goes no length to relax the pilot.
The starship looms ahead of them, ugly and massive, a silent, ominous force. One that he used to call home.
“Green One, get those guns ready, you have company.”
His pulse pounds in his ears, deafening as he sees them. Sleek, polished silver and black, hurtling towards him from behind the starship’s cloak. Heart thumping dully against his ribs, he croaks out an affirmative, taking the craft into a hard turn, raising his cannons as he comes around-
--the corner, Junsu’s chatter constant and cheerful in his ear, the jingle of his tags echoing in the empty corridor as he spins them around his neck. He ignores Changmin’s repeated attempts to catch his attention, until the younger pilot simply lets out a whoop and jumps onto his back, arms winding around the other man’s neck.
“What’s the captain going to say when he hears you’ve-
FAILED.
The word blinks at him in red block letters, obscuring the screen, a dull buzzing growing louder as he becomes aware of it.
The simulator shuts down, cockpit opening and two stony expressions meeting his own.
“If you can’t learn to fire on the Guard, this is a waste of time,” Yoochun mutters, raking a hand through too long black hair.
Changmin undoes the harness with sharp, jerking movements, pulling off his helmet and com-link. “It’s a fucking reflex,” he mutters, crawling out of the makeshift cockpit, shouldering past the two of them. Ignoring their eyes on his back.
“You’re asking me to fire on my friends, people I’ve-“
Jaejoong interrupts, the bandage on his temple making him look even frailer than he is, but his voice firm. “Former friends. Former allies. If you can’t learn to make the distinction, Yoochun is right. You’re wasting our time.”
It seems unfair that words spoken so softly can cut so deep. Changmin scowls, guilt, shame, threading through his system, black like a poison. One he can’t afford to succumb to if he’s going to survive here.
“I need more time,” he spits, running a hand through short, sweat-slick hair, glaring at the ground. “You can’t just expect me to change overnight, to rewrite my entire damn life.”
Yoochun sighs, running his hands over his tired features, nodding a moment later. “Fine. But sooner or later, you’re going to have to prove which side you’re on. And when you’re in one of our fighters, it isn’t going to be theirs.”
Changmin lets out a long breath. “Yeah, I get it. Alright? I get it.”
A slow nod, a shared look and Yoochun nods to the cockpit, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. You get it? Prove it. Get back in there and do it right.”
He bites back a sneer and a retort, moving to climb back in the cockpit. Stopping short when he sees Jaejoong moving to follow.
“What are you doing?” the question is asked simultaneously; twin looks of confusion on Yoochun and Changmin’s features.
Jaejoong’s calm mask doesn’t falter, and idly, Changmin wonders if the man even feels anything. He wears dispassion like a layer of ice, features cold and impassable. “Get in. You need time. We don’t have it. Fly against them first. I’ll run guns.”
Yoochun looks like he’s about to protest, but thinks better of it, nodding at Changmin, adjusting his own ear piece and moving to close the sim as the younger man acquiesces, climbing in after Jaejoong.
While he’s trained for co-pilot missions, he feels most at home when alone in the cockpit. Without two minds to share responsibility and action. The other man, it seems, is so used to playing second fiddle, it hardly fazes him.
Gritting his teeth, Changmin slides the com back into place in his ear, harness clicking into place as he takes the controls.
“Green Leader, this is Green One,” Jaejoong reports in smooth, accented tones, switching guns to his control, raising them at the ready. “Executing Bravo Scenario Five, permission to proceed.”
The reply is instant. “Roger that, Green One. Bravo Scenario Five is a go. Keep an eye on enemy craft and gun towers.”
“Copy that,” Changmin replies hoarsely, raising frontal shields as they approach the battleship once again, a watchful eye on where the craft had appeared on the last run, even though he knows they are unlikely to reappear in that same place.
True to form, black and silver creep onto his scope from the starboard side, a single graceful swoop before fire rocks their craft, Changmin taking the ship into a dive. He used to be one of them, he thinks. Tags heavy against his chest, pride all the weightier. A purpose, a future.
But none of that matters now. That life is lost, and he has only the choice to preserve the one he’s been forced to accept.
“Bring her around at a 45 degree angle,” Jaejoong instructs, getting canons to a ready. “We’ll come at them from the left flank.”
He doesn’t challenge the words, doing as he’s told like a robot, as if such a response will save him from the guilt he feels when Jaejoong opens fire. The man is a superb gunner, and Changmin wonders if he was the one to shoot him down that day. Two Guard ships are gone in minutes, the loss sticking somewhere in Changmin’s chest, even as he recognizes the guilt feels fainter with every hit they take, with every hit they give.
Pushing thoughts of Yunho out of his mind, of Junsu, he concentrates on avoiding fire, letting his instincts overtake him, palms slick against the controls. The sound of blaster fire is heavy in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his system as his shoulder brushes Jaejoong’s, the other man’s dark eyes intent on their targets.
Intuition makes his mark devastating, and for a single moment, Changmin forgets to feel guilt, feels only the stress, the exhilaration of flight and before he knows it, the fleet is gone and the sim comes to an end, the cockpit hatch releasing.
Cool, recycled air washes into the space and Changmin takes a deep breath, head falling back against the seat.
He’s killed them. All of them.
A gentle touch brushes over his hand, cold eyes softening in the wake of his gaze. “It’s the right path,” Jaejoong murmurs, so, so softly.
He tightens his jaw, shrugging out from under the other man’s touch. “The path of treason,” he growls, shame coursing through his veins. How could he? How could he?
A slight smile. “Something a member of the Guard should be intimately familiar with. You turned on your ruler, the one you were sworn to protect. It’s your way.”
Fingernails digging into his palm, Changmin can only watch in helpless fury as he climbs from the sim.
“Run it again,” he tosses over his shoulder, the hatch shutting after him, and Changmin lets out a choked cry, slamming his fist into the controls.
Hate you, he thinks, not knowing whether it’s to himself or Jaejoong he refers.
If it even matters anymore.
***
For all her slithering tongue and suspicious motives, at least the Captain is a woman of her word. The Cerberus makes port on a planet that, from the small hatch in the side of the ship could well be M-617. Elysia. It’s yellowish, but full of moisture. Cloud in the atmosphere rattles the transport vessel until they pass through it. Fortunately, there seems to be just one giant strip of land in the midst of one giant ocean.
Yunho leans his head against the thick glass pane. If Changmin’s fighter didn’t crash on land, there won’t be anything to bring back to his family. The thought half-comforts, half-angers him. He didn’t allow Junsu to give everything up for nothing.
As if aware of his thoughts, Junsu shifts on the bed, muscles lined with tension. “Heads up, someone’s coming.”
He stands slowly in response, clenching and unclenching his fists. His body feels the strain of sleepless nights, but it’s nothing he can’t cope with. He’s an ex-Guard captain, damn it to hell, this is nothing.
The door is unlocked and swings open to reveal a petite, mousy-sort of kid picking his nose. He looks the picture of rebellion, really. Command would never have let it slide that children were involved in this war, not that Yunho can pretend he didn’t know. Innocent civilians or little indoctrinated drones, their targets have always been more than just blimps on a screen. He’s seen the bodies himself when they did fly-bys and dropped bombs over farms. Nobody likes to talk about that.
“Capt’n says to buckle your seatbelt. We’re going to be landing soon.”
Junsu grins, watches the kid with a gentle look. Yunho would like to tell him these sorts of children are the ones who gather the trophies of fallen pilots like Changmin. Dog-tags, uniforms, helmets, the children round everything up to sell on the black market. Easy to see why; you’d need small hands to work a chain off a rigor-straightened neck.
“Did she say anything about our ship?” he asks, tilting his head at the little boy. “Now that she’s taken her winner’s bounty, can we have it back for scrap?”
The boy’s eyes are wide for a long moment, as if he can’t comprehend the question. His smirk is strangely disturbing on such a young face. “All of it is payment for the trip.”
“What the…?”
Yunho doesn’t let his friend finish. A hand on Junsu’s knee, he stands.
“At least that’s all she’s taking in payment.” For a strange, short moment, he thinks he sees understanding in the child’s eyes and revulsion chills him to the bone. But the kid is gone too soon, the door locking back shut behind him. He can’t verify his instinct, doesn’t want to.
He can still feel Jiexi’s scar under his fingertips and wonders how many others have felt it before him. He can still her whispered words in his ear. “I don’t think I’m going to let you leave.”
“She took us prisoners and now she’s requisitioned our ship?” Junsu complains. “There’s got to be something we can do, we’ll be sitting ducks if we don’t have any form of transport on the planet. How will we find Changmin?”
“You’re so sure she’ll let us go now?” Yunho interrupts the tirade with a harsh breath.
The vessel rattles around them again, his stomach pushing up against his diaphragm. They’re reducing speed. Outside, the planet surface increases in size until all he can see is forest.
Junsu jumps to his feet as well, as if by sheer height he might recover control. “Why would she keep us? We’re worth nothing on the black market, whether as meat or catamites.” The retort is almost given without a blush.
But Yunho can only shrug. Junsu wasn’t awake when the Captain came to their cell, he didn’t hear her threats and so can’t fail to hope. Yunho knows better. The woman is troubling or troubled or both, but she’s obviously no fool.
“She suspects we’re deserters. That would still make her a nice profit if she turns us in to the local authorities.”
There’s a flare of fear in Junsu’s eyes, one he pretends not to notice because he knows his lieutenant would only deny it. It’s gone in a moment, replaced by hard logic.
“So we have to make a run for it.” No question there; this is why he worked well within the Guard. Hatch up a plan out of nowhere but base it on intel, base it on instinct.
One of the two, at least, is never wrong.
Yunho nods, watches the tops of trees outside. Tropical setting, nice. It will be humid and hot and they’re prepared for neither after years on recycled resources and pre-processed air. For the next few days, their lungs are going to be working overtime. Still, it can’t be helped.
Pacing, he ignores the loud shake of the walls around them, the lurch of blood into his mouth as he bites his lip. Smugglers, rebels, whatever they are, they have no knack for flying.
“Once we set down, they’ll come for us,” Junsu reasons, scratching his head nervously. He’s always like this before a mission. “Let them take us out and then try to overpower them?” But he’s shaking his head even as he speaks. “No, that’s too risky, they’ll have us bound for sure…”
Wisely, Yunho tunes him out. The ship is still in motion, hovering a few inches above the soil. Interesting. He can’t see up front, but they’re no doubt ready for docking. Which leaves about five or six minutes to decide how to crack this.
“We can try to outrun them in the streets, but we wouldn’t know where to go…”
Agitated, Junsu has begun to tap his fists against the headboard. It starts slow, a rhythm Yunho can follow with his eyes, but as the pace increases, so does Junsu’s temper.
“Hey!” Yunho bellows to stop him. He’s going to hurt himself and the last thing they need is broken fingers while they’re running on a rebel-infest world. “Save that for when we’ll need it.”
Which might be sooner rather than later.
Heavy footsteps stop outside the door. The hint of a laser gun being charged.
“Remember Academy initiation?” Yunho asks, clinging to the first thought that comes to mind.
Junsu nods, confused. “Eenie-meenie-minnie-mo, catch a rookie by the toe. What do you…”
“Face, neck and shoulder,” Yunho provides, ignoring the question. He needs Junsu to follow and listen, not question. “He can keep his lunch, but we want his gun. Got it?”
The door swings open gently and a heavy-set man walks in. It’s the man who shares Jiexi’s scar. His shoes leave keening whimpers on the metal floors as he trails his feet. His gait is slow and so’s his mind, apparently. By the time he’s set foot into the cell and realised his prisoners are nowhere to be found, Junsu’s high kick has already caught him in the chin, snapping his jaws shut and his head backwards.
Eenie.
Before he can recover his bearings, Yunho finds the pressure spot on the side of his neck and presses hard. The man screams out in pain.
Meenie.
Junsu’s snaps his arm backwards, freeing the laser gun from his hands. The crack of bone is audible as he dislocates the shoulder. Howling in pain the man wobbles on weak knees, threatening to fall but not yet ready to.
Minnie.
“Fire it at the window,” Yunho orders, “now!” His elbow finding that place between the ribs that he always had trouble with in training, he sends the smuggler to the ground, effectively knocking him out.
Mo.
Junsu’s well-aimed blast shatters the glass, alarms blaring instantly in response and his former captain feels like giving himself a pat on the back for putting the squadron through intensive weapons training.
“Now what?”
Yunho grins, jumping onto the ledge. There’s a fifteen foot drop separating them from freedom. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
“Green Leader, this is Green One,” Changmin leans forward, flicking forward shields into place, trying to ignore the slide of sweat down his spine, the unfamiliarity and antiquity of the controls. “Approaching target on starboard side.”
“Copy that, Green One. Keep an eye out for enemy craft.” Yoochun’s voice fills his ear, calm and even, but it goes no length to relax the pilot.
The starship looms ahead of them, ugly and massive, a silent, ominous force. One that he used to call home.
“Green One, get those guns ready, you have company.”
His pulse pounds in his ears, deafening as he sees them. Sleek, polished silver and black, hurtling towards him from behind the starship’s cloak. Heart thumping dully against his ribs, he croaks out an affirmative, taking the craft into a hard turn, raising his cannons as he comes around-
--the corner, Junsu’s chatter constant and cheerful in his ear, the jingle of his tags echoing in the empty corridor as he spins them around his neck. He ignores Changmin’s repeated attempts to catch his attention, until the younger pilot simply lets out a whoop and jumps onto his back, arms winding around the other man’s neck.
“What’s the captain going to say when he hears you’ve-
FAILED.
The word blinks at him in red block letters, obscuring the screen, a dull buzzing growing louder as he becomes aware of it.
The simulator shuts down, cockpit opening and two stony expressions meeting his own.
“If you can’t learn to fire on the Guard, this is a waste of time,” Yoochun mutters, raking a hand through too long black hair.
Changmin undoes the harness with sharp, jerking movements, pulling off his helmet and com-link. “It’s a fucking reflex,” he mutters, crawling out of the makeshift cockpit, shouldering past the two of them. Ignoring their eyes on his back.
“You’re asking me to fire on my friends, people I’ve-“
Jaejoong interrupts, the bandage on his temple making him look even frailer than he is, but his voice firm. “Former friends. Former allies. If you can’t learn to make the distinction, Yoochun is right. You’re wasting our time.”
It seems unfair that words spoken so softly can cut so deep. Changmin scowls, guilt, shame, threading through his system, black like a poison. One he can’t afford to succumb to if he’s going to survive here.
“I need more time,” he spits, running a hand through short, sweat-slick hair, glaring at the ground. “You can’t just expect me to change overnight, to rewrite my entire damn life.”
Yoochun sighs, running his hands over his tired features, nodding a moment later. “Fine. But sooner or later, you’re going to have to prove which side you’re on. And when you’re in one of our fighters, it isn’t going to be theirs.”
Changmin lets out a long breath. “Yeah, I get it. Alright? I get it.”
A slow nod, a shared look and Yoochun nods to the cockpit, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. You get it? Prove it. Get back in there and do it right.”
He bites back a sneer and a retort, moving to climb back in the cockpit. Stopping short when he sees Jaejoong moving to follow.
“What are you doing?” the question is asked simultaneously; twin looks of confusion on Yoochun and Changmin’s features.
Jaejoong’s calm mask doesn’t falter, and idly, Changmin wonders if the man even feels anything. He wears dispassion like a layer of ice, features cold and impassable. “Get in. You need time. We don’t have it. Fly against them first. I’ll run guns.”
Yoochun looks like he’s about to protest, but thinks better of it, nodding at Changmin, adjusting his own ear piece and moving to close the sim as the younger man acquiesces, climbing in after Jaejoong.
While he’s trained for co-pilot missions, he feels most at home when alone in the cockpit. Without two minds to share responsibility and action. The other man, it seems, is so used to playing second fiddle, it hardly fazes him.
Gritting his teeth, Changmin slides the com back into place in his ear, harness clicking into place as he takes the controls.
“Green Leader, this is Green One,” Jaejoong reports in smooth, accented tones, switching guns to his control, raising them at the ready. “Executing Bravo Scenario Five, permission to proceed.”
The reply is instant. “Roger that, Green One. Bravo Scenario Five is a go. Keep an eye on enemy craft and gun towers.”
“Copy that,” Changmin replies hoarsely, raising frontal shields as they approach the battleship once again, a watchful eye on where the craft had appeared on the last run, even though he knows they are unlikely to reappear in that same place.
True to form, black and silver creep onto his scope from the starboard side, a single graceful swoop before fire rocks their craft, Changmin taking the ship into a dive. He used to be one of them, he thinks. Tags heavy against his chest, pride all the weightier. A purpose, a future.
But none of that matters now. That life is lost, and he has only the choice to preserve the one he’s been forced to accept.
“Bring her around at a 45 degree angle,” Jaejoong instructs, getting canons to a ready. “We’ll come at them from the left flank.”
He doesn’t challenge the words, doing as he’s told like a robot, as if such a response will save him from the guilt he feels when Jaejoong opens fire. The man is a superb gunner, and Changmin wonders if he was the one to shoot him down that day. Two Guard ships are gone in minutes, the loss sticking somewhere in Changmin’s chest, even as he recognizes the guilt feels fainter with every hit they take, with every hit they give.
Pushing thoughts of Yunho out of his mind, of Junsu, he concentrates on avoiding fire, letting his instincts overtake him, palms slick against the controls. The sound of blaster fire is heavy in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his system as his shoulder brushes Jaejoong’s, the other man’s dark eyes intent on their targets.
Intuition makes his mark devastating, and for a single moment, Changmin forgets to feel guilt, feels only the stress, the exhilaration of flight and before he knows it, the fleet is gone and the sim comes to an end, the cockpit hatch releasing.
Cool, recycled air washes into the space and Changmin takes a deep breath, head falling back against the seat.
He’s killed them. All of them.
A gentle touch brushes over his hand, cold eyes softening in the wake of his gaze. “It’s the right path,” Jaejoong murmurs, so, so softly.
He tightens his jaw, shrugging out from under the other man’s touch. “The path of treason,” he growls, shame coursing through his veins. How could he? How could he?
A slight smile. “Something a member of the Guard should be intimately familiar with. You turned on your ruler, the one you were sworn to protect. It’s your way.”
Fingernails digging into his palm, Changmin can only watch in helpless fury as he climbs from the sim.
“Run it again,” he tosses over his shoulder, the hatch shutting after him, and Changmin lets out a choked cry, slamming his fist into the controls.
Hate you, he thinks, not knowing whether it’s to himself or Jaejoong he refers.
If it even matters anymore.
***
For all her slithering tongue and suspicious motives, at least the Captain is a woman of her word. The Cerberus makes port on a planet that, from the small hatch in the side of the ship could well be M-617. Elysia. It’s yellowish, but full of moisture. Cloud in the atmosphere rattles the transport vessel until they pass through it. Fortunately, there seems to be just one giant strip of land in the midst of one giant ocean.
Yunho leans his head against the thick glass pane. If Changmin’s fighter didn’t crash on land, there won’t be anything to bring back to his family. The thought half-comforts, half-angers him. He didn’t allow Junsu to give everything up for nothing.
As if aware of his thoughts, Junsu shifts on the bed, muscles lined with tension. “Heads up, someone’s coming.”
He stands slowly in response, clenching and unclenching his fists. His body feels the strain of sleepless nights, but it’s nothing he can’t cope with. He’s an ex-Guard captain, damn it to hell, this is nothing.
The door is unlocked and swings open to reveal a petite, mousy-sort of kid picking his nose. He looks the picture of rebellion, really. Command would never have let it slide that children were involved in this war, not that Yunho can pretend he didn’t know. Innocent civilians or little indoctrinated drones, their targets have always been more than just blimps on a screen. He’s seen the bodies himself when they did fly-bys and dropped bombs over farms. Nobody likes to talk about that.
“Capt’n says to buckle your seatbelt. We’re going to be landing soon.”
Junsu grins, watches the kid with a gentle look. Yunho would like to tell him these sorts of children are the ones who gather the trophies of fallen pilots like Changmin. Dog-tags, uniforms, helmets, the children round everything up to sell on the black market. Easy to see why; you’d need small hands to work a chain off a rigor-straightened neck.
“Did she say anything about our ship?” he asks, tilting his head at the little boy. “Now that she’s taken her winner’s bounty, can we have it back for scrap?”
The boy’s eyes are wide for a long moment, as if he can’t comprehend the question. His smirk is strangely disturbing on such a young face. “All of it is payment for the trip.”
“What the…?”
Yunho doesn’t let his friend finish. A hand on Junsu’s knee, he stands.
“At least that’s all she’s taking in payment.” For a strange, short moment, he thinks he sees understanding in the child’s eyes and revulsion chills him to the bone. But the kid is gone too soon, the door locking back shut behind him. He can’t verify his instinct, doesn’t want to.
He can still feel Jiexi’s scar under his fingertips and wonders how many others have felt it before him. He can still her whispered words in his ear. “I don’t think I’m going to let you leave.”
“She took us prisoners and now she’s requisitioned our ship?” Junsu complains. “There’s got to be something we can do, we’ll be sitting ducks if we don’t have any form of transport on the planet. How will we find Changmin?”
“You’re so sure she’ll let us go now?” Yunho interrupts the tirade with a harsh breath.
The vessel rattles around them again, his stomach pushing up against his diaphragm. They’re reducing speed. Outside, the planet surface increases in size until all he can see is forest.
Junsu jumps to his feet as well, as if by sheer height he might recover control. “Why would she keep us? We’re worth nothing on the black market, whether as meat or catamites.” The retort is almost given without a blush.
But Yunho can only shrug. Junsu wasn’t awake when the Captain came to their cell, he didn’t hear her threats and so can’t fail to hope. Yunho knows better. The woman is troubling or troubled or both, but she’s obviously no fool.
“She suspects we’re deserters. That would still make her a nice profit if she turns us in to the local authorities.”
There’s a flare of fear in Junsu’s eyes, one he pretends not to notice because he knows his lieutenant would only deny it. It’s gone in a moment, replaced by hard logic.
“So we have to make a run for it.” No question there; this is why he worked well within the Guard. Hatch up a plan out of nowhere but base it on intel, base it on instinct.
One of the two, at least, is never wrong.
Yunho nods, watches the tops of trees outside. Tropical setting, nice. It will be humid and hot and they’re prepared for neither after years on recycled resources and pre-processed air. For the next few days, their lungs are going to be working overtime. Still, it can’t be helped.
Pacing, he ignores the loud shake of the walls around them, the lurch of blood into his mouth as he bites his lip. Smugglers, rebels, whatever they are, they have no knack for flying.
“Once we set down, they’ll come for us,” Junsu reasons, scratching his head nervously. He’s always like this before a mission. “Let them take us out and then try to overpower them?” But he’s shaking his head even as he speaks. “No, that’s too risky, they’ll have us bound for sure…”
Wisely, Yunho tunes him out. The ship is still in motion, hovering a few inches above the soil. Interesting. He can’t see up front, but they’re no doubt ready for docking. Which leaves about five or six minutes to decide how to crack this.
“We can try to outrun them in the streets, but we wouldn’t know where to go…”
Agitated, Junsu has begun to tap his fists against the headboard. It starts slow, a rhythm Yunho can follow with his eyes, but as the pace increases, so does Junsu’s temper.
“Hey!” Yunho bellows to stop him. He’s going to hurt himself and the last thing they need is broken fingers while they’re running on a rebel-infest world. “Save that for when we’ll need it.”
Which might be sooner rather than later.
Heavy footsteps stop outside the door. The hint of a laser gun being charged.
“Remember Academy initiation?” Yunho asks, clinging to the first thought that comes to mind.
Junsu nods, confused. “Eenie-meenie-minnie-mo, catch a rookie by the toe. What do you…”
“Face, neck and shoulder,” Yunho provides, ignoring the question. He needs Junsu to follow and listen, not question. “He can keep his lunch, but we want his gun. Got it?”
The door swings open gently and a heavy-set man walks in. It’s the man who shares Jiexi’s scar. His shoes leave keening whimpers on the metal floors as he trails his feet. His gait is slow and so’s his mind, apparently. By the time he’s set foot into the cell and realised his prisoners are nowhere to be found, Junsu’s high kick has already caught him in the chin, snapping his jaws shut and his head backwards.
Eenie.
Before he can recover his bearings, Yunho finds the pressure spot on the side of his neck and presses hard. The man screams out in pain.
Meenie.
Junsu’s snaps his arm backwards, freeing the laser gun from his hands. The crack of bone is audible as he dislocates the shoulder. Howling in pain the man wobbles on weak knees, threatening to fall but not yet ready to.
Minnie.
“Fire it at the window,” Yunho orders, “now!” His elbow finding that place between the ribs that he always had trouble with in training, he sends the smuggler to the ground, effectively knocking him out.
Mo.
Junsu’s well-aimed blast shatters the glass, alarms blaring instantly in response and his former captain feels like giving himself a pat on the back for putting the squadron through intensive weapons training.
“Now what?”
Yunho grins, jumping onto the ledge. There’s a fifteen foot drop separating them from freedom. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”