all in all (is all we are) part i [shinee big bang entry]
Title: All in All (is all we are)
Pairings: Taemin/Key, Jonghyun/Onew
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, violence, mild language
Word count: 14,000
Lee Taemin was fourteen when he enlisted in the Academy. He wasn’t book smart, like most cadets, but street smart, something he had to pick up from seven years of living off of scrap food and sleeping in a crate he’d marked as his own.
Taemin might have felt sorry for himself, but he’d been too busy trying to survive. In a way, the Academy had come as a gift. Life at the Academy was hard, but it sure beat living on the streets. At least Taemin never had to worry about his next meal or who might attack him and steal his home while he was sleeping.
Taemin had always been easily liked, and that helped him, both on the streets and in the Academy. People always felt sorry for the little kid who was weak, who couldn’t take care of himself. It was annoying, but Taemin had learned that it made things easier for him.
His mother had been a drunk and a whore, who sold her body on the very corner that Taemin had lived for nearly half of his life. Pregnancy ruined a prostitute, but she’d been unable to afford the hefty price of an abortion. Taemin would have liked to think she didn’t want him because she knew she couldn’t care for him, but he knew she hadn’t cared; she only worried that she couldn’t make a living, couldn’t buy her alcohol, if she was pregnant.
His mother had taken what money she had to the liquor store, prepared to flush him out of her body. A miscarriage was painful, but it left no physical marks, nothing that would deter potential customers.
It had been a nun who had saved Taemin’s life. She’d weaved stories of a magnificent being, one who could heal all wounds and fix all problems. She told his mother that if she denounced her old ways, this being would forgive her and purge her of her sins.
Taemin’s mother had never been intelligent, and in the end that was what saved Taemin’s life. She had not paused to think that this divine being was metaphorical and not a literal, breathing person who would ease her pain. She thought of enough food and alcohol to fill her small belly, of taking a warm shower, of sleeping in a warm bed and not against a cold brick wall or briefly in the back seat of some stranger’s car.
In a way, those dreams had been true. In the church, she had been fed and bathed and given warm clothes, but she had not met the “divine being” that the nun had spoken of. When she learned it was God, she felt cheated and betrayed. God could bring her nothing. God had not helped her when she was cold and hungry, when she was on her knees in some alleyway, pleasuring a man who would rather see her dead.
It had been several months before she realized the truth. By that time, she could not hide her pregnancy, and the nun had convinced her to stay and carry the fetus until term. She promised she would not stop Taemin’s mother from leaving afterward as long as she left the child in the care of the church.
The nun had always wanted a child, but she could not break her vows to God. This woman was nearly a blessing to her. She could save an innocent child from a life on the streets and keep it as her own without betraying God.
Taemin had been born on a dreary, cold July morning a month before his due date. His mother died three minutes later, snatched up by the cold hands of death as if for retribution of her past deeds.
The nun took him in as her own, named him after her brother, and nursed him with what little she had to give. She’d been the only mother he had.
Taemin had spent the first seven years of his life in the house of God, learning His ways. His adoptive mother hid nothing from him about his biological mother. She told him honesty was the way of God, and that if he followed His ways, God would save him. He spent the next seven years of his life thinking her a liar.
The church had burned down one day, lit afire by a group of hoodlums. His adoptive mother had been inside, helping the ailing and elderly priest escape the building. They had not survived.
She had no living family members and, having not expected her sudden death, had not prepared a will. Taemin had been tossed on the streets after all she had done to prevent it.
Taemin was nothing if not clever, and he quickly learned the way of the streets. He learned that no one could be depended upon, no one save himself, and only then for self-preservation. He learned that no one cared for the homeless and, if only to ease their consciences, ignored the children. People always assumed they had dug their own graves and were there for a reason: greed, sloth, addiction. But Taemin, who would never forget his adoptive mother, knew that the truth was always buried beneath the lies.
He was not the youngest on the streets, but he was certainly the most innocent, and he learned how to work that to his advantage. He could wheedle his way to the front of the line at the food bank, and no one would toss him off his feet. He could protect his little crate and bed of blankets with soft, pleading eyes, and no one would fight him for what little he had.
As he grew older, this worked for him less and less, and he soon had to learn how to fight to protect himself from the other children, who thought him an easy target. Physical fighting was not his forte, and it took him several losses to learn how to win.
There was no honor on the street, so Taemin learned to fight dirty and to take advantage of his opponent’s weak spots. He learned to either hide his belongings or be prepared to fight to keep them.
Taemin never traveled far from his rundown home. Leaving meant being replaced, for there was never a lack of new people to join them on the streets. When he was old enough, he would carry his belongings with him whenever he moved. He learned the hard way that leaving them unguarded for even a moment would result in their loss.
When he was fourteen, he grabbed all his belongings and walked away. It wasn’t much, only the clothes on his back, a small switchblade he’d stolen from a drunk he’d found passed out on the street, a blanket he’d had since he was a baby, and a picture he’d never relinquished over the years, a picture of him and his mother in front of the church that had once been his home. They were smiling in the picture, and his mother had held him in warm arms. Taemin could hardly remember ever being so happy.
He’d had enough of barely surviving, and a part of him remembered his mother and her soft voice telling him that God was his salvation and that faith in the Almighty would bring him happiness. He wanted so badly to believe her.
He’d been traveling for two days, scrounging out of trash bins and dumpsters for scraps, when he happened upon a delicious-smelling restaurant. He hadn’t been able to go inside, but the discarded food he found in the dumpster behind the restaurant had been the most delicious food he had ever had, even when he’d lived in the church.
Taemin had been feasting upon his find in the alley when he saw several boys run by, screaming to each other about being late. Taemin hid his belongings and followed them then, wondering over their embroidered uniforms and cleanliness. He’d only ever encountered dirty people, never anyone wealthy enough to live in actual homes and buy real food.
And he took that as a sign because he’d never wondered about much beyond his poor luck.
The boys had lined up across the street, tugging nervously at their ties and exchanging glances with many more nervous-looking boys and, scarcely, girls. Taemin, with no regard for his appearance, approached them. Several of them scrunched up their noses and eyed him with distaste, turning away from him and covering their noses with no discretion.
“What is this?” Taemin asked hoarsely. He rarely ever used his voice, not since his mother died.
The other boys turned their noses up. Some of the girls looked sympathetic.
“What do you care, urchin?” one of the boys sneered. Another boy clapped him on the back.
“Why does that matter?” Taemin returned quietly, dangerously. Taemin could tell these boys were all talk. “You still have not answered my question.”
The boy’s face turned red. He turned toward his friend and whispered urgently, gesticulating wildly in Taemin’s direction.
“Academy entrance exams,” a quiet boy said. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and even darker eyes.
Taemin addressed him. “What’s the Academy?”
The first boy scoffed. “Just what it implies, kid. An academy.”
The others snickered. Taemin merely regarded him silently.
“Don’t look at me like that, brat!” he shrieked. “You don’t belong here!”
The quiet boy spoke up. “The Academy won’t take you if you cannot behave yourself.”
“Please,” the first boy sneered, turning away. “They’d take me over a street rat any day.” But he seemed to take the quiet boy’s words to heart and didn’t say any more.
Taemin frowned. The tall boy glanced at him, folding his arms patiently.
“The Academy is a school under the Empire,” he explained quietly, once the tension had fallen somewhat. “They train future soldiers for the Empire. It is a great honor to serve.”
Taemin regarded him thoughtfully.
The boy shot him another meaningful glance. “The Academy is certainly not easy, but there is no cost for attendance,” he said almost nonchalantly.
Taemin was not stupid. He understood what the boy was implying. If Taemin enlisted in the Academy, he would likely have free shelter and food. His mother had been right; God had given him the answer to his problems.
“And all you have to do is pass the exam?” Taemin asked. The line shuffled forward.
The boy nodded. “Yes.”
“And what is this exam about?”
“Strategy,” he said at length.
“Strategy?” Taemin repeated, intrigued.
“Battle strategy,” he amended. “This is an academy for soldiers, after all.”
Taemin peered at the start of the line. There was a small table covered in papers, and behind it two men sat, asking questions and taking information on the recruits.
“There is a fee,” the boy said as they moved closer to the table, “to take the exam.”
Taemin’s heart fell. Of course there was.
The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a few bills and placed them in Taemin’s hand.
“Don’t fail the exam, alright?” the boy said. “Someday, you have to pay me back.”
“Thank you,” Taemin croaked, managing a weak smile.
“Name,” a man behind the desk called as they approached.
“Lee Taemin,” he replied curtly.
The man eyed him distastefully. “Do you have the fee?” the man sneered.
Taemin slid the money across the table. The man stared at him crossly for a moment, then took the money and inspected it in the light.
“Alright,” he said eventually, scribbling Taemin’s name on the top of the nearest packet of papers. He picked it up and handed it to Taemin. “Follow the arrows to the testing area.”
Taemin clutched the papers to his chest as he followed the path. It had been so long since he’d been in a building before that it felt almost foreign to him. The hall was brightly lit and decorated with colorful posters of advertisements and announcements. Everything was so pristine that Taemin was afraid to touch anything.
He entered a large room that was lined with tables and chairs and buzzing with activity. Several people were taking their exams, and every so often, someone would stand up and take their test to the head of the room, where several uniformed men sat, seemingly grading the exams.
Taemin took a seat at the back of the room, where he could watch the rest of its inhabitants. Several of the boys looked nervous and would tug at their collars or jerk their legs up and down anxiously. Others looked smug and confident as they lounged in their chairs and bubbled in their answers. But Taemin noticed how many of those boys left the grading table looking disappointed or angry; it far outnumbered those who had passed.
The girls, on the other hand, mostly appeared calm and thoughtful. Far more girls left the room looking happy than boys, though they had been few in number to begin with.
Taemin exhaled sharply and picked up a pencil. More than anyone else in this room, he needed to pass the exam. He had never felt so nervous in his life. He bowed his head and said a quick prayer, the first he had made in nearly seven years, before he began his exam.
Half an hour later, he brought his exam to the head table and waited anxiously as a man with short-cropped hair deposited his test in a mechanical bin and reviewed the results on a small computer.
After several long moments, the machine spit his exam back out, and the man scribbled something illegible in red pen at the top of Taemin’s paper before tossing it into a different bin.
“Congratulations and welcome to the Academy,” the man said dully.
Taemin’s heart soared.
The man pointed down the hall. “Follow the arrows to pick up your new uniforms. Report back here tomorrow at 0600 hours wearing your uniform and holding all of your belongings. If you are late, your acceptance will be rescinded, and we will leave without you.” He shuffled some papers in what seemed to be a dismissal.
Taemin turned slowly, and he could have sworn his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He’d been accepted! As he followed the arrows back down the hall, he could barely keep his excitement inside. There would be no living on the streets and scrounging for food anymore. He had made it.
--
That night, Taemin did not sleep. Though there were considerably less people living on the streets here, Taemin could not discard his ingrained instinct to protect what had now become his. He snuck into a local gym after it had closed and used the showers to scrub the street off of his skin with a used bar of soap he’d found on a sink.
Taemin felt liberated as he peeled off layers of dirt and grime, layers of hunger and pain that echoed for years under his skin. His skin was raw by the time he was done, but Taemin had never felt so clean before.
He took his switchblade then, and held it to his face, staring at himself in a foggy mirror wiped off hastily with his arm. He grabbed a chunk of his shaggy hair and sawed through it, tossing the clump into a trash bin and grabbing another section. It was almost therapeutic the way he cut it; he felt like a new person as he shaved off the past seven years of misery. And when he was done, he ran his head under the water and washed the messy, uneven chunks of his hair with what little soap he had left.
He donned his uniform almost reverently in the end, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he knew he was looking at a new, better person, and he smiled, the first real smile he had worn in nearly seven years.
--
Naturally, Taemin was the first to arrive at the building, having no home to return to, before the sun had even thought of rising, and before anyone from the Academy had arrived. He sat restlessly against the brick wall and entertained thoughts on his new life for hours before the first soldier came.
He was thin at the waist, with broad shoulders and dark hair framing his face, and he was lugging a box around in his arms. He set the box down in front on the building and wiped at his eyes tiredly, shooting Taemin an astonished glance, clearly in awe of Taemin’s utter awareness at such an early hour.
“It’s a little early to be here,” the man called to him.
“That’s okay,” Taemin said. “I had the time.”
The man hummed in acknowledgement. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Lee Taemin.”
The man grinned and crouched down to rifle through the box he had carried with him. After several moments, he tugged out a packet of papers and brought it over to Taemin.
“Since you’re here and all,” the man said with a grin.
Taemin looked over it thoughtfully. His name was printed on the top, and below it read all the facts of his life. Height: 175 cm. Weight: 47 kg, underweight, recommended to gain weight. Date of Birth: July 18, 2413.
Taemin skimmed through the rest of his information and flipped the page. It was his class schedule and room assignment. His own room.
The air shifted as someone stood before him. He turned to look and found the tall, quiet boy from the day before, looking impeccable in his pressed uniform. There was a packet of papers in one hand and his other was wrapped around the strap of his backpack.
“So you made it,” he said softly.
Taemin nodded his head. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
The boy smiled. “You look better,” he commented, then sat down beside Taemin. He reached over and ran his fingers through Taemin’s choppy hair. “You should probably trim this though.”
Taemin smiled back sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess.”
The boy peered at the papers clutched in his hand. “Lee Taemin.” He paused. “You’re pretty young,” he said off-handedly.
Taemin bowed his head.
“I’m Choi Minho,” he said, holding out his hand. Taemin took it awkwardly, and Minho shook it firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Taemin-sshi.”
And then he settled in next to Taemin and watched silently as more cadets wandered toward the building, where two soldiers, including the one from before, had set up a table and were handing out papers.
Two hours later, Taemin was squeezed into a bus seat next to Minho and heading toward the Academy. His heart was beating erratically in his chest.
“You’re nervous,” Minho said quietly. At Taemin’s nod, he continued, “It’s not so bad. It’s kind of like primary school.”
Taemin bit his lip.
“Did you-”
“I did. It’s just-I don’t want to mess it up.”
Minho’s warm hand fell onto his shoulder. “You won’t. If you got in here, it means you have potential. No matter what, everyone who attends the Academy gets a spot in the armed forces.”
Taemin nodded. “I guess.”
“If-if you ever need anything,” Minho murmured, gazing out of the window, “you can come to me.”
Taemin’s heart clenched. “T-thank you,” he stuttered.
Minho’s lips curved into a smile.
--
Taemin’s roommate was a slender, eccentric boy by the name of Kim Kibum.
“You’re cute,” was the first thing Kibum said to him as he leaned against the doorway and eyed Taemin, who sat on his bed in reverence.
Taemin glanced up, startled, and bowed his head respectfully. “Hello,” he responded politely.
Kibum smiled and approached him, tossing his bag onto the vacant bed. From up close, Taemin could see his charming smile and smooth, nearly flawless skin as he wrapped his arms around Taemin affectionately. Taemin stiffened in his arms, wary and suspicious, but Kibum merely widened his smile and squeezed.
He pulled back and examined Taemin with a critical eye, then said, “We’re going to have to cut your hair.”
Taemin’s lips thinned as he tried to smile back weakly, but Kibum had turned away and moved toward the other bed, riffling through his bag. He extracted a pair of scissors and a comb and beckoned Taemin closer.
“I’ll trim it for you,” Kibum said as he laid out a plain white t-shirt on the floor. He pointed to the shirt. “Sit.”
Taemin was wary to let Kibum anywhere near him with a sharp object but sat down obediently on the floor in front of Kibum, who tugged on his uniform until Taemin slipped off his jacket and tie. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to take his shirt off, but Kibum didn’t say anything.
Kibum ran his hands gently through Taemin’s hair and began to cut, pausing periodically to inspect Taemin’s head from different angles.
Taemin took the opportunity to observe their surroundings. Their room was very small and plain. There were two twin-sized beds with plain white regulation sheets and pillow on either side of the room. Between them, there was a waist-height bookshelf filled with textbooks and a lamp on the top, and directly across from the beds, on either side of the door, there were two small desks and chairs.
“My name is Kim Kibum,” the other boy said.
Taemin’s head jerked in surprise, and Kibum sharply tapped his head with the scissors, his bracelet tinkling against his wrist.
“Stay still,” he warned.
“Sorry,” Taemin murmured quietly. “I’m Lee Taemin.”
“You look young,” Kibum said offhandedly. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Taemin said quietly, suddenly nervous. They didn’t have an age limit, did they?
Kibum looked at him incredulously for a moment before returning to his hair. “They’re just robbing the cradle these days,” he muttered. “When’s your birthday?”
Taemin bit his lip. “July.”
“Oh,” Kibum said, suddenly happier. “That’s not too far off.” He gently brushed the nape of Taemin’s neck with the back of his fingers. “I’ll have to get you something.”
Taemin’s heart was pounding in his chest, pushing against his ribcage erratically. Kibum was already so friendly with him; it was actually like having a friend.
“You can call me hyung,” Kibum said, “since I’m older than you.” He paused.
“Okay,” Taemin acquiesced meekly.
There was a long, comfortable silence. It felt almost relaxing the way Kibum ran the comb through his hair, followed by his fingers, and trimmed the tips of his hair.
“Are you excited?” Kibum asked nonchalantly.
“I don’t know,” Taemin admitted. “I’m really new to this.”
Kibum nodded his head. “Well, they’re not going to make us do much today. There’ll be orientation and tours and stuff.”
Taemin nodded. Kibum tapped his head again.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Tomorrow, they’ll assign you to a squadron,” he said. “No matter what you do and where you go, it’ll be with them.”
“Is it random?” Taemin asked quietly.
“Not exactly,” Kibum said. “They put you in a group with people on your skill level, based on your score from your entrance exam.”
“And then?”
Kibum smiled. “And then you train. It’s a balance between academics and tactical and practical exams. No one’s sure how long it takes to get promoted because it’s different depending on the progress of your squad. I heard the fastest anyone ever got out was a month and a half.”
Taemin’s mind was racing. He’d almost thought it would be easy.
“It may seem like a lot,” Kibum continued as if he had read Taemin’s mind. “But the Academy is the quickest way to the top. When you get out, you either enter the ground forces or you go up.”
“Up?” Taemin asked curiously, tilting his head back to look at Kibum.
Kibum leaned toward him conspiratorially, smiling. “To space.”
Taemin looked at him blankly. “To space.”
“Have you lived under a rock all your life?” Kibum asked loudly, jerking Taemin’s head back around and running the comb through his hair. “The intergalactic fleet is the second tier of the armed forces.”
Taemin’s mind was whirling. He’d never even dreamed of going into space.
“But battle up there isn’t the same as down here, you know?” Kibum said off-handedly.
“Of course,” Taemin agreed numbly.
Kibum continued, “I’ve heard they’ve got this huge spaceship where they send cadets for training. Wouldn’t it be so cool?”
Taemin nodded, then winced as Kibum smacked his head again. “Yeah,” he agreed sullenly.
“Well!” Kibum cried loudly. “You better hope you get a good squadron then. It takes all brains to get up there, you know? Not like the ground forces. It’s the group effort that gets you to the top.”
He set the scissors down and buried his fingers in Taemin’s hair, ruffling it erratically.
“That’s better,” he said in satisfaction. He brushed off Taemin’s back and shoulders and tilted his head at Taemin. “Don’t you think?”
Taemin glanced back at him incredulously, and Kibum laughed, reaching into his bag and pulling out a mirror.
It was shorter, naturally, and slightly wavy, but it still maintained that uneven look, granted it now looked styled instead of like it had been abused by a five year old with safety scissors.
“Thanks?” Taemin muttered, standing up.
Kibum laughed as he picked up the shirt and carried it to the trash bin. He shook out all the hair before he folded it neatly and placed it on his bed.
“Hey, you hungry?” he asked. “We could go check out the mess hall.”
Taemin’s mouth nearly watered. Hunger had become a constant presence for so long that he barely even registered it anymore. But he could eat now, couldn’t he? He wouldn’t have to dig around in waste bins or wait in line for soup that looked and tasted liked vomit.
“Y-yeah,” he said and fidgeted nervously.
Kibum just laughed again and hooked his arm in the crook of Taemin’s elbow, guiding him out of the door.
--
There were four other boys assigned to his squadron.
He was lucky enough to have tall and quiet Minho on his team. Minho was good at two things: being quiet and noticing things others would not. Taemin felt soothed by his presence, having been the first person to welcome him unabashedly.
Fortunately, or unfortunately (Taemin hadn’t decided yet), Kibum was also assigned to his team. He was unusually clingy and was constantly touching Taemin with appraising hands.
Their squad leader was the eldest, and for the longest time Taemin attributed his age as the only reason why. He was notorious by the name Onew, but it took little prying for Taemin to find his real name was Lee Jinki. Beyond that, there was little commonly known about his background, except that he’d been one of two cadets in the history of the Academy to achieve a perfect score on their entrance exams.
The first had been their general.
Naturally, because of this, many people tended to have high expectations of Onew, but Taemin had been largely disappointed when he observed him. On Tacticals, Onew was nearly flawless in execution. He always made the right decisions at the right time, and he did it all with a smile.
But on Practicals, Onew was their weak spot. He was clumsy and absent-minded, and though they sometimes wanted to fault him for it, Onew also possessed an easy-going, friendly nature that made him difficult to dislike.
The fourth boy was Kim Jonghyun, a charming and talkative cadet who was apparently Onew’s roommate. He got on fantastically well with Kibum and seemed to be particularly close to Onew.
Jonghyun had been at the Academy the longest, entering at nearly the same age as Taemin. It had been little to do with any flaw on his part that he’d been around so long (the Academy would have discarded him by then, had that been the case). Jonghyun had returned to the Academy to specialize in medicine nearly a year after he’d graduated, two months after his first squadron died in battle.
It had been Jonghyun’s second deployment, and they’d been sent to neutralize a rebellion factor in the south. But the rebellion fought with all they had: outdated and messy weapons that the empire had long ago done away with.
The rebellion had launched a mortar over the empire’s defenses, and the explosion had immediately killed Jonghyun’s squadron. Jonghyun had only survived because he’d been in the medical tent, nursing a wound caused by stray shrapnel. Survivors guilt, they called it, when he’d been nearly inconsolable. Jonghyun reentered the Academy two months after that.
Taemin, as their fifth member, was the smallest and the youngest. He had an affinity for physical combat, and though his physique had hardly been cultivated, he was quick on his feet and usually thought two steps ahead of his opponent, evading those who were all muscle and threw hard punches.
They worked well together, though they were initially awkward and unsure of how to behave around each other.
When they first met each other, it was in a simulation room they used for their first practical exam. The five of them had shuffled around somewhat nervously, except for Kibum who clung onto Taemin’s arm like a lifeline.
“I’m Lee Jinki,” Jinki finally said, bowing his head politely. “I’m supposed to be the leader.” And then he smiled nervously.
Jonghyun nudged him in the ribs. “Hey, leader-sshi,” he joked before turning to the rest of them and introducing himself.
Kibum tilted his head to the side. “Jonghyun. That’s an interesting name.”
Jonghyun took it in stride. “Yours any better?” he asked smartly.
“Kibum,” the other boy said. “Obviously, it’s magnificent.”
Jonghyun laughed. “Obviously. And the kid you’re clinging to?”
Taemin opened his mouth to answer, but Kibum cut him off, tugging him forward and displaying him like an object at show-and-tell.
“This is Taemin, my roommate,” he said proudly.
Taemin bowed his head nervously.
“He’s so cute!” Jonghyun exclaimed, moving forward to squish Taemin’s cheeks.
Kibum smiled indulgently. “Isn’t he?”
Minho cleared his throat awkwardly. Taemin shot him a pleading look.
“Choi Minho,” he introduced quietly.
They shared glances and bowed their heads respectfully, unnerved by his placid behavior.
“Well,” Jinki said awkwardly. “I guess we’re a team now, aren’t we?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We’ve got a minute and a half to mission start. You guys ready?”
Taemin looked suddenly nervous. “What do we have to do?” he asked quickly.
Jonghyun squealed in delight, squishing his face again. Taemin struggled to get away.
Behind Jonghyun, Jinki smiled and answered, “They don’t tell us beforehand. It’s all about quick-thinking.”
“Nothing too hard,” Minho assured quietly.
Jinki nodded in agreement. Taemin glanced around the room quickly. It was unnerving because it was completely empty despite its enormous size. The walls were a blank gray, and for some reason it made Taemin sad to see.
Beside him, Kibum was commenting on Jonghyun’s earrings. Minho was leaning against the wall silently, appraising the room with a critical eye. Jinki was biting his lip and periodically glancing at the time.
“Time,” Jinki said almost off-handedly, just as a panel opened on the wall next to Minho.
Inside, there were several helmets of varying sizes. Jonghyun, despite being the farthest away, was the first to grab his and put it on excitedly, followed closely by Kibum.
Taemin approached them reluctantly, plucking up an average sized helmet and securing it over his head. Nodes immediately attached to his forehead, and a screen fell over his eyes. It was completely dark.
“Don’t freak out,” Jinki soothed next to him. “It’s only for a second.”
There was a shuffling sound, and then a clear, monotone voice called into his ear, “Mission start.”
The blank, empty room dissolved immediately, and a dense green forest appeared before them-all around them, Taemin discovered upon inspection. He was in awe. When he breathed, he could smell the fresh dew and the scent of nature, and the trees and the foliage had texture beneath his fingers; he’d never expected the simulation to be so real.
They were no longer wearing their school uniforms, either. Instead, they donned camouflage uniforms, similar to the colors of the forest around them.
When he raised his hand to his head, he touched his hair. It seemed like they weren’t wearing the simulation helmets anymore. Taemin’s stomach dropped. It meant they had no control over the simulation.
His vision was distorted suddenly by words scrolling in front of his face.
Mission Objective: Capture the flag
“Alright guys,” Jinki said easily, and his voice echoed in Taemin’s ear. “It’s probably smaller than it looks, considering it probably has to stay within the bounds of the room.”
“The problem is finding the flag,” Kibum said, clucking his tongue.
“Maybe it’s on the other side?” Jonghyun offered.
“It’s probably in the middle,” Kibum retorted.
“That would be too easy,” sniped the other boy.
“Logically, once we get too deep,” Jinki said, “we wouldn’t know how far the ‘middle’ is.”
Jonghyun grumbled under his breath. “Fine, let’s go in then.”
Jinki took the first step forward, then promptly tripped over his own feet and fell onto his face. Kibum rushed toward him and kneeled down.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” he shrieked.
Jonghyun laughed and pat his shoulder reassuringly as he passed. “Don’t worry. He does that all the time.”
Kibum stayed crouched next to Jinki as their leader struggled to his feet. He smiled somewhat reassuringly down at Kibum.
“Let’s not waste time,” Minho said quietly as he followed Jonghyun. Jinki blushed and stumbled over his feet as he moved to follow.
Taemin snuck his switchblade out of his pocket and moved toward the closest tree. He ran his fingers over it and after deciding it felt very much real, he carved a large “x” on the trunk. He was surprised to see his knife actually cut into the bark. The simulation couldn’t be real.
“Taemin-ah!” Kibum called. “What are you doing?”
Taemin shook his head and turned around. “It’s nothing,” he said as he approached the older boy. “I just thought I’d mark our path, in case we get lost.”
Kibum’s face was blank. Then, he smiled and embraced Taemin. “That’s so clever!”
“Thanks?” Taemin frowned and waited for Kibum to release him.
“Let’s stick together, Taemin-ah!” he cried happily.
Taemin wiggled out of Kibum’s arms. “Okay,” he said quickly, before Kibum could pull him back.
Kibum smiled and interlocked their arms before tugging him after the others.
“This place is like a maze,” Jonghyun muttered. He was leading the group, wading through waist-high grass and ducking beneath branches and foliage. Taemin stopped periodically to mark trees along their path, marveling over the engravings.
An eerie, stifling silence cloaked the area, making them all uneasy. They hadn’t encountered anything beyond the foliage for several minutes, and Taemin’s stomach began to flutter nervously.
Then, two things happened in quick succession: there was a flash in front of their eyes, the words, Disability: Kim Jonghyun, blinking across their vision, and Jonghyun cried out and fell to the ground.
Kibum quickly disentangled himself from Taemin and rushed forward at a crouch. “I thought this was supposed to be a simulation!” he hissed angrily.
When Taemin made it to them, Jonghyun was lying on the ground, writhing in pain, and Kibum’s hands were squeezing his thigh, stifling the blood that poured down his leg, matting his pants thickly. He watched them, horrified. This was only a simulation, but what simulation could cause actual wounds?
Jinki pulled Jonghyun’s head into his lap, running his hands through his hair and murmuring reassuringly.
Minho crouched next to Jonghyun and peeled Kibum’s hand away briefly to inspect the wound. “Laser wound,” he assessed quietly. “Clean cut. Looks like it grazed him. Maybe only a centimeter in.”
“You call this just a graze?” Kibum hissed angrily. His hands were stained with blood.
Taemin kneeled down next to them. “This is just a simulation,” he muttered in disbelief. “Right?”
“It seems it’s far more advanced than we expected,” Jinki said.
Jonghyun cursed, back arching in pain. “Fuck, we have to keep going.”
“With you disabled like this?” Kibum asked incredulously. “You’ll bleed out.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Jonghyun hissed. “Hold the pressure. We’ll need to wrap it up.”
Jinki brushed Jonghyun’s forehead and ordered firmly, “Minho, Taemin, grab some leaves. We’ll need to make gauze before we wrap him up.”
They hurried to obey, snatching up the closest leaves with quick fingers. Minho piled them up while Taemin shrugged out of his jacket. He slipped his switchblade out of his pocket and used it to saw through the arm.
Kibum was reluctant to pull his hands away, but Jonghyun cursed at him loudly until he relented. Minho quickly applied their makeshift gauze, and Taemin wrapped his leg with the arm of his uniform and tied it tightly, ignoring Jonghyun’s hiss of pain.
“Give me a second,” Jonghyun moaned, breathing deeply.
They waited for several minutes while Jonghyun regained his senses, Jinki brushing his hair soothingly. Kibum was frantically wiping his hands on his pants.
“I don’t want to do this,” Kibum said eventually, wringing his hands. They were still stained red.
It was Taemin who spoke up. “We have to,” he said. “Think about it. Our helmets are gone. We can’t just take them off and be done with the simulation.”
“It’s probably the Academy’s way of making sure we complete it,” Minho added.
Kibum’s lips thinned into a frown.
“We have to find the flag,” Taemin told him. “Finding it means the end of the simulation.”
“Fine,” Kibum snapped.
“Okay,” Jonghyun said after a moment. “Let’s go now.”
Kibum and Minho immediately moved to his side, picking up his arms and wrapping them around their necks as they hauled him to his feet.
Jinki stood up. “Magnae,” he called to Taemin. “Follow me.”
Taemin and Jinki took the lead, eyes scanning their surroundings fervently, as Kibum and Minho helped Jonghyun, who was limping between the two of them.
“Think about it, Taemin,” Jinki said quietly. He hissed as a branch scrapped against his arm. “Where do you think the flag is?”
Taemin thought about it for a moment. “If they added a disability, it must mean we were going in the right direction, and they wanted to slow us down.”
There was silence.
“So you think we’re close?” Kibum asked.
“Yeah, probably.”
“This seems too easy,” Kibum said.
Jonghyun made a strangled noise. “Yeah, except for the wound in my thigh!”
Kibum looked sheepish. “Besides that,” he amended.
“Wait,” Taemin said, suddenly stopping. “The trees are thinning.” He squinted. “It looks like there’s movement up ahead.”
Jinki gnawed at his lip and glanced back at the trio. “You three, stay here. We’ll look ahead, just in case.” He beckoned to Taemin, who dropped into a crouch and followed Jinki.
They approached the edge of the forest slowly, brushing aside the foliage to peer out into the enclosure.
Their vision suddenly distorted, and a series of words scrolled in front of them.
Obstacle: Enemy Encampment.
Jinki cursed. “There’s the flag,” he said, pointing ahead.
Taemin had to squint to find it. It was in the center of the camp, surrounded by patrolling soldiers.
“So how do we get it?” Taemin asked, kneeling on the floor.
Jinki bit his lip. “We can’t bring Jonghyun in,” he said quietly.
Taemin nodded. “Our disability.”
“Neither can we leave him alone,” Jinki continued. “We’ll bring Kibum with us. He’s smaller than Minho, less noticeable.”
“And the strategy?”
“Hug the tents,” Jinki said. “We’ll use them as cover.” He squinted. “It looks like they might be carrying weapons. We might be able to steal some from them.”
There was a shuffling noise behind them, and they spun around. It was the rest of the squad.
Kibum tapped his forehead. “We got the message too.”
Jinki relaxed, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Alright, I’ve got an idea then. Kibum, Taemin, and I will go in. We’ll start a distraction. Minho, you and Jonghyun hug the trees. When you see an opening, go in and take the flag.”
Jonghyun hesitated. “Maybe I should sit this out.”
Jinki shook his head. “Everyone needs to be a part of the mission for it to be a success.”
“I’d just get in the way,” Jonghyun insisted.
“No,” Jinki said. “When you were shot, they called it a disability, not an elimination, which means you’re still a part of this squadron, and you still have to help.”
“I’ll mess up! I can’t do anything with this leg!”
“Of course you’ll mess up,” Jinki said tactlessly. Jonghyun winced. “That’s the point of your disability. They’re probably expecting you to sit out. And then either a complication arises, or we get points docked off. If this were a real mission, we couldn’t leave you behind. We’re a squad for a reason. Everyone has a part.”
They paused.
“Alright,” Jonghyun said eventually.
Jinki nodded. “We’ll need to get weapons first. Minho, you’ll need to steal one for the both of you. Jonghyun-” He paused. “Jonghyun, I want you to take the flag.”
Jonghyun bit his lip but nodded. Minho was stoic beside him.
“Alright, let’s go.” Jinki dipped out into the enclosure.
Kibum and Taemin slid out after him, staying low as they moved toward the first tent.
“I count eleven,” Jinki whispered when they made it. He peeked around the corner. “There’s one alone by the front of the tent. We need to lure him over here.” He frowned. “Stay here.”
“Jinki, wait-”
But Jinki had already stepped out into the open. He stood still for a moment, then moved toward the other tent, stumbling over his feet as he did and nearly falling flat on his face. Taemin couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose. He froze suddenly, glancing toward the center of the enclosure before diving back toward Kibum and Taemin.
“What-”
Jinki raised his finger to his lips, back against the tent. They stood still for a moment. Jinki’s arm jerked out suddenly. Kibum and Taemin shared a puzzled look, but then Jinki tugged forward harshly, swinging a soldier behind the tent.
Jinki punched him in the face. The soldier looked more surprised than anything, gun lax in his hands. Then he scowled and raised his gun, opening his mouth to call out.
Kibum promptly jabbed his fingers into the man’s pressure point. He wavered for a movement, looking confused, before he collapsed on the floor, unconscious.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Taemin hissed.
Kibum smiled in grim satisfaction as he kneeled down and plucked the gun out of the man’s hands. “My uncle was a pilot for the Empire. He taught me basic combat.” He inspected the weapon. “Laser gun,” he concluded.
“Nice work,” Jinki said, kneeling down beside him. He searched the man for other weapons, discovering a switchblade in his pocket and a stunner tucked into his waist.
He handed the stunner to Taemin. “You two cover me. I’m going to start a distraction. Take out as many as you can.”
Kibum bit his lip. “Are you sure-”
“Trust me,” Jinki said, tossing him a lopsided smile. “You’ll just have to make sure I make it out, right?”
Kibum looked like he wanted to say something, but Jinki had already slipped around the corner of the tent toward the flag. Taemin cursed and went in the opposite direction, feeling Kibum follow him quietly.
They made it to the front of the tent and peeked around the corner, watching Jinki run out into the open and catch the attention of several guards. They shouted and gestured at Jinki, who froze and ran in the opposite direction, luring them after him. Taemin and Kibum raised their guns, aiming carefully.
Kibum was the first to fire, tugging on the trigger angrily and catching several soldiers in the chest. Taemin stumbled to follow, though it seemed the stunner didn’t work as well at long distances. It did, however, slow their progress, leaving them open to Kibum and his angry rampage.
At one point, Jinki tripped over his feet and fell onto his face just as a laser beam shot through the area in which he had just stood. Kibum scowled and shot down the soldier as Jinki struggled to his feet.
By the time they realized it was a trap, six soldiers had fallen, and three more had opened fire on Kibum and Taemin. They dipped behind the tent for cover.
Kibum stared at his gun. “There are only four more charges,” he said with a frown.
Taemin glanced out toward the flag. “Jonghyun’s making a run for the flag,” he said quickly. “We have to cover him.”
Kibum exhaled once and nodded, turning back around to fire at the enemy. Too concerned with Kibum and Taemin, the soldiers didn’t notice Jonghyun limping toward the flag, half-carried by Minho, who held a laser gun tightly in his free hand.
Jinki popped up behind the enemy, firing at their backs. He missed several times, hitting instead the tent that currently shielded Taemin and Kibum.
“What the hell is he doing?!” Kibum shrieked angrily.
“I think he’s trying to help,” Taemin said, breathing heavily as he crouched next to him.
“Helping,” Kibum scoffed. “What kind of leader shoots at his own people?” Kibum pulled on his trigger twice, striking a soldier in the chest.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Taemin said.
His vision flickered once, then went black.
“Fu-”
Mission Success
The screen lifted, and the nodes released. They were back in the empty room, arms raised and clenched around-
Their hands were empty. He glanced around. They were no longer wearing camouflage. Taemin’s sleeve was perfectly in tact, and Jonghyun’s leg was no longer bloody.
Jonghyun was holding a strange machine in one hand, and his other arm was wrapped around Minho’s neck.
Taemin struggled to remove his helmet. The others followed. Jonghyun was looking down at his leg incredulously.
“It was all in the simulation?”
Jinki approached him and wrapped his fingers around Jonghyun’s wrist.
A man cleared his throat behind them. They turned to look at him. It was the same man who had given Taemin his papers, the one with broad shoulders and narrow waist.
“Instructor!” Jinki cried, stumbling to salute the older man.
The man gave him a wry smile. “Congratulations,” he said in his smooth voice. “You’ve successfully passed your first practical examination. Squad leader, you will receive an official report by 2100 hours.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You all have approximately six minutes to make it to your first class.”
“W-what about my leg?” Jonghyun asked.
The instructor glanced down at it. “It seems to be in perfect condition.”
“No, I mean-” Jonghyun looked frustrated. “I felt the laser wound. How could it have not been real?”
“The simulation units induce neuron firings in your brain,” the man explained with a bored expression. “As far as your brain was concerned, everything that happened was very much real. Realistically, well-” He grinned. “You guys were running around here and interacting with thin air. You now have five minutes. Good day, cadets.”
--
They attended all their classes together. They ate all their meals together. They took all their exams together. Everything they did beyond sleeping was with each other.
And of course Taemin hadn’t known it at the time, but their practical exams were for more than just practice. They measured not only individual talent but also how well group members worked together. Jinki had told them their squad had been awarded outstanding points in team effort and cooperation.
For the first time in a long time, Taemin found himself caring about things he’d never concerned himself with before. His life on the streets seemed a lifetime ago. Sure, he would never forget what he had been, but he used it as motivation to work harder. If he made something of himself, he wouldn’t have to go back to that.
He found friends in his squad, who doted on him affectionately. Kibum was always putting extra food on his plate even if Taemin was full. Jonghyun was always helping him improve his fighting even when he was aching from their combat sessions and dying to tumble into bed. Jinki was always slipping him the answers to their homework even if Taemin had done it already and insisted that cheating wasn’t going to benefit either of them. Even quiet and stoic Minho, the only one who knew where he had come from, would sit by him for as long as he could and talk to him in his low, soothing voice about random things even when their curfew was quickly approaching, and Kibum was becoming increasingly irritated with the lack of attention.
Before he knew it, the Academy had become a home to him. Sure, he struggled sometimes, but it wasn’t so bad when he had his squad there to help him along the way.
part ii
Pairings: Taemin/Key, Jonghyun/Onew
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, violence, mild language
Word count: 14,000
Lee Taemin was fourteen when he enlisted in the Academy. He wasn’t book smart, like most cadets, but street smart, something he had to pick up from seven years of living off of scrap food and sleeping in a crate he’d marked as his own.
Taemin might have felt sorry for himself, but he’d been too busy trying to survive. In a way, the Academy had come as a gift. Life at the Academy was hard, but it sure beat living on the streets. At least Taemin never had to worry about his next meal or who might attack him and steal his home while he was sleeping.
Taemin had always been easily liked, and that helped him, both on the streets and in the Academy. People always felt sorry for the little kid who was weak, who couldn’t take care of himself. It was annoying, but Taemin had learned that it made things easier for him.
His mother had been a drunk and a whore, who sold her body on the very corner that Taemin had lived for nearly half of his life. Pregnancy ruined a prostitute, but she’d been unable to afford the hefty price of an abortion. Taemin would have liked to think she didn’t want him because she knew she couldn’t care for him, but he knew she hadn’t cared; she only worried that she couldn’t make a living, couldn’t buy her alcohol, if she was pregnant.
His mother had taken what money she had to the liquor store, prepared to flush him out of her body. A miscarriage was painful, but it left no physical marks, nothing that would deter potential customers.
It had been a nun who had saved Taemin’s life. She’d weaved stories of a magnificent being, one who could heal all wounds and fix all problems. She told his mother that if she denounced her old ways, this being would forgive her and purge her of her sins.
Taemin’s mother had never been intelligent, and in the end that was what saved Taemin’s life. She had not paused to think that this divine being was metaphorical and not a literal, breathing person who would ease her pain. She thought of enough food and alcohol to fill her small belly, of taking a warm shower, of sleeping in a warm bed and not against a cold brick wall or briefly in the back seat of some stranger’s car.
In a way, those dreams had been true. In the church, she had been fed and bathed and given warm clothes, but she had not met the “divine being” that the nun had spoken of. When she learned it was God, she felt cheated and betrayed. God could bring her nothing. God had not helped her when she was cold and hungry, when she was on her knees in some alleyway, pleasuring a man who would rather see her dead.
It had been several months before she realized the truth. By that time, she could not hide her pregnancy, and the nun had convinced her to stay and carry the fetus until term. She promised she would not stop Taemin’s mother from leaving afterward as long as she left the child in the care of the church.
The nun had always wanted a child, but she could not break her vows to God. This woman was nearly a blessing to her. She could save an innocent child from a life on the streets and keep it as her own without betraying God.
Taemin had been born on a dreary, cold July morning a month before his due date. His mother died three minutes later, snatched up by the cold hands of death as if for retribution of her past deeds.
The nun took him in as her own, named him after her brother, and nursed him with what little she had to give. She’d been the only mother he had.
Taemin had spent the first seven years of his life in the house of God, learning His ways. His adoptive mother hid nothing from him about his biological mother. She told him honesty was the way of God, and that if he followed His ways, God would save him. He spent the next seven years of his life thinking her a liar.
The church had burned down one day, lit afire by a group of hoodlums. His adoptive mother had been inside, helping the ailing and elderly priest escape the building. They had not survived.
She had no living family members and, having not expected her sudden death, had not prepared a will. Taemin had been tossed on the streets after all she had done to prevent it.
Taemin was nothing if not clever, and he quickly learned the way of the streets. He learned that no one could be depended upon, no one save himself, and only then for self-preservation. He learned that no one cared for the homeless and, if only to ease their consciences, ignored the children. People always assumed they had dug their own graves and were there for a reason: greed, sloth, addiction. But Taemin, who would never forget his adoptive mother, knew that the truth was always buried beneath the lies.
He was not the youngest on the streets, but he was certainly the most innocent, and he learned how to work that to his advantage. He could wheedle his way to the front of the line at the food bank, and no one would toss him off his feet. He could protect his little crate and bed of blankets with soft, pleading eyes, and no one would fight him for what little he had.
As he grew older, this worked for him less and less, and he soon had to learn how to fight to protect himself from the other children, who thought him an easy target. Physical fighting was not his forte, and it took him several losses to learn how to win.
There was no honor on the street, so Taemin learned to fight dirty and to take advantage of his opponent’s weak spots. He learned to either hide his belongings or be prepared to fight to keep them.
Taemin never traveled far from his rundown home. Leaving meant being replaced, for there was never a lack of new people to join them on the streets. When he was old enough, he would carry his belongings with him whenever he moved. He learned the hard way that leaving them unguarded for even a moment would result in their loss.
When he was fourteen, he grabbed all his belongings and walked away. It wasn’t much, only the clothes on his back, a small switchblade he’d stolen from a drunk he’d found passed out on the street, a blanket he’d had since he was a baby, and a picture he’d never relinquished over the years, a picture of him and his mother in front of the church that had once been his home. They were smiling in the picture, and his mother had held him in warm arms. Taemin could hardly remember ever being so happy.
He’d had enough of barely surviving, and a part of him remembered his mother and her soft voice telling him that God was his salvation and that faith in the Almighty would bring him happiness. He wanted so badly to believe her.
He’d been traveling for two days, scrounging out of trash bins and dumpsters for scraps, when he happened upon a delicious-smelling restaurant. He hadn’t been able to go inside, but the discarded food he found in the dumpster behind the restaurant had been the most delicious food he had ever had, even when he’d lived in the church.
Taemin had been feasting upon his find in the alley when he saw several boys run by, screaming to each other about being late. Taemin hid his belongings and followed them then, wondering over their embroidered uniforms and cleanliness. He’d only ever encountered dirty people, never anyone wealthy enough to live in actual homes and buy real food.
And he took that as a sign because he’d never wondered about much beyond his poor luck.
The boys had lined up across the street, tugging nervously at their ties and exchanging glances with many more nervous-looking boys and, scarcely, girls. Taemin, with no regard for his appearance, approached them. Several of them scrunched up their noses and eyed him with distaste, turning away from him and covering their noses with no discretion.
“What is this?” Taemin asked hoarsely. He rarely ever used his voice, not since his mother died.
The other boys turned their noses up. Some of the girls looked sympathetic.
“What do you care, urchin?” one of the boys sneered. Another boy clapped him on the back.
“Why does that matter?” Taemin returned quietly, dangerously. Taemin could tell these boys were all talk. “You still have not answered my question.”
The boy’s face turned red. He turned toward his friend and whispered urgently, gesticulating wildly in Taemin’s direction.
“Academy entrance exams,” a quiet boy said. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and even darker eyes.
Taemin addressed him. “What’s the Academy?”
The first boy scoffed. “Just what it implies, kid. An academy.”
The others snickered. Taemin merely regarded him silently.
“Don’t look at me like that, brat!” he shrieked. “You don’t belong here!”
The quiet boy spoke up. “The Academy won’t take you if you cannot behave yourself.”
“Please,” the first boy sneered, turning away. “They’d take me over a street rat any day.” But he seemed to take the quiet boy’s words to heart and didn’t say any more.
Taemin frowned. The tall boy glanced at him, folding his arms patiently.
“The Academy is a school under the Empire,” he explained quietly, once the tension had fallen somewhat. “They train future soldiers for the Empire. It is a great honor to serve.”
Taemin regarded him thoughtfully.
The boy shot him another meaningful glance. “The Academy is certainly not easy, but there is no cost for attendance,” he said almost nonchalantly.
Taemin was not stupid. He understood what the boy was implying. If Taemin enlisted in the Academy, he would likely have free shelter and food. His mother had been right; God had given him the answer to his problems.
“And all you have to do is pass the exam?” Taemin asked. The line shuffled forward.
The boy nodded. “Yes.”
“And what is this exam about?”
“Strategy,” he said at length.
“Strategy?” Taemin repeated, intrigued.
“Battle strategy,” he amended. “This is an academy for soldiers, after all.”
Taemin peered at the start of the line. There was a small table covered in papers, and behind it two men sat, asking questions and taking information on the recruits.
“There is a fee,” the boy said as they moved closer to the table, “to take the exam.”
Taemin’s heart fell. Of course there was.
The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a few bills and placed them in Taemin’s hand.
“Don’t fail the exam, alright?” the boy said. “Someday, you have to pay me back.”
“Thank you,” Taemin croaked, managing a weak smile.
“Name,” a man behind the desk called as they approached.
“Lee Taemin,” he replied curtly.
The man eyed him distastefully. “Do you have the fee?” the man sneered.
Taemin slid the money across the table. The man stared at him crossly for a moment, then took the money and inspected it in the light.
“Alright,” he said eventually, scribbling Taemin’s name on the top of the nearest packet of papers. He picked it up and handed it to Taemin. “Follow the arrows to the testing area.”
Taemin clutched the papers to his chest as he followed the path. It had been so long since he’d been in a building before that it felt almost foreign to him. The hall was brightly lit and decorated with colorful posters of advertisements and announcements. Everything was so pristine that Taemin was afraid to touch anything.
He entered a large room that was lined with tables and chairs and buzzing with activity. Several people were taking their exams, and every so often, someone would stand up and take their test to the head of the room, where several uniformed men sat, seemingly grading the exams.
Taemin took a seat at the back of the room, where he could watch the rest of its inhabitants. Several of the boys looked nervous and would tug at their collars or jerk their legs up and down anxiously. Others looked smug and confident as they lounged in their chairs and bubbled in their answers. But Taemin noticed how many of those boys left the grading table looking disappointed or angry; it far outnumbered those who had passed.
The girls, on the other hand, mostly appeared calm and thoughtful. Far more girls left the room looking happy than boys, though they had been few in number to begin with.
Taemin exhaled sharply and picked up a pencil. More than anyone else in this room, he needed to pass the exam. He had never felt so nervous in his life. He bowed his head and said a quick prayer, the first he had made in nearly seven years, before he began his exam.
Half an hour later, he brought his exam to the head table and waited anxiously as a man with short-cropped hair deposited his test in a mechanical bin and reviewed the results on a small computer.
After several long moments, the machine spit his exam back out, and the man scribbled something illegible in red pen at the top of Taemin’s paper before tossing it into a different bin.
“Congratulations and welcome to the Academy,” the man said dully.
Taemin’s heart soared.
The man pointed down the hall. “Follow the arrows to pick up your new uniforms. Report back here tomorrow at 0600 hours wearing your uniform and holding all of your belongings. If you are late, your acceptance will be rescinded, and we will leave without you.” He shuffled some papers in what seemed to be a dismissal.
Taemin turned slowly, and he could have sworn his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He’d been accepted! As he followed the arrows back down the hall, he could barely keep his excitement inside. There would be no living on the streets and scrounging for food anymore. He had made it.
--
That night, Taemin did not sleep. Though there were considerably less people living on the streets here, Taemin could not discard his ingrained instinct to protect what had now become his. He snuck into a local gym after it had closed and used the showers to scrub the street off of his skin with a used bar of soap he’d found on a sink.
Taemin felt liberated as he peeled off layers of dirt and grime, layers of hunger and pain that echoed for years under his skin. His skin was raw by the time he was done, but Taemin had never felt so clean before.
He took his switchblade then, and held it to his face, staring at himself in a foggy mirror wiped off hastily with his arm. He grabbed a chunk of his shaggy hair and sawed through it, tossing the clump into a trash bin and grabbing another section. It was almost therapeutic the way he cut it; he felt like a new person as he shaved off the past seven years of misery. And when he was done, he ran his head under the water and washed the messy, uneven chunks of his hair with what little soap he had left.
He donned his uniform almost reverently in the end, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he knew he was looking at a new, better person, and he smiled, the first real smile he had worn in nearly seven years.
--
Naturally, Taemin was the first to arrive at the building, having no home to return to, before the sun had even thought of rising, and before anyone from the Academy had arrived. He sat restlessly against the brick wall and entertained thoughts on his new life for hours before the first soldier came.
He was thin at the waist, with broad shoulders and dark hair framing his face, and he was lugging a box around in his arms. He set the box down in front on the building and wiped at his eyes tiredly, shooting Taemin an astonished glance, clearly in awe of Taemin’s utter awareness at such an early hour.
“It’s a little early to be here,” the man called to him.
“That’s okay,” Taemin said. “I had the time.”
The man hummed in acknowledgement. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Lee Taemin.”
The man grinned and crouched down to rifle through the box he had carried with him. After several moments, he tugged out a packet of papers and brought it over to Taemin.
“Since you’re here and all,” the man said with a grin.
Taemin looked over it thoughtfully. His name was printed on the top, and below it read all the facts of his life. Height: 175 cm. Weight: 47 kg, underweight, recommended to gain weight. Date of Birth: July 18, 2413.
Taemin skimmed through the rest of his information and flipped the page. It was his class schedule and room assignment. His own room.
The air shifted as someone stood before him. He turned to look and found the tall, quiet boy from the day before, looking impeccable in his pressed uniform. There was a packet of papers in one hand and his other was wrapped around the strap of his backpack.
“So you made it,” he said softly.
Taemin nodded his head. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
The boy smiled. “You look better,” he commented, then sat down beside Taemin. He reached over and ran his fingers through Taemin’s choppy hair. “You should probably trim this though.”
Taemin smiled back sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess.”
The boy peered at the papers clutched in his hand. “Lee Taemin.” He paused. “You’re pretty young,” he said off-handedly.
Taemin bowed his head.
“I’m Choi Minho,” he said, holding out his hand. Taemin took it awkwardly, and Minho shook it firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Taemin-sshi.”
And then he settled in next to Taemin and watched silently as more cadets wandered toward the building, where two soldiers, including the one from before, had set up a table and were handing out papers.
Two hours later, Taemin was squeezed into a bus seat next to Minho and heading toward the Academy. His heart was beating erratically in his chest.
“You’re nervous,” Minho said quietly. At Taemin’s nod, he continued, “It’s not so bad. It’s kind of like primary school.”
Taemin bit his lip.
“Did you-”
“I did. It’s just-I don’t want to mess it up.”
Minho’s warm hand fell onto his shoulder. “You won’t. If you got in here, it means you have potential. No matter what, everyone who attends the Academy gets a spot in the armed forces.”
Taemin nodded. “I guess.”
“If-if you ever need anything,” Minho murmured, gazing out of the window, “you can come to me.”
Taemin’s heart clenched. “T-thank you,” he stuttered.
Minho’s lips curved into a smile.
--
Taemin’s roommate was a slender, eccentric boy by the name of Kim Kibum.
“You’re cute,” was the first thing Kibum said to him as he leaned against the doorway and eyed Taemin, who sat on his bed in reverence.
Taemin glanced up, startled, and bowed his head respectfully. “Hello,” he responded politely.
Kibum smiled and approached him, tossing his bag onto the vacant bed. From up close, Taemin could see his charming smile and smooth, nearly flawless skin as he wrapped his arms around Taemin affectionately. Taemin stiffened in his arms, wary and suspicious, but Kibum merely widened his smile and squeezed.
He pulled back and examined Taemin with a critical eye, then said, “We’re going to have to cut your hair.”
Taemin’s lips thinned as he tried to smile back weakly, but Kibum had turned away and moved toward the other bed, riffling through his bag. He extracted a pair of scissors and a comb and beckoned Taemin closer.
“I’ll trim it for you,” Kibum said as he laid out a plain white t-shirt on the floor. He pointed to the shirt. “Sit.”
Taemin was wary to let Kibum anywhere near him with a sharp object but sat down obediently on the floor in front of Kibum, who tugged on his uniform until Taemin slipped off his jacket and tie. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to take his shirt off, but Kibum didn’t say anything.
Kibum ran his hands gently through Taemin’s hair and began to cut, pausing periodically to inspect Taemin’s head from different angles.
Taemin took the opportunity to observe their surroundings. Their room was very small and plain. There were two twin-sized beds with plain white regulation sheets and pillow on either side of the room. Between them, there was a waist-height bookshelf filled with textbooks and a lamp on the top, and directly across from the beds, on either side of the door, there were two small desks and chairs.
“My name is Kim Kibum,” the other boy said.
Taemin’s head jerked in surprise, and Kibum sharply tapped his head with the scissors, his bracelet tinkling against his wrist.
“Stay still,” he warned.
“Sorry,” Taemin murmured quietly. “I’m Lee Taemin.”
“You look young,” Kibum said offhandedly. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Taemin said quietly, suddenly nervous. They didn’t have an age limit, did they?
Kibum looked at him incredulously for a moment before returning to his hair. “They’re just robbing the cradle these days,” he muttered. “When’s your birthday?”
Taemin bit his lip. “July.”
“Oh,” Kibum said, suddenly happier. “That’s not too far off.” He gently brushed the nape of Taemin’s neck with the back of his fingers. “I’ll have to get you something.”
Taemin’s heart was pounding in his chest, pushing against his ribcage erratically. Kibum was already so friendly with him; it was actually like having a friend.
“You can call me hyung,” Kibum said, “since I’m older than you.” He paused.
“Okay,” Taemin acquiesced meekly.
There was a long, comfortable silence. It felt almost relaxing the way Kibum ran the comb through his hair, followed by his fingers, and trimmed the tips of his hair.
“Are you excited?” Kibum asked nonchalantly.
“I don’t know,” Taemin admitted. “I’m really new to this.”
Kibum nodded his head. “Well, they’re not going to make us do much today. There’ll be orientation and tours and stuff.”
Taemin nodded. Kibum tapped his head again.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Tomorrow, they’ll assign you to a squadron,” he said. “No matter what you do and where you go, it’ll be with them.”
“Is it random?” Taemin asked quietly.
“Not exactly,” Kibum said. “They put you in a group with people on your skill level, based on your score from your entrance exam.”
“And then?”
Kibum smiled. “And then you train. It’s a balance between academics and tactical and practical exams. No one’s sure how long it takes to get promoted because it’s different depending on the progress of your squad. I heard the fastest anyone ever got out was a month and a half.”
Taemin’s mind was racing. He’d almost thought it would be easy.
“It may seem like a lot,” Kibum continued as if he had read Taemin’s mind. “But the Academy is the quickest way to the top. When you get out, you either enter the ground forces or you go up.”
“Up?” Taemin asked curiously, tilting his head back to look at Kibum.
Kibum leaned toward him conspiratorially, smiling. “To space.”
Taemin looked at him blankly. “To space.”
“Have you lived under a rock all your life?” Kibum asked loudly, jerking Taemin’s head back around and running the comb through his hair. “The intergalactic fleet is the second tier of the armed forces.”
Taemin’s mind was whirling. He’d never even dreamed of going into space.
“But battle up there isn’t the same as down here, you know?” Kibum said off-handedly.
“Of course,” Taemin agreed numbly.
Kibum continued, “I’ve heard they’ve got this huge spaceship where they send cadets for training. Wouldn’t it be so cool?”
Taemin nodded, then winced as Kibum smacked his head again. “Yeah,” he agreed sullenly.
“Well!” Kibum cried loudly. “You better hope you get a good squadron then. It takes all brains to get up there, you know? Not like the ground forces. It’s the group effort that gets you to the top.”
He set the scissors down and buried his fingers in Taemin’s hair, ruffling it erratically.
“That’s better,” he said in satisfaction. He brushed off Taemin’s back and shoulders and tilted his head at Taemin. “Don’t you think?”
Taemin glanced back at him incredulously, and Kibum laughed, reaching into his bag and pulling out a mirror.
It was shorter, naturally, and slightly wavy, but it still maintained that uneven look, granted it now looked styled instead of like it had been abused by a five year old with safety scissors.
“Thanks?” Taemin muttered, standing up.
Kibum laughed as he picked up the shirt and carried it to the trash bin. He shook out all the hair before he folded it neatly and placed it on his bed.
“Hey, you hungry?” he asked. “We could go check out the mess hall.”
Taemin’s mouth nearly watered. Hunger had become a constant presence for so long that he barely even registered it anymore. But he could eat now, couldn’t he? He wouldn’t have to dig around in waste bins or wait in line for soup that looked and tasted liked vomit.
“Y-yeah,” he said and fidgeted nervously.
Kibum just laughed again and hooked his arm in the crook of Taemin’s elbow, guiding him out of the door.
--
There were four other boys assigned to his squadron.
He was lucky enough to have tall and quiet Minho on his team. Minho was good at two things: being quiet and noticing things others would not. Taemin felt soothed by his presence, having been the first person to welcome him unabashedly.
Fortunately, or unfortunately (Taemin hadn’t decided yet), Kibum was also assigned to his team. He was unusually clingy and was constantly touching Taemin with appraising hands.
Their squad leader was the eldest, and for the longest time Taemin attributed his age as the only reason why. He was notorious by the name Onew, but it took little prying for Taemin to find his real name was Lee Jinki. Beyond that, there was little commonly known about his background, except that he’d been one of two cadets in the history of the Academy to achieve a perfect score on their entrance exams.
The first had been their general.
Naturally, because of this, many people tended to have high expectations of Onew, but Taemin had been largely disappointed when he observed him. On Tacticals, Onew was nearly flawless in execution. He always made the right decisions at the right time, and he did it all with a smile.
But on Practicals, Onew was their weak spot. He was clumsy and absent-minded, and though they sometimes wanted to fault him for it, Onew also possessed an easy-going, friendly nature that made him difficult to dislike.
The fourth boy was Kim Jonghyun, a charming and talkative cadet who was apparently Onew’s roommate. He got on fantastically well with Kibum and seemed to be particularly close to Onew.
Jonghyun had been at the Academy the longest, entering at nearly the same age as Taemin. It had been little to do with any flaw on his part that he’d been around so long (the Academy would have discarded him by then, had that been the case). Jonghyun had returned to the Academy to specialize in medicine nearly a year after he’d graduated, two months after his first squadron died in battle.
It had been Jonghyun’s second deployment, and they’d been sent to neutralize a rebellion factor in the south. But the rebellion fought with all they had: outdated and messy weapons that the empire had long ago done away with.
The rebellion had launched a mortar over the empire’s defenses, and the explosion had immediately killed Jonghyun’s squadron. Jonghyun had only survived because he’d been in the medical tent, nursing a wound caused by stray shrapnel. Survivors guilt, they called it, when he’d been nearly inconsolable. Jonghyun reentered the Academy two months after that.
Taemin, as their fifth member, was the smallest and the youngest. He had an affinity for physical combat, and though his physique had hardly been cultivated, he was quick on his feet and usually thought two steps ahead of his opponent, evading those who were all muscle and threw hard punches.
They worked well together, though they were initially awkward and unsure of how to behave around each other.
When they first met each other, it was in a simulation room they used for their first practical exam. The five of them had shuffled around somewhat nervously, except for Kibum who clung onto Taemin’s arm like a lifeline.
“I’m Lee Jinki,” Jinki finally said, bowing his head politely. “I’m supposed to be the leader.” And then he smiled nervously.
Jonghyun nudged him in the ribs. “Hey, leader-sshi,” he joked before turning to the rest of them and introducing himself.
Kibum tilted his head to the side. “Jonghyun. That’s an interesting name.”
Jonghyun took it in stride. “Yours any better?” he asked smartly.
“Kibum,” the other boy said. “Obviously, it’s magnificent.”
Jonghyun laughed. “Obviously. And the kid you’re clinging to?”
Taemin opened his mouth to answer, but Kibum cut him off, tugging him forward and displaying him like an object at show-and-tell.
“This is Taemin, my roommate,” he said proudly.
Taemin bowed his head nervously.
“He’s so cute!” Jonghyun exclaimed, moving forward to squish Taemin’s cheeks.
Kibum smiled indulgently. “Isn’t he?”
Minho cleared his throat awkwardly. Taemin shot him a pleading look.
“Choi Minho,” he introduced quietly.
They shared glances and bowed their heads respectfully, unnerved by his placid behavior.
“Well,” Jinki said awkwardly. “I guess we’re a team now, aren’t we?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We’ve got a minute and a half to mission start. You guys ready?”
Taemin looked suddenly nervous. “What do we have to do?” he asked quickly.
Jonghyun squealed in delight, squishing his face again. Taemin struggled to get away.
Behind Jonghyun, Jinki smiled and answered, “They don’t tell us beforehand. It’s all about quick-thinking.”
“Nothing too hard,” Minho assured quietly.
Jinki nodded in agreement. Taemin glanced around the room quickly. It was unnerving because it was completely empty despite its enormous size. The walls were a blank gray, and for some reason it made Taemin sad to see.
Beside him, Kibum was commenting on Jonghyun’s earrings. Minho was leaning against the wall silently, appraising the room with a critical eye. Jinki was biting his lip and periodically glancing at the time.
“Time,” Jinki said almost off-handedly, just as a panel opened on the wall next to Minho.
Inside, there were several helmets of varying sizes. Jonghyun, despite being the farthest away, was the first to grab his and put it on excitedly, followed closely by Kibum.
Taemin approached them reluctantly, plucking up an average sized helmet and securing it over his head. Nodes immediately attached to his forehead, and a screen fell over his eyes. It was completely dark.
“Don’t freak out,” Jinki soothed next to him. “It’s only for a second.”
There was a shuffling sound, and then a clear, monotone voice called into his ear, “Mission start.”
The blank, empty room dissolved immediately, and a dense green forest appeared before them-all around them, Taemin discovered upon inspection. He was in awe. When he breathed, he could smell the fresh dew and the scent of nature, and the trees and the foliage had texture beneath his fingers; he’d never expected the simulation to be so real.
They were no longer wearing their school uniforms, either. Instead, they donned camouflage uniforms, similar to the colors of the forest around them.
When he raised his hand to his head, he touched his hair. It seemed like they weren’t wearing the simulation helmets anymore. Taemin’s stomach dropped. It meant they had no control over the simulation.
His vision was distorted suddenly by words scrolling in front of his face.
Mission Objective: Capture the flag
“Alright guys,” Jinki said easily, and his voice echoed in Taemin’s ear. “It’s probably smaller than it looks, considering it probably has to stay within the bounds of the room.”
“The problem is finding the flag,” Kibum said, clucking his tongue.
“Maybe it’s on the other side?” Jonghyun offered.
“It’s probably in the middle,” Kibum retorted.
“That would be too easy,” sniped the other boy.
“Logically, once we get too deep,” Jinki said, “we wouldn’t know how far the ‘middle’ is.”
Jonghyun grumbled under his breath. “Fine, let’s go in then.”
Jinki took the first step forward, then promptly tripped over his own feet and fell onto his face. Kibum rushed toward him and kneeled down.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” he shrieked.
Jonghyun laughed and pat his shoulder reassuringly as he passed. “Don’t worry. He does that all the time.”
Kibum stayed crouched next to Jinki as their leader struggled to his feet. He smiled somewhat reassuringly down at Kibum.
“Let’s not waste time,” Minho said quietly as he followed Jonghyun. Jinki blushed and stumbled over his feet as he moved to follow.
Taemin snuck his switchblade out of his pocket and moved toward the closest tree. He ran his fingers over it and after deciding it felt very much real, he carved a large “x” on the trunk. He was surprised to see his knife actually cut into the bark. The simulation couldn’t be real.
“Taemin-ah!” Kibum called. “What are you doing?”
Taemin shook his head and turned around. “It’s nothing,” he said as he approached the older boy. “I just thought I’d mark our path, in case we get lost.”
Kibum’s face was blank. Then, he smiled and embraced Taemin. “That’s so clever!”
“Thanks?” Taemin frowned and waited for Kibum to release him.
“Let’s stick together, Taemin-ah!” he cried happily.
Taemin wiggled out of Kibum’s arms. “Okay,” he said quickly, before Kibum could pull him back.
Kibum smiled and interlocked their arms before tugging him after the others.
“This place is like a maze,” Jonghyun muttered. He was leading the group, wading through waist-high grass and ducking beneath branches and foliage. Taemin stopped periodically to mark trees along their path, marveling over the engravings.
An eerie, stifling silence cloaked the area, making them all uneasy. They hadn’t encountered anything beyond the foliage for several minutes, and Taemin’s stomach began to flutter nervously.
Then, two things happened in quick succession: there was a flash in front of their eyes, the words, Disability: Kim Jonghyun, blinking across their vision, and Jonghyun cried out and fell to the ground.
Kibum quickly disentangled himself from Taemin and rushed forward at a crouch. “I thought this was supposed to be a simulation!” he hissed angrily.
When Taemin made it to them, Jonghyun was lying on the ground, writhing in pain, and Kibum’s hands were squeezing his thigh, stifling the blood that poured down his leg, matting his pants thickly. He watched them, horrified. This was only a simulation, but what simulation could cause actual wounds?
Jinki pulled Jonghyun’s head into his lap, running his hands through his hair and murmuring reassuringly.
Minho crouched next to Jonghyun and peeled Kibum’s hand away briefly to inspect the wound. “Laser wound,” he assessed quietly. “Clean cut. Looks like it grazed him. Maybe only a centimeter in.”
“You call this just a graze?” Kibum hissed angrily. His hands were stained with blood.
Taemin kneeled down next to them. “This is just a simulation,” he muttered in disbelief. “Right?”
“It seems it’s far more advanced than we expected,” Jinki said.
Jonghyun cursed, back arching in pain. “Fuck, we have to keep going.”
“With you disabled like this?” Kibum asked incredulously. “You’ll bleed out.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Jonghyun hissed. “Hold the pressure. We’ll need to wrap it up.”
Jinki brushed Jonghyun’s forehead and ordered firmly, “Minho, Taemin, grab some leaves. We’ll need to make gauze before we wrap him up.”
They hurried to obey, snatching up the closest leaves with quick fingers. Minho piled them up while Taemin shrugged out of his jacket. He slipped his switchblade out of his pocket and used it to saw through the arm.
Kibum was reluctant to pull his hands away, but Jonghyun cursed at him loudly until he relented. Minho quickly applied their makeshift gauze, and Taemin wrapped his leg with the arm of his uniform and tied it tightly, ignoring Jonghyun’s hiss of pain.
“Give me a second,” Jonghyun moaned, breathing deeply.
They waited for several minutes while Jonghyun regained his senses, Jinki brushing his hair soothingly. Kibum was frantically wiping his hands on his pants.
“I don’t want to do this,” Kibum said eventually, wringing his hands. They were still stained red.
It was Taemin who spoke up. “We have to,” he said. “Think about it. Our helmets are gone. We can’t just take them off and be done with the simulation.”
“It’s probably the Academy’s way of making sure we complete it,” Minho added.
Kibum’s lips thinned into a frown.
“We have to find the flag,” Taemin told him. “Finding it means the end of the simulation.”
“Fine,” Kibum snapped.
“Okay,” Jonghyun said after a moment. “Let’s go now.”
Kibum and Minho immediately moved to his side, picking up his arms and wrapping them around their necks as they hauled him to his feet.
Jinki stood up. “Magnae,” he called to Taemin. “Follow me.”
Taemin and Jinki took the lead, eyes scanning their surroundings fervently, as Kibum and Minho helped Jonghyun, who was limping between the two of them.
“Think about it, Taemin,” Jinki said quietly. He hissed as a branch scrapped against his arm. “Where do you think the flag is?”
Taemin thought about it for a moment. “If they added a disability, it must mean we were going in the right direction, and they wanted to slow us down.”
There was silence.
“So you think we’re close?” Kibum asked.
“Yeah, probably.”
“This seems too easy,” Kibum said.
Jonghyun made a strangled noise. “Yeah, except for the wound in my thigh!”
Kibum looked sheepish. “Besides that,” he amended.
“Wait,” Taemin said, suddenly stopping. “The trees are thinning.” He squinted. “It looks like there’s movement up ahead.”
Jinki gnawed at his lip and glanced back at the trio. “You three, stay here. We’ll look ahead, just in case.” He beckoned to Taemin, who dropped into a crouch and followed Jinki.
They approached the edge of the forest slowly, brushing aside the foliage to peer out into the enclosure.
Their vision suddenly distorted, and a series of words scrolled in front of them.
Obstacle: Enemy Encampment.
Jinki cursed. “There’s the flag,” he said, pointing ahead.
Taemin had to squint to find it. It was in the center of the camp, surrounded by patrolling soldiers.
“So how do we get it?” Taemin asked, kneeling on the floor.
Jinki bit his lip. “We can’t bring Jonghyun in,” he said quietly.
Taemin nodded. “Our disability.”
“Neither can we leave him alone,” Jinki continued. “We’ll bring Kibum with us. He’s smaller than Minho, less noticeable.”
“And the strategy?”
“Hug the tents,” Jinki said. “We’ll use them as cover.” He squinted. “It looks like they might be carrying weapons. We might be able to steal some from them.”
There was a shuffling noise behind them, and they spun around. It was the rest of the squad.
Kibum tapped his forehead. “We got the message too.”
Jinki relaxed, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Alright, I’ve got an idea then. Kibum, Taemin, and I will go in. We’ll start a distraction. Minho, you and Jonghyun hug the trees. When you see an opening, go in and take the flag.”
Jonghyun hesitated. “Maybe I should sit this out.”
Jinki shook his head. “Everyone needs to be a part of the mission for it to be a success.”
“I’d just get in the way,” Jonghyun insisted.
“No,” Jinki said. “When you were shot, they called it a disability, not an elimination, which means you’re still a part of this squadron, and you still have to help.”
“I’ll mess up! I can’t do anything with this leg!”
“Of course you’ll mess up,” Jinki said tactlessly. Jonghyun winced. “That’s the point of your disability. They’re probably expecting you to sit out. And then either a complication arises, or we get points docked off. If this were a real mission, we couldn’t leave you behind. We’re a squad for a reason. Everyone has a part.”
They paused.
“Alright,” Jonghyun said eventually.
Jinki nodded. “We’ll need to get weapons first. Minho, you’ll need to steal one for the both of you. Jonghyun-” He paused. “Jonghyun, I want you to take the flag.”
Jonghyun bit his lip but nodded. Minho was stoic beside him.
“Alright, let’s go.” Jinki dipped out into the enclosure.
Kibum and Taemin slid out after him, staying low as they moved toward the first tent.
“I count eleven,” Jinki whispered when they made it. He peeked around the corner. “There’s one alone by the front of the tent. We need to lure him over here.” He frowned. “Stay here.”
“Jinki, wait-”
But Jinki had already stepped out into the open. He stood still for a moment, then moved toward the other tent, stumbling over his feet as he did and nearly falling flat on his face. Taemin couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose. He froze suddenly, glancing toward the center of the enclosure before diving back toward Kibum and Taemin.
“What-”
Jinki raised his finger to his lips, back against the tent. They stood still for a moment. Jinki’s arm jerked out suddenly. Kibum and Taemin shared a puzzled look, but then Jinki tugged forward harshly, swinging a soldier behind the tent.
Jinki punched him in the face. The soldier looked more surprised than anything, gun lax in his hands. Then he scowled and raised his gun, opening his mouth to call out.
Kibum promptly jabbed his fingers into the man’s pressure point. He wavered for a movement, looking confused, before he collapsed on the floor, unconscious.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Taemin hissed.
Kibum smiled in grim satisfaction as he kneeled down and plucked the gun out of the man’s hands. “My uncle was a pilot for the Empire. He taught me basic combat.” He inspected the weapon. “Laser gun,” he concluded.
“Nice work,” Jinki said, kneeling down beside him. He searched the man for other weapons, discovering a switchblade in his pocket and a stunner tucked into his waist.
He handed the stunner to Taemin. “You two cover me. I’m going to start a distraction. Take out as many as you can.”
Kibum bit his lip. “Are you sure-”
“Trust me,” Jinki said, tossing him a lopsided smile. “You’ll just have to make sure I make it out, right?”
Kibum looked like he wanted to say something, but Jinki had already slipped around the corner of the tent toward the flag. Taemin cursed and went in the opposite direction, feeling Kibum follow him quietly.
They made it to the front of the tent and peeked around the corner, watching Jinki run out into the open and catch the attention of several guards. They shouted and gestured at Jinki, who froze and ran in the opposite direction, luring them after him. Taemin and Kibum raised their guns, aiming carefully.
Kibum was the first to fire, tugging on the trigger angrily and catching several soldiers in the chest. Taemin stumbled to follow, though it seemed the stunner didn’t work as well at long distances. It did, however, slow their progress, leaving them open to Kibum and his angry rampage.
At one point, Jinki tripped over his feet and fell onto his face just as a laser beam shot through the area in which he had just stood. Kibum scowled and shot down the soldier as Jinki struggled to his feet.
By the time they realized it was a trap, six soldiers had fallen, and three more had opened fire on Kibum and Taemin. They dipped behind the tent for cover.
Kibum stared at his gun. “There are only four more charges,” he said with a frown.
Taemin glanced out toward the flag. “Jonghyun’s making a run for the flag,” he said quickly. “We have to cover him.”
Kibum exhaled once and nodded, turning back around to fire at the enemy. Too concerned with Kibum and Taemin, the soldiers didn’t notice Jonghyun limping toward the flag, half-carried by Minho, who held a laser gun tightly in his free hand.
Jinki popped up behind the enemy, firing at their backs. He missed several times, hitting instead the tent that currently shielded Taemin and Kibum.
“What the hell is he doing?!” Kibum shrieked angrily.
“I think he’s trying to help,” Taemin said, breathing heavily as he crouched next to him.
“Helping,” Kibum scoffed. “What kind of leader shoots at his own people?” Kibum pulled on his trigger twice, striking a soldier in the chest.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Taemin said.
His vision flickered once, then went black.
“Fu-”
Mission Success
The screen lifted, and the nodes released. They were back in the empty room, arms raised and clenched around-
Their hands were empty. He glanced around. They were no longer wearing camouflage. Taemin’s sleeve was perfectly in tact, and Jonghyun’s leg was no longer bloody.
Jonghyun was holding a strange machine in one hand, and his other arm was wrapped around Minho’s neck.
Taemin struggled to remove his helmet. The others followed. Jonghyun was looking down at his leg incredulously.
“It was all in the simulation?”
Jinki approached him and wrapped his fingers around Jonghyun’s wrist.
A man cleared his throat behind them. They turned to look at him. It was the same man who had given Taemin his papers, the one with broad shoulders and narrow waist.
“Instructor!” Jinki cried, stumbling to salute the older man.
The man gave him a wry smile. “Congratulations,” he said in his smooth voice. “You’ve successfully passed your first practical examination. Squad leader, you will receive an official report by 2100 hours.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You all have approximately six minutes to make it to your first class.”
“W-what about my leg?” Jonghyun asked.
The instructor glanced down at it. “It seems to be in perfect condition.”
“No, I mean-” Jonghyun looked frustrated. “I felt the laser wound. How could it have not been real?”
“The simulation units induce neuron firings in your brain,” the man explained with a bored expression. “As far as your brain was concerned, everything that happened was very much real. Realistically, well-” He grinned. “You guys were running around here and interacting with thin air. You now have five minutes. Good day, cadets.”
--
They attended all their classes together. They ate all their meals together. They took all their exams together. Everything they did beyond sleeping was with each other.
And of course Taemin hadn’t known it at the time, but their practical exams were for more than just practice. They measured not only individual talent but also how well group members worked together. Jinki had told them their squad had been awarded outstanding points in team effort and cooperation.
For the first time in a long time, Taemin found himself caring about things he’d never concerned himself with before. His life on the streets seemed a lifetime ago. Sure, he would never forget what he had been, but he used it as motivation to work harder. If he made something of himself, he wouldn’t have to go back to that.
He found friends in his squad, who doted on him affectionately. Kibum was always putting extra food on his plate even if Taemin was full. Jonghyun was always helping him improve his fighting even when he was aching from their combat sessions and dying to tumble into bed. Jinki was always slipping him the answers to their homework even if Taemin had done it already and insisted that cheating wasn’t going to benefit either of them. Even quiet and stoic Minho, the only one who knew where he had come from, would sit by him for as long as he could and talk to him in his low, soothing voice about random things even when their curfew was quickly approaching, and Kibum was becoming increasingly irritated with the lack of attention.
Before he knew it, the Academy had become a home to him. Sure, he struggled sometimes, but it wasn’t so bad when he had his squad there to help him along the way.
part ii