DAMNED

jang rowoon; the tower

[hyun-seong]

[imphansol-blog]

『 reaѕonѕ wнy 』

[arcrowoon]

archansol:

( ... )

    Since then, Hansol hasn’t been quite as cooperative when sidled with a partner, stubbornness causing him a detrimental streak of mission failures. A temporary suspension was placed for him as he reflected his own behavior, and Hansol had stormed out of the office seething with rage. Drowning in his thoughts, his feet had unknowingly led him to the training grounds. His fists clenched upon seeing a familiar figure, ugly emotions rearing within him as he glared from the sidelines at an individual that represented what he had. 

    “…Rowoon.”

He’s trying to be better, be nicer, be more considerate of others, be everything except the person he was raised to be. Ever since being brought to the arc, he’s done everything everyone and anyone has told him to do, no matter what the task, no questions asked if he could hold them in. What is right and what is wrong is something he can’t trust himself to judge. How could he -- when he still hears Father Seo’s voice every day, when the things he’s lived by all these years are supposed to be lies yet are still principles he believes in, when he still doubts God’s true words over those in the Red Book? Gone are the days he preached Father Seo’s prayers on the streets day and night and gone is the Rowoon that would do anything to make outsiders swear by them too. But what does that make the person that’s left?

No one in this place is like the family he had back then. He can’t say he trusts any of these people, is close to any of them, would die for any of them -- unlike how he would risk it all for any member of the community, regardless if they were his mother or a stranger that had only joined that day. In the arc there are people he’s paired up with, some more frequently than others, but in the training rooms that’s all they are to him: training partners. Of course some of them are more than that, his current one especially, considering that they were friends before crossing paths there, but in general, training isn’t a pleasant experience for him, and thus it’s preferred to keep the relationships separate when possible.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about those partners. Recently there’s been a rumor circling around about one in particular, entailing something about consecutive mission failures and a difficult personality, two things he never would’ve associated with Hansol. He’s been meaning to check up on him, but the other boy’s never there when he knocks on his door nor anywhere to be seen around the facility when he wanders.

Today he’s training solo, strengthening his endurance by determining exactly how many platforms he can create and testing his weight against each one, when he finally spots him out of the corner of his eye. As soon as he sees him, he dispels all of the constructs except the one he’s currently standing on a few feet above the ground and offers a smile, followed by a wide wave. “Hi, Hansol!”

More platforms are formed in succession as he runs up to greet him, but upon nearing his smile fades and he slows, stopping a few steps short of standing beside him, almost afraid to get any closer. “Um... are you okay? You don’t look okay...” He continues to look up at Hansol until he can’t bear the other’s stare any longer and shifts his gaze to their feet. “I was looking for you before. I heard about the rumors... Is there something wrong?”

[arcrowoon]

closer

[arcrowoon]

archyuna:

( ... )

“Rowoon, right?” It finally comes out and she’s got the biggest smile on her face. She scrambles to her feet to greet him properly, rocking a little bit between her heels and the ball of her foot, feeling the sand shift and move underneath. “Hyuna! I think … we might have trained together a couple times, haven’t we? You do the …” her hands are outstretched in front of her, palms vertical, as if against a flat surface. It’s a crude imitation of what she thinks are forcefields, but it’s better than saying it aloud with too many to hear around. “I have, y’know,” she nods her head towards the water, same reason, same tiny sort of subtly that she could muster.

“It’s nice having a place like this within reach of the compound but,” her gaze travels to his shoes, clearly not suited for sandy beaches, chuckling a little to herself, “you probably didn’t come here to swim, did you?”

Features that had winced in fear of mistaking the girl for someone else relax when she says his name, the corner of his lips quick to quirk up into a slight smile as confirmation. She stands before revealing her own and he rushes to get back on his feet to return her greetings, ducking his head down again only to lift his gaze to follow her hands, uttering a soft laugh when he realizes what she’s doing. “Yeah, I remember now. Sorry, it’s been a while.”

Right, Hyuna. It’s supposedly a common name, but she’s the only one he thinks he knows, and she’s definitely the only one he knows that can control water. Though there aren’t too many names and faces at the facility to recognize, training schedules aren’t consistent, and considering the fact that they aren’t paired up often, he doesn’t blame himself for forgetting her. What matters now is that at least he was able to remember, although It’s a little strange that he can’t seem to recall anything else besides the name and abilities she just gave. Either they never spoke outside of the training grounds, or his memory is worse than he thought, the former being most likely. The thought is pushed aside as she chuckles.

“Oh, this. Yeah...” He sets the item in question -- a pair of black running shoes the organization gifted him a couple months ago, now slightly worn -- in the dry spot they were just sitting in. “I just came to see what a beach is like. No one told me I was supposed to swim.”

No one had told him much of anything, really; just that it would be fun to go on a day like today, regardless if it was with a friend or alone. A few wandering steps forward is all it takes for his toes to reunite with the water, but he continues to tread until the tide wraps around his ankles when it stretches out. “Did you come here to swim?” He looks back to her, taking a brief glance down at the dress she’s wearing, unsure if she’s even able to go in the water in that kind of clothing. “Or did you come here to practice?”

[arcwonil-blog]

—pandemonium

[arcrowoon]

arcwonil:

( . . . )

“rowoon, listen to me.” eyes focused, breaths even. he needs to stay composed, he owes his teammate that much. “we can— no, we will get through this. but to do that i…” a pause, to confront his reality. their reality. “i have to turn into that.”

the bitter admittance leaving his mouth wasn’t intended to further fan their fears, but to confirm the evident danger of their current position. they don’t have the firepower to launch a counterattack, and he can’t risk rowoon going under further stress. it’s simple rationalisation perhaps, but he still hates that it had to come to this. 

“focus on protecting yourself. until it clears us a path, and once that happens, i’m trusting you to put a stop to it.” it’s unfair, he knows. but he doesn’t have time to supply a sufficient apology. “please.”

at their agreed cue, he runs out into the corridor. he doesn’t hesitate. he doesn’t think. ‘it’ doesn’t need to think; ‘it’ doesn’t need to fear. if sticks and stones can’t break its bones, then bullets sure as hell couldn’t. it’s an entrance that signals the cacophony of gunshots and agonised screams, shock and fear at the man that so readily switched into a beast. and that’s what they don’t know, that’s what they won’t understand. it’s not a switch that comes instantaneously — he’d never needed a switch, and that’s his secret.

he’s always angry. 

He’s not sure if he’s good and he’s not sure if he’s bad. What do those words even mean anymore anyway? Does the answer even matter? Everything is so confusing. It’s hard to believe that salvation will come through these missions, sneaking around places they’re clearly not meant to be in, hurting people that are just doing their jobs, getting away with it all under the guise of research that’s nothing but lies on top of lies. But when Wonil pats his shoulder and asks he forces a smile and nods, because regardless of what he thinks he knows he’s supposed to be good-- no, he has to be good. This is one of many moments they’ve been trained for after all.

Mongolia is another term he’s not sure about, another place out of many he has yet to experience, but there’s no time to appreciate the scenery when they’re in the middle of a mission. He tries to drown all of it out as he trails behind Wonil: the foreign words and faces surrounding them as they approach the compound, the structure they’re climbing right now, the fact that they’re not in the training room anymore, the fact that this time either of them could die if he messes up, the fact that he’s now responsible for both his and his friend’s life. He manages to maintain focus for the most part, thinking of nothing except supporting his partner as he follows his senses and guides them along, but an alarm blares and his dam cracks. All the worries come flooding in at once and he tenses amidst the tides, waiting to see what his partner will do, or what he’ll become.

No. The thought is instant. They’ve trained enough times that he knows what will happen next. His lips part as Wonil speaks, but the word never finds its way out. He’s too afraid to even tremble, more so shake his head or speak. That thing isn’t him; it’s a monster that consumes his soul. Every time it appears, Rowoon doesn’t know if he’ll ever see his friend again, and the worst part is that he has to torment the human to tame the beast.

Wonil keeps talking and eventually he snaps out of his trance and grabs him, seizing the other’s arm before he can do anything rash. “Wonil, I- I don’t want to hurt you again. I can’t.” Bullets click into place around them and dozens of barrels loom overhead. Armored guards barricade the corridor ends with steel and leer beneath uniform helmet visors. They’re all shouting obscenities his ears can’t understand and he can already feel the muscles beneath his palm swell. With nothing else to do, he drops his arm to his side and musters a quick “okay”, darting forward after Wonil.

As soon as the other moves he creates a field around them to block the bullets and makes haste to keep up with the beast. Rowoon is fast but it’s impossible to stay at its heels. He exchanges strength for size to compensate for the gap between them that grows wider with each step, not worrying about containing it just yet, nor preventing the guards from lunging through at them. Though it’s not something he likes working with, he’s fought with it enough times to know it won’t just ignore them.

Pairs and tuples of men fall at its feet with each passing moment, but he tries not to think about what he’ll have to do once the last gun has have ceased its fire and when the grounds will be stained with red. He keeps his eyes on the figure in front of him and breaks out into a sprint when it seems like he’s about to lose sight of it, trying to close at least some of the distance. When it turns a corner at the end of the passage, he compresses the force field into a shield to protect himself from the security firearms above and slams down a wall to block off the enemies still chasing from behind, picking up his earlier pace as soon as he’s done, praying that once he finds him -- the real him -- Wonil will be okay.

[arcrowoon]

closer

@archyuna

It’s nothing like the books, nothing like anything anyone could have said it’s like, nothing like any of his wildest dreams. Three steps past the edge and dirt that’s not quite dirt fills in his soles, gritting between his toes in a way his mind doesn’t know whether to like or dislike. He sinks a little with each stride, effort needed to move forward and break free of the mounds that dent beneath his weight and cut through the wind gusting against his skin. A young boy bumps into him as he runs past, smearing a small patch of white cream against his calf. A hand shields squinting eyes that watch him chase after friends, all barefoot, all donning the same reddish glow. Minutes later he follows suit and takes off his shoes, gasping as his soles burn and his toes disappear beneath the surface. Steps are now accompanied by shells attempting to pierce his callouses, but it’s far more comfortable than before.

Laughter is left behind and replaced by the crashing of waves against the shore. The dunes and shells disappear and what’s left is a surface similar to wet concrete, where he can look back and see his footprints leading to the spot he now stands -- though only for a moment, as the ocean rises to erase them every now and then. The next time the tide comes in he steps closer, letting the water surround his ankles and crash against his feet. A couple minutes is all it takes for all remnants of his path to be swallowed by the foam and it looks like he’s just appeared out of nowhere. The ground no longer hurts and the sea-filled air smells strongly of seaweed, heavy, yet also refreshing. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before, like being a stranger in a strange land all over again.

Amongst groups of what appear to be family and friends he’s alone, but he doesn’t feel sad. Wonil had told him people go to places like this alone all the time. Looking around unveils a few others that seem to have made the same decision, one having a face that seems somewhat familiar, though he doesn’t know for sure. It’s also uncertain if it’s okay to disrupt someone while they’re keeping to themselves like she is, but a moment of debate leads to him treading back to the water’s edge to where she sits, bowing once with a hesitant, “Hello,” before settling down beside her.

“Sorry for bothering you, but you look really familiar. Are you from ‘there’?” He clasps his palms together and lowers his head. “Again, sorry if this is strange. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

[arcrowoon]

oh little girl

@arcsora

Even after two years with these people, it’s still difficult to believe that these paranormal events that are constantly unfolding before him are actually happening. His existence in this maze feels like a twisted dream that impossible to wake up from, where he’s chased by figures he doesn’t know, through traps that seem more suited towards animals than people, and saved by invisible barriers he still apparently has the ability to create, only to learn that this was only the beginning.

Somehow it’s not surprising to see that the walls are able to move. The banging on the one he erected just moments ago ceases as he watches the enemies disappear behind metal, standing still, almost too afraid to breathe until the creaking stops. It’s only when he’s sure the shifting is over that he squeezes his eyes shut, taking a moment to clear his mind before wandering past one of the new doorways.

Despite being under a time limit, there’s no urgency in his steps. When he realizes there’s no more traps and no more footsteps chasing after him, he loosens his grip on the drawstring slung across his shoulder and lets himself savor the tranquility.

Truthfully, there’s no reason to fret when danger has yet to show itself. The director said there would be three stages of the evaluation; presuming that the recent change in scenery meant the first was done, the next challenge is bound to come soon. Even if he doesn’t look for it, he’s sure it’ll find its way to him. There’s a high-pitched cry for help in the distance, confirming his suspicions of impending threats. Nearing the end of the hall, his pace falters as he swallows the bundle of nerves that’s suddenly made itself present in his throat. There’s no such thing as failure in this trial, he reminds himself. He turns the corner. There’s no such thing as failure--

“Ah!”

As quickly as he steps into the next hall he stumbles back, fingers quick to latch around the wall’s edge. Snapping his eyes open doesn’t remedy the pounding in his chest, but it does elicit another exclamation, this time underlined more by relief instead of fear. “Ah. Sora. It’s you.”

He lets go of the wall and rubs his temples, trying to regain his composure. “Are you okay?“

[doublebf]

Angels Giving Hope 2016 Concert

HS_Hearted | do not edit.