It probably wasn’t the brightest idea for him to be WANDERING around on the streets in a black hoodie pulled over his head. If someone happened to spot him lurking around in the DARKNESS, he’d probably look like he was getting ready to ROB a place, which actually wasn’t too far off from what he was planning to do. Aiden needed information ––––– RELIABLE information that sometimes needed to be gathered in person. The problem with hacking was that not everything was digital. A great majority of people and companies used computer systems to store personal accounts and dirty skeletons but the occasional rare TARGET filed things on paper. Aiden thought that was impractical and stupid because this was the damn TWENTY-FIRST century. Hardly anything was analog anymore.
And so here he was, punching in the security code he decrypted for the building and was just about to pull open the door when he heard gravel crunching behind him. Shit, should he make a run for it? ❛ Who’s there? ❜ PERFECT –––––––– as if some good samaritain would answer such a suspicious person. Aiden turned his head away, fists clenching for a moment before taking off and GLANCING over his shoulder. Hopefully, he wasn’t being followed?
He’s the epitome of STREET RAT. Scum of the earth. Menace to society. You get the idea. He survives on whatever resources grimy dumpsters and oblivious citizens are willing to provide. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure! Or something like that. You learn a thing or two when living along the walls of abandoned warehouses or inside some convenience store. Firstly, wake up before the owner of whatever place you decide to crash in decides to open up shop. Second, the people. There are all kinds of different faces you meet. Some good, some bad. Some you don’t even meet at all. Just another human being you pass by during your day-to-day activities. Or in his case: steps towards survival.
Zero identifies this cloaked figure right away. One glance and you’ll know they’re up to something that’d get their ass in jail. It doesn’t help when they’re sporting clothes that scream look at me, I’m about to pull some badass shit! AMATEURS!
❝ Shouldn’t I be asking YOU that? It's kinda
late to be out and about, don’t cha think? ❞
❝ Am I sure? I’mean, if it makes you feel better than YEAH I’m pretty sure. ❞
It all starts off with a one tiny fib.
A middle aged woman and her two obnoxious children. Kid number one, a total brat, won’t stop throwing a tantrum over the fact his overprotective mother won’t let him kick around a few balls with the other kids. She rolls her eyes and hands him an object all the young kids nowadays do for fun– a book. HA! Now kid number two, he has a case of the sticky fingers. One finger up his nose, digging for gold, while his free hand roams around the playground in search of random shit to hide in his mother’s purse when she’s not looking. For y’know, safe keeping.
This is where Zero comes into play. The guy right beside him? A mere fellow citizen, misfortunate enough to stumble along Zero’s own string of lies and antics. He feigns distress, chapped lips pulling into a pout as he tattletales on kid number two for stealing his lighter, WHICH, may or may not be safely tucked away in his pockets. Informing the mother is a no-go, ‘cause look at her! Accuse her kids of theft and she’ll cause an unnecessary uproar along the lines of ‘my kids are angels, shame on you’! So then what does it come down to? Stealing her purse, that’s what! A guys gotta eat somehow!
❝ It’s only illegal if you get caught. ‘sides, I’m only taking back what’s mine, right? ❞
That’s how it all begins. Tension filling his bones, release filling his needs. Wicked temptations scratching at the side of his head, urging him to let go of his already little sense of control. His lighter is tucked within the safe confines of his decade old sweatshirt. It’s heavy. BURNING even. Threatening to explode right then and there if he didn’t hurry up with his FAKE deep stargazing ( minus the stars! ). He scans the area once, twice, three times until he’s sure there’s no one in sight. For once he starts, he won’t stop. Can’t stop. And by the time he snaps out of his own state of reverie, he’s hurriedly hightailing his ass out of the scene. Police sirens screeching over the crackling of his BEAUTIFUL flames.
But that’s his ideal escape plan.
And things don’t ALWAYS go as planned.
To say it got out of hand would be an understatement. They were HUGE. Before he knew it, the first floor was completely engulfed in flames. But it wasn’t about to stop there. It’s like they were playing a game of tag. Man versus flames of hell. Wherever he climbed, it would be there right behind him, albeit, at a much slower place. And that very thought excited him. It brought a sense of relief over his distressed mind. Waves of pleasure overtaking his fear. The lines of right and wrong becoming blurry the longer he stayed within the embrace of his own creation. He can’t leave. Not now. Not when his stress is lying in the depths of those flames, dissolving into nothing but the intoxicating air flooding his lungs. He has to watch this. He has to watch them perish. For only then would he be able to go about the rest of his night in peace.
The other man finds him with a goofy smile plastered on his features. ( And if he were a little more closer, he’d hear him giggling to himself too. ) Ears perking up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, he acknowledges the new figure with a mere nod of his head. A nod. Then a blink. Two blinks. And then he realizes: they’re fucked. He’s practically being dragged back and forth like a rag doll. All the way to the window sill, where the man wastes no time in climbing up. Zero’s quick to follow suit.
Call it a mothers instinct. Except he’s no mom. And his reaction lay more on the lines of initial fear than maternal instinct.
You see, he met an abandoned cat once. Actually, he’s met a ton of them while living out on the streets. BUT this particular one was different. Special. He or she ( Zero never found out its actual gender ) came crawling–LITERALLY– at the smell of his makeshift fire. And being the dog lover he is, he allowed for it to stay. You read that right: dog lover. But he doesn’t discriminate!
Fast forward to the next couple of days and the two are practically inseparable. The best of friends! And that’s what made this lone cat so special– it stayed. …Until it got ran over by a truck.
So now he’s doing what he couldn’t do before. He grabs its hand. The ‘it’ now being Gemini of course! While his free one is left to flick off the truck driver going 50mph instead of 35. MOTHERFUCKER!
❝ ’thas exactly what I’m doing. I was just, y’know, CURIOUS to see whose hand was softer.❞ Cue the fondling! ❝ Obviously mine. ❞
Picture this: you’re in the comforts of your own bedroom. Mom nowhere in sight. Dad nowhere in sight. Right hand shoved down the front of your pants. Laptop burning against your thighs with some raunchy porn video displayed on the dim screen. You’re a second away from getting to the good part too– THE RELEASE–when your mom decides to barge in right then and there, complaints about unwashed dishes at the tip of her tongue. Entire dictionary escaping her middle-aged brain because of the little… situation you and you’re not-so obvious friend is in. Cue the deer in headlights!
Now, apply that image elsewhere.
Instead of a bedroom, you’re in some run-down warehouse. Instead of your mom or your dad, it’s the six idiots you call family that you’re looking out for. Instead of pleasuring yourself physically, you’re doing so visually. Instead of some poorly directed porn video, you’re surrounded by ashes and ashes of destroyed cash. And instead of your mom? It’s Dead Boy in the flesh!
With you, caught red-handed, lighter in the palm of your hand and a burnt pile of cash that could’ve went to tonights dinner. Darn.
❝ …my lighter was possessed? THAT FUCKIN’ GHOST! I’knew I should’ve gone to an exorcist when I had the chance. ❞
TAGGED BY. @grimgott
TAGGING. @gvnius, @violetoile, @inchvate, @haestro, @wolfvesper, @chachari, @chastcness, @newblccd, @yugento, @bangyeong ( Sorry if you did this already! )
NAME. Yoon Daeyoung
NICKNAME(S). Zero
AGE. 21 (internationally), 23 (korean)
SPECIES. The FINEST piece of trash known to man.
» P E R S O N A L :
MORALITY. lawful / NEUTRAL / chaotic / GOOD / grey / evil
SINS. lust / GREED / gluttony / sloth / pride / ENVY / wrath
VIRTUES. CHASTITY / charity / diligence / humility / KINDNESS / PATIENCE / justice
PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE. At this point, all he wants to do is survive. Cliche, I know.
LANGUAGES KNOWN. Korean.
SECRETS. Just about his entire identity is a secret. Past self, present self. EVERYTHING!
QUIRKS. His unhealthy obsession with fire. He kinda, talks to himself. A lot. He’s been alone his whole life; he’s gotten used to having no audience. Send in 5000 won for pity!
SAVVIES. Fire, fire, and fire. Lack of security guards and cameras. Free food. Unattended bags. Empty shopping malls.
» P H Y S I C A L :
BUILD. slender / SCRAWNY / BONY / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / babyfat / pudgy / obese / other
HEIGHT. 176 cm (5′7″ ft)
WEIGHT. 47 kg (103 lbs)
SCARS/BIRTHMARKS. Self branded tattoo located on his right wrist; multiple burn marks along his arms
ABILITIES/POWERS. Pyrokinesis! He likes to run around and ‘create’ fire with his own tiny brain. ‘Course, his lighter kinda gives it away.
RESTRICTIONS. Using fire to inflict revenge or pain on others. He’s never done it ( actually, maybe once; ON ACCIDENT ). Doesn’t plan on it either.
» F A V O R I T E S :
FAVORITE FOOD. Anything. He’s always running on an empty stomach. Got no time to be picky. He’s allergic to pickles but he’ll gladly eat that shit up anyways if it meant getting SOMETHING into his system.
FAVORITE DRINK. Water. He doesn’t enjoy hot beverages. HA!
FAVORITE COLOR. Red, orange, yellow.
FAVORITE MUSIC GENRE. Hip-hop! He runs on that mindset that all the “cool” people listen to it.
FAVORITE BOOK GENRE. Picture books.
FAVORITE MOVIE GENRE. Action. Obviously.
FAVORITE SEASON. Summer. That’s when all the picnics happen. Translation for FREE FOOD.
FAVORITE CURSE WORD. Asshole, asshat, asscracker, assmuncher, asswad, asswipe, ASS, ASS, ASS
FAVORITE SCENT. The intoxicating smell of burning wood.
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