They tell him to wait for package arrival at a docking station between the capital and a town that isn’t even on a planet map. Always force him to wear a half mask, too. It was either the mask or find a doctor who restructures his entire face so he won’t trip any sort of facial recognition software on Persephone. He thinks of the brand on his back and the phantom pain that always returns along with the threat. The fight for freedom does not end once you escape the first hands that hurt you. There is always someone that will try to take it if you’ll drop to your knees and give it up. His master simply has a new name.
He may not be trapped below ground in the mines or dancing for the rich and corrupt, but the shackles that keep him rooted in place as he waits for a ship grow tighter by the second.
Junhui stands straight, hood dragged up over his head. Sweat had begun to form on the skin underneath his mask. He breathes unevenly as the sun sinks below skyscrapers.
Someone taps his shoulder. He goes rigid.
His brow knits. Mostly bothered by the fact that the man is talking. The reciever of the package never talks to him. The reciever also never tells him to follow, sit in the back of a ship, and wait.
Recieve package from Kien. Arrive at location as quickly as possible. Deliver package. Return to headquarters. Rinse and repeat.
No one ever interrupts the job.
Junhui’s mind is already spinning with possible exit strategies. No windows. One door. He feels the mechanical whir of all five digits when he creats a fist and considers punching the man square in the face and running.
“Good by your standards.”
They smile and laugh like he made a good joke. Junhui feels sick at the sound and tries not to move away when they fold their arms on the table and lean close enough that he can see the fine hairs on their chin. They smell like the men and women of the Red Sea. Metal and dried blood.
“When did you get your eyes done?”
Sol stares down at his hands and says nothing.
“One blue and one green,” they murmur, taking his chin so they can tilt his face up. The grip is tighter than it should be and his jaw locks. “Like one of those Earth cats, before all the genetic modification shit really started-- like abnormalities are indecent and should be eradicated. No one can just be fucked up naturally anymore... anyway, are you deaf in one ear, or are they an asset?”
Junhui turns his head sharply from that grip and says nothing. The surgery he had been forced into when joining the Red Sea left him nothing but scars and eyes people attached their own assumptions to.
He tastes blood on his tongue when they backhand him.
“I asked you a question, Junhui.”
They smack him again, this time with a closed fist. Junhui blinks when his vision swings into blackness, blood running from a busted lip. A grip sinks into his collar and they drag him close.
“You’re a good person, and that’s the problem.”
“You should have cooperated with him.”
Kien dabs at his face with a wet cloth and Junhui hisses between his teeth with it burns.
“If you were there, you would have done the same thing.”
Kien’s brows shoot straight to his hairline and those wide brown eyes narrow on him.
“Refused to cooperate with a Red Sea assassin? I don’t think so, little man.”
Junhui barks a laugh and then regrets it when his entire face stings from smiling.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Kien stands and pops the cap back on an antibiotic. Junhui wets dry lips and tastes the dried blood there, dropping his eyes when Kien stares at him in silence, waiting.
“I know,” he aggrees, and then stresses “I know. Stop looking at me like a disapproved mom.” Kien slings an arm around his shoulder and smooches his cheek. All exaggerated movement and loud high pitched cooing in his ear that makes him laugh again.
The door to their sect slams open and they both immediately stand up straight. A woman eyes them from head to toe, gaze lingering on the healing bruises decorating Junhui’s face.
“You.” Junhui bites the inside of his cheek when she singles him out. No expression, cutting and cold. “Aloysius wants to see you.”
A cold click of a gun reverberates inside his mind and knocks against the back of his skull. He would remember that sound for years to come, and the sight on the floor that twists his stomach. He smells smoke even if the only only person in the room is not smoking, and taste rusts from cutting teeth into his cheek.
“All of this could have been avoided.”
His eyes sting, but he stares ahead at a point beyond Aloysisus’ shoulder even as they speak. Junhui watches them clip their gun back on their belt and step over the body crumpled against pavement. Even when Aloysius stands feet away from him, he feels like those gloved hands are cupping his cheeks. A deathly promise. He shivers when he thinks what that touch can do and grips the fabric of his own shirt until knuckles turn white.
“Tell me how it could have been avoided.”
Junhui’s mouth is dry. He hesitates and their fingertips barely brush the sides of his temples.
“Tell me,” Aloysius speaks far too softly for someone who shot another member over silence. Junhui feels his skin start to go ice cold, and then numb under their touch. A facet of Alo’s genetic modification controls body temperature. Junhui feels his skin run hot, and then cold enough to freeze each panicked thought stabbing through his mind.
“My...” he starts, but gasps from the pain and drops to his knees. Aloysius simply follows the movement, not letting go on his face even as Junhui’s eyes shut tight and he swallows a pained noise.
“Your,” they repeat, stroking his hair like a mother would to a sick child.
“My job,” he chokes back, tears starting to run down his face.
Aloysius’ hands leave his face, but the unnatural cold lingers. Junhui remains on the floor, catching a glimpse of Kien’s face streaked with fading bruises, skin a lifeless color. Aloysius pats the top of his head, and he flinches.
“Remember this next time you want to get a little bit creative, hmm?”
