◆ thats STILL a lot of cats…….
◆ i guess i am
◆ probably more worried about whoever else ur texting but
◆ what do u mean
◆ are u lonely or something
◆ damn man idk what to tell u
◆ what do u mean its just me????
◆ this is the first time ur dming me
◆ are u sure u dont hv me confused for someone else?
💬 DM | @ riotouschausie ○ ○ ○
◆ but thats just how cute u r
◆ im worried about them too
◆ im dming a lot of ppl!!
◆ haha do i look lonely i have a lot of friends
◆ doesnt mean anything in the end tho i guess
◆ ur the only person id call cute like this
◆ guess i am lonely
◆ i miss ,, , my bf
“leave me behind.” his voice is hoarse, hollow, stripped of its earlier confidence. if there was one thing seongwoo knew how to do, it was hype up a crowd. give the sort of speech people could believe in because people usually believed in him. but he’s let too many people down in the frenzied hours between leaving the training grounds and now, he’s stopped believing in anything.
god knows how many of his team members are still alive. bishop can still hear the screams of those who weren’t fast or clever enough to avoid their pursuers ringing in his ears, slack and waxy faces staring out at him every time he closes his eyes. he refuses to think of those people as hunters—and his team as prey—like this is some sick game they’ve been roped into playing, broadcast to the audiences of the nation.
( he’s not sure how long he can deny the truth ).
sucking in a deep, haggard breath, bishop presses his hand to his leg. it comes away warm and sticky, the metallic scent of blood filling the air around them. stupid, stupid of him; he let his guard down trying to get a young girl away from one of their pursuers and took a bullet to the leg for his efforts seconds before he saw her gunned down in front of his eyes. somehow, he’d managed to avoid going into shock and limped to safety to join the rest of his team while another group converged on the shooter, yelling war cries that chilling him to the bone. but the adrenaline has started to fade; now he can barely walk and he’s losing blood fast.
as much as it pains to admit it, seongwoo is a liability. if what’s left of his team tries to accommodate him, they’ll die. they’re still being chased like wild animals in a safari hunt. there are still countless obstacles ahead designed to slow them down. absolutely no version of this story ends happily: either he brings them down and they all die, or he sacrifices himself so they have a chance at making it to the end. immediately, he knows there’s no real choice for him: he would give himself up for these people in a heartbeat. he may not know them well, but he knows himself.
and he is not someone who climbs to victory on the corpses of others.
his teammate, the closest person he has to a second in command, stares at him with wide eyes. “you can’t—”
“i can.” seongwoo’s voice is filled with new resolve. this is what he has to do. this is who he is. “don’t worry about me; take care of the others.” his teammate shakes his head, and seongwoo grabs onto his shoulders and shakes him. “listen to me. listen. i need you guys to survive.” he grits his teeth but pushes past the pain shooting up his leg. seongwoo needs to say this. “i made a promise, okay? i made a promise to you all that you’d make it and i won’t be the reason you don’t.” when the time comes (and he can feel it approaching fast), seongwoo needs to be able to look his maker in the eye and tell him he did everything he could to be a good person.
his teammate is tearful and opens his mouth to say no, but seongwoo gives him a rough shove. “go.” and he’s both demanding and pleading. self preservation wins out and the remains of his team take off, with seongwoo watching them leave, his heart constricting. after a few moments, he tries to push himself up.
he’s ready to die, but that doesn’t mean he has to roll over and wait for it.
survival is a blur. seongwoo fakes dead for as long as he can, then crawls to safety, largely unnoticed. he tussles with a few more of the… hunters and picks up a few new injures (a bruised jaw, a broken hand, too many cuts too count), but he’s alive when he reaches sanctuary, only to be knocked out moments later. when he finally comes too again, a clinical voice informs him that he is one of the only people from his team to survive. they only allow him a moment with his grief before he’s thrust into a dark room, dizzy and disoriented.
the room brightens and the first thing he sees is a gun. seongwoo reaches for it in a daze, the cool metal odd and slimy in his palm. the note lying next to it says… ‘kill your opponent before they kill you.’ wait, that doesn’t sound right. that can’t be right. his grip on the gun tightens as he whips around to face whoever’s there with him.
but he nearly drops the gun when he sees who it is. “s-seongwoo?” the panicked, bloodless face of his second in command, his teammate, stares back at him, his own gun pointed at seongwoo’s head. the man’s hands are shaking so much the gun is blurry. tear tracks run down his cheeks, but he looks horrified to see seongwoo there. relief melts into shock and disgust when the significance of this sinks in. kill your opponent before they kill you. they want him to kill the only person left from their team? the team seongwoo was prepared to die for?
absolutely not. absolutely fucking not. a lump forms in his throat. he’s not going to kill someone. this isn’t even self defense like during their trials. they’re asking him to murder someone in cold blood. a person he knows, a person he cares about, a person who looks up to him—and seongwoo has done a lot of things he’s not proud of since this ordeal started, but he can’t sin this badly. thou shall not kill. he can’t do it he can’t do it he can’t do it.
his teammate starts to cry anew. seongwoo swallows and begins to slowly lower his gun. “hey, it’s okay. i’m not going—”
but his teammate pulls the trigger and seongwoo nearly screams as a bullet tears into his shoulder. on some kind of instinct (or just in confusion), he raises his gun and pulls—
his hands are shaking by the time he lowers his gun, the announcement informing him that he has passed. and no, no. he didn’t intended to pull the trigger he didn’t intended to kill—it was an accident. grabbing his bleeding arm, he limps over to the body of his former teammate and stares at the bullet lodged right in the middle of his forehead. no. no. no he can’t have—
nonetheless, though, saint is always happy to meet up with bishop. always. it’s easy to be relaxed and unguarded around him. so, in result, saint doesn’t put much to what he wears for the occasion. it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that a soft pink sweater and slightly ripped jeans make an appearance. it’s a normal saint look. a comfy one that he stands around in comfortably, waiting for bishop in their agreed upon rendezvous point. he’s a little late, and saint thinks about shooting him a text when the other saddles up beside him. his presence brings an instant smile to saint’s lips. it’s pleasing. easy.
“no, only a moment or two.” the mention of hair makes him think of his own. he hoped it wasn’t too crazy. he doesn’t remember if he stopped in the mirror to make sure it was behaving or not. “nothing too important. just piano.”
he really can’t keep his expression under control when he spots saint. bishop’s heard the jokes, of course. made a few of them when people are around too, referring to himself as saint’s ‘dad’ (and on one awkward occasion, ‘daddy’). he genuinely doesn’t mind; he likes the younger player and wishes the best for him. if bishop can help him avoid some of the mistakes he made when he was new to the game… then that’s time well spent. even if he can’t protect saint, he likes hanging out with him. only a few people put bishop completely at ease, and saint is one of them.
“hey, piano is important,” he says immediately. “what were you playing?” music is the one thing he has absolutely no talent in. well, not the only thing, but a huge thing. “and hey, i make a point to mention my hair and you don’t compliment me? dude, come on.” he nudges saint, laughing, only half-teasing. you know, he did spend some time on it. “like this: you look good, man. did you dress up for me?” again, teasing, but this time complete with sparkling, puppy eyes.
slinging an arm around saint’s shoulders, bishop leads the both of them out the complex. “so,” he begins casually, “a bishop and a saint walk into a bar—i’m kidding; we’re not going to the bar.” that would just feel weird, like taking a kid to a strip club or something. “i thought we could do something fun today, take our mind off things. sound good to you?”
“Get his hoodie off and shirt up? I mean, if I heard what went down here, I’d say we’re going to run into trouble. As effective as guns are, they’re not subtle. We’ll use this fabric to help keep pressure or at least keep you together until this is over.” The latter part of Apollo’s words are directed at Chariot, eyebrow curved. “Sound good?”
fuck, he thinks. fucking hell. bishop is supposed to be the observant one. the team leader type, the one to take care of others. and he dropped the ball on that, big time. with chariot too, the one person who bishop would want to protect the most out of everyone and he failed to notice he was injured. but there’s no time for bishop to beat himself up over it; apollo moves into action with asking questions about the wound and bishop stands behind him, stone-faced and trying really hard to keep it cool.
knuckles white, bishop retrieves his cylinder again and re-forms his weapons. “got it. just get him patched the best you can and we’ll move on—the sooner we get there, the better.” he turns around and casts an eye over the area. he can’t see or hear any mercs around, but they tend to travel in packs. where’s there one, there’s more, and bishop can’t afford to let them get a jump on the group right now.
he starts when apollo addresses him, nearly dropping his swords in surprise. “what? oh, right. just give me a second.” weapons lowered gently onto the ground, he shakes his head and reaches for chariot’s hoodie, guiding his arms out of the garment with as much care as he can manage. “sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” he mutters. not the first time he’s stripped a guy—not even the first time he’s stripped this guy—but he doesn’t have time to feel flustered about it. once the hoodie is off, he slowly rolls up chariot’s shirt so apollo can help stop the bleeding.
the patch up job is sloppy at best, but neither of them are professionals. all they need to get chariot on his feet for now. medical help can be sought out later. “if you’re feeling okay, let’s get going. lean on me, okay?” he tells chariot. to apollo, bishop gives a small smile. “thanks, apollo. you did good. really living up to the name, huh?” with that settled, they can finally move on—and continue their mission.
apparently, the last time was not a lesson learnt. bishop should stop trying to smuggle the cat (he’s still not calling it his) out of the complex and submit an official application to keep a pet already, but part of him still believes there’s a better home out there for the guy. the collective keeps its players in the lap of luxury, but all the money and comfort in the world doesn’t matter when they’re basically paid killers. does he want this epitome of cuteness, a tiny helpless life relying on him, to grow up in that sort of atmosphere? no way.
but it’s been three days and he’s already bought way too many cat toys, allowed it to shred his favorite shirts, and given it a name. its face, coloring, and eyes remind bishop too much of his boyfriend’s cat before… before blcktmpl happened. even though he knows it’s not the same animal, he’s lonely and desperate to cling onto any remnant of his past. so the kitten becomes ‘byeol’ even though he hasn’t decided to keep it yet—a temporary name, just for now. just until he finds someone who deserves it more.
“byeollie,” he whispers now, trying to convince the kitten to stay where he needs it to. the lump in his shirt makes it look like he has a beer gut, but they only need to manage like this for a couple more blocks. just far away enough from the complex that bishop can relax his guard. trying to buy cat food should not be this stressful, honestly, but he’s too worried about leaving byeol alone in his apartment to make the trip by himself. still, they’re doing pretty well. no scratches this time and byeol is somewhat better behaved—
“wait, byeol!” or not. the kitten takes a small tumble to the floor, then darts ahead of him. bishop immediately breaks into a run, desperate to get a hold of the guy before something terrible can happen. thankfully he’s fast and byeol is confused; he manages to scoop the kitten up with one hand a couple of seconds later—
and almost slams right into someone one. bishop has to execute a sloppy, frantic ballerina-style turn to avoid sending them both crashing to the ground, byeol probably crushed between them. “oh crap, sorry about that, man. that was all my fault.”
↪ the best cure is prevention
↪ so you went out without me?
↪ did you take any medicine?
↪ ah… you know how to control yourself bishop
↪ do you need someone to go hold your hair back?
💬 DM | @ shard27 ○ ○ ○
◆ bit 2 late for that my frien
◆ stayed in actually
◆ does a tequila shot count as medicine
◆ im having a day
◆ pls hold my hair while i die and rub my back
chase opens his mouth to answer him and at that very moment, a sound that reminds him of a cat meowing reaches his ears. it’s so close by that for a brief second, he wonders if he’s the one who made that noise. curious, chase glances at the other male who, eyes meeting his, meows at him. he meows. at him. like a cat. has the time spent in this hell of a close-off community messed with his head? “you look awfully still for someone in a rush,” the newbie notes matter-of-factly, faint smile across his lips. he’s trying to ease the growing tension between them and hopes it will work. he clears his throat, wondering if it’s a good idea to ask him what’s up. it might be the very thing that triggers a psychotic episode. clearly, the guy has some issues. “are you sure you’re okay?”
yeah, he’s acting out of character and yeah, this is weird. but bishop can’t afford to back down here. a small, innocent life is depending on his ability to act out of his ass and bullshit his way through the awkward situation he’s gotten himself into. he doesn’t know chase well and doesn’t trust him. therein lies the problem. with the candidates in this game, one can never tell when someone’s going to help you out and when someone’s going to stab you in the back. he’s fine with taking a hit, but this little guy can’t.
still, to meow at chase is weird and kinky in fifty different ways. bishop wishes he’d gone with a simple cough instead, something he could easily explain. like, meowing? really? what is he, five years old? “i… forgot how to walk,” he mumbles, then closes his eyes and winces. that sounds stupider than the cat noises. “sorry, that was dumb. i guess i’m kinda tipsy and i have no idea what i’m saying.” that definitely sounds believable. “don’t worry about me; i’m just… going home. straight—ow—home.” his face twists into an ugly grimace as he claws at his shirt. little guy scratched his nipple and hell it hurts. he tries to school his expression into something less crazy and gently shushes the cat, hoping he’s not giving too much away.
••• why didn’t you kiss me then?
••• at that point, who knows, i might have kissed you back
••• you were pretty cute, seongwoo-yah~
••• but always so shy
💬 DM | @ blckcat ○ ○ ○
◆ i dunno maybe i was a scardey cat
◆ that guy was nice tho
◆ idk what u are
◆ wait how the fuck do u kno w my name what the fuck are you a spy
while he’s indulging himself in his imagination, he sees bishop getting up out of the corner of his eye, and a thought pops into his head: lift bishop. as soon as he thinks it, he knows he has to try. if he can lift bishop, a person who’s nearly as strong as himself, that would really prove how strong he is. his size is probably equivalent to two small newbies… or something. perfect.
“hey bishop – c'mere for a sec,” he says as he stands up, unable to hide the grin spreading on his face as he rubs his hands together slightly.
alright, so he’s been trying to buff up recently, though for no real reason in particular except that he’s spending more time in the gym than normal. honestly, bishop doesn’t have a lot going on his life. he’s boring and is sure the collective sees that too. most of his hobbies are things he’s painfully average in, and he doesn’t want to exploit his friends to seem more ‘exciting’ in the eyes of the people watching. all that leaves him with is his body—and the gym is killing two birds with one stone. not only is he training to get stronger, he’s also giving the people something to watch.
but even with all his added training time, bishop still falls behind his workout buddy in terms of strength. cavalier has been the strong man in the complex as far back as bishop can remember. as an objective observer, bishop has spent way… way too long admiring his physique while working out alongside him (okay, mostly arms and ass, but who the hell hasn’t?) he’s both jealous and appreciative not just because of the aesthetic appeal. bishop wants to be strong enough to protect the people he cares about and he doesn’t feel like he’s quite there yet.
but cavalier pushes him to be better, even though he gets his ass handed to him all the time. when it comes to sit ups, bishop is only a couple behind by the time they both stop, huffing slightly. arms resting on his knees, bishop wipes his sweaty face with the bottom of his shirt and counts to ten. sure, he’s kind of tired, but cavalier doesn’t seem like the type to stop so quickly. he doesn’t want to disappoint and eyes the weights with a pensive expression. maybe he should lift? feels like he’s gotten stronger since the last time he worked out with them.
he pushes himself to his feet but doesn’t get far before he hears his name. bishop glances over his shoulder—and immediately pales. cavalier’s expression is… worrying. cav’s someone he trusts mostly because he thinks the other man is too harmless to do much damage, but that is extremely off putting. he turns around cautiously, narrowing his eyes but doing as cavalier says. “should i be worried?” bishop asks, keeping his voice light. “you look like you want to eat me.”
cavalier is rubbing his hands together like a sketchy cartoon villain. dude. “if you’re going to ask me to pull your finger or something, i’m familiar with the joke, okay?”
▲ …. i was half tempted not to reply to this but ///:
▲ never quote drake at me again what the fuck bishop
▲ idk. are we? are you? you seem out of it.
▲ are you drunk texting me right now out of a sense of guilt
▲ does it matter now? whatever it was, it’s whatever
▲ are you okay
💬 DM | @ tickboom ○ ○ ○
◆ passionate from miles away
◆ im jk i will put me buddy drank on hold for now
◆ drake
◆ ok 1. idk 2. idk 3. yes im drunk
◆ im actually not rlly ok i think i did somethin stupid
◆ im still sorry and i love u also save me
◆ idk this is just kinda sudden?
◆ ok but 50 cats is a LOT of cuteness to beat
◆ nothing a human could ever achieve
◆ u should probably get off ur phone if ur drunk lol
◆ ur gonna wake up tmr and regret this
◆ at least ur doing this to me and not some girl who might misunderstand
◆ or i mean a guy too i guess
◆ do u always call random people cute when ur drunk
💬 DM | @ riotouschausie ○ ○ ○
◆ ur right
◆ cuter than 49 cats then
◆ u worried about me??
◆ i cn live with regrets im used to it
◆ ........?..
◆ what if i wanted someon to misunderstand
◆ i dont know what else to do
◆ and is not random ppl just u
“We need to go. C’mon, we’ll talk as we walk.” Apollo says with a comforting pat to Riot’s back as he brushes past, cylinder activating once more. Bow in hand and cocksure strength in his step, the male is good at playing the role of flippant point-chaser, but it doesn’t count for much if nobody else feels the same. Facing the pair, the corner of his mouth turns up, warmth clear in his grin. “I hate to be that person, but you’re a lot more capable than you give yourself credit, injured or not. We’ll be fine. Right Bishop?”
he’s still damn worried about chariot and it takes a monumental amount of effort not to show it. bishop knows apollo’s noticed his concern, is maybe confused by it, but chariot is hurt. thankfully, it doesn’t seem too out of place. chariot will be fine, bishop tells himself. of course he can’t keep visions of a bullet taking him out from swimming behind his eyes but—if it comes down to it, bishop will just have to eliminate as many mercs as possible to keep them from coming after chariot.
he nods as apollo outlines the plan and activates his weapon. bishop’s own cylinder splits into two, twin swords light in his hands. “stay sharp,” he tells chariot, adding a quick, cocksure grin to say, we got this. goodbyes are rushed as the two groups split off, chariot in search of high ground and bishop and apollo making a beeline for the statues. half his mind wants to be with chariot, worrying over him, but he forces himself to compartmentalize and focus on the mission. “just like old times, huh?” he says to apollo,
[ some time later … ] ( tw: violence, death, murder )
bishop’s sword makes a squelching sound as he tugs it out of the man’s chest with both hands. sweat mixed with blood drips down his back in the nighttime heat, the stench of fear and decay clogging his nose. a cry comes from behind him and he whips around, scooping the other sword off the ground, and plunges both of them into another man’s heart. a shot fires off in the night and bishop buckles with a sudden, stinging pain in his leg bringing him to the ground. but the merc who lifts his rifle again is thrown back by a perfect shot from somewhere up above—thank god—giving bishop just enough time to force himself to his feet. his blades are a whirlwind of death, slicing a man’s face open, sinking into the neck of another.
but still the mercs keep coming. chariot and apollo are both covering him, but apollo’s grunts mix with his own as he engages with his own enemies. he knew it wouldn’t be easy, but this… wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, bishop spits (shit, it’s blood) and turns to face one of the final mercs. with a rifle pointed to his target’s head, he grins at bishop, broken teeth and a feral glint in his eyes. ‘you’re dead, kid.’ and for a moment, bishop genuinely thinks he is—until a bullet rips into the mercs shoulder and bishop leaps at him, not willing to let the momentary advantage go to waste. straddling the man’s torso, he doesn’t hesitate to smash one sword’s hilt against his head and use the other to slit the merc’s throat.
blood bubbles in the merc’s mouth as he struggles to say something, but the light fades from his eyes before he can. refusing to look away, bishop watches the whole thing… and with a start, he realizes he’s smiling.
the thought is jarring, terrifying. smiling, as if he’s enjoying himself, as if the blood and carnage and havoc he and apollo wrought here is something to be proud of. it scares him out of his fucking mind. the feeling of contentment, the electrifying high that comes with knows that he is not prey—not anymore.
bile forces its way up his throat. with shaky legs, he forces himself off the body and turns to apollo. dragging a hand down his face, dirt mixing with sweat and gore, he croaks out, “i think that’s the last of them for now—how are you holding up?” bishop’s body aches and burns at the same time, bruises splayed over his ribs, open wounds criss crossed over his arms from too many close calls. one of the mercs fucking headbutted him earlier and he’s pretty sure he has a black eye but—he’s still standing and that’s a victory.
“we should get to the statues quickly. you okay enough to touch them or should i? you’re quicker, but…” instinct tells him to do it himself, but bishop knows he’ll be slow and clumsy right now. “we won’t have a lot of time after the alarm goes off, so let’s get this done and get back to chariot.” bishop is surprised at how calm he manages to sound when he’s anything but—his hands are shaking and all he think is, fuck, let this end.
💬 grimreaper_: srsly??
💬 grimreaper_: that’s it?
💬 grimreaper_: you came all the way here to just say that??
💬 grimreaper_: wow…. what are you??
💬 grimreaper_: seven? ㅋ
…
💬 grimreaper_: you suck too btw
💬 DM | @ grimreaper_ ○ ○ ○
◆ im an adult
◆ also ur emeny
◆ thnk u
◆ im good at sucking
◆ :*
