The Hanes Enigma

Chapter Nineteen - Sanguineness

Min Yoongi

A metal gate clangs shut and I jump at the sudden sound reverberating into my eardrums. I lay my plastic tray of what is supposedly considered food on my usual table: that nearest the warden, and pray that it's a decent guard again today. I've been rather lucky for the past week, no corrupt guards in the food hall or rec room. So the only places I've had to consciously avoid being hit are the bathroom and the cage, what everyone here seems to refer to the square outside as. It seems getting a five-year sentence was not enough for Beom. He has also put a bounty on my head. Small money for a beating, a larger sum for my death. Having said that, the inmates might not get a chance to kill me if the kitchen poisons me first. I grimace at my tray and long for ramyeon.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the guard being stuffed a note of some kind. I don't know exactly how much it is, but I know many of the guards here take a certain 'tip', as they like to call it, in order to turn a blind eye for a certain amount of time. I assume, the longer it is the larger the price, but I wouldn't know, having never been the other end of it. I clench my jaw. As it happens, I think I'll skip lunch and head to the rec room.

As I stand, ready to dispose of my untouched tray, I feel two hands on my shoulders. As I gulp, they push me back onto my seat.

"You wouldn't want to disrespect catering, now, would you?" The voice behind me chuckles darkly.

Well, I had a decent week of no issues. It was only a matter of time. I sit patiently, ready for the beating to begin.

"You're really gonna go for it? The full whammy?" A man grins as he walks back from the guard who now faces the wall.

Excited muttering echoes around the room and I'm suddenly frozen stiff. This doesn't seem the right atmosphere for just another beating.

"He's said the longer it takes, the less money we get." A third man shrugs and sits next to me.

I feel pathetic. These men are openly discussing my death and all I'm doing is waiting for them to take my life from me while wishing I'd apologised to Jimin at least one more time. I don't know what for, exactly, but it just feels like something that should have been said more.

"Fair point." One of them flicks open a knife and suddenly I'm alert.

As the man behind me adjusts his position, I pull myself to slide down the bench, swing my legs over it and make a run for the door. The whole prison is enchanted so that no magick works here. Otherwise, I could just teleport to my cell and I'd be relatively safe. The area is infested with cameras and so no one really tries anything there.

I'm barely a metre from the door when a hand grabs my ankle. I topple to the floor, cheekbone hitting the cheap plastic tiling head-on. "Give me a cut." The man lets go of my ankle, calling over to the men chasing after me.

I grunt but decide to complain about my cheek later. Instead, I drag myself off the floor but quickly feel a knee in my back and am pressed uncomfortably harshly into the dirty lino. I'm pulled up by my hair and punched in the gut, kicked on my spine and then a sharp pain in my side. Whoever held my hair, lets go, kicking the stab wound and making me gag from the sheer amount of pain. Finding myself finally free from restraint, I crawl for the door again, stretching out towards it desperately. I need to stay alive. For Jimin. I need to wait for Kai to get me out and then find Jimin and save Jimin and run away with Jimin, if that's still what he wants. Whatever the hell he wants from me, I need to be alive for it. A sharp sinking pain in my back and someone stepping on my ankle. I hear a crack and I sob onto the plastic flooring. I don't understand. What did I do? Who looked down on an eight-year-old boy and thought 'I know, let's put him through shit'? Why did I have teach myself how to read and write with bar menus and receipts, and bend over in bathroom stools to get enough for rent and sustenance. Why did I have to fall in love? Whose sick idea was it to give me a taste of hope? Just to watch it crash and burn on a dirty, blood-stained, lino-tile floor.