Hajoon stared out of the window as the grime and stench of fish and blood slowly drifted into the distance, the puffs of smoke from the rumbling bus giving way to the sparkling sea and the crowded horizon of a port city.
It was a vision of utopia, and as such, it was rotten to its roots.
Jeokjo, and Redtide Port. Both names suit it too well, seeing it now. It really is red, the tide. Makes you wonder if the western explorers are creatively bankrupt…haha.
He exhaled, watching the ocean glimmer with light that didn't reach him or the land that he was bound to. It was breathtaking, those waters. Even if that description held a double meaning now, he found the ocean blue calming.
That same ocean was dyed red at the hours between one and three am, reflecting the moonlight like a bloody omen. There were people who saw it once, then never again, while others had the privilege of never seeing it at all. Hajoon was jealous of such people.
I'm running out of sleeping pills. How the hells am I supposed to get more? Even medical pills are under mafia jurisdiction now…
I know for a fact the Jeoksa won't sell to me. But I could try? To get a contact and…
They would know something about this black blood too. Even if it's just rumours, it could help me find a cure before I–
He stared at the sea, at whatever glimpse he could get of it, in a desperate attempt to drown his thoughts in those watery depths. He didn't have time to indulge in conspiracy, not right now.
First, he had to get to work. He had to keep his job. He would grovel at his manager's feet if he needed to.
A soiled and blackened handkerchief was stuffed into his coat pocket as he pulled that coat closer over the dulled stains of a monster's blood. A monster who bled like him.
A monster he was halfway to becoming. Even without the disease, he was born halfway there. It was only an extra blow that he was sickly from the beginning. The virus would develop quickly, it would make sense that it affected him sooner, faster than the others.
I was told that my current condition has no developed cure, but it wasn't incurable either. Of course that vague bastard didn't elaborate. No who, what, where, and why's for me to start from.
What kind of Doctor makes the patient figure out the cure?
Haha.
At least it's free, talking to him. And it's not so bad, having a drinking buddy.
Of course, that was if the nameless man he couldn't remember the face of was even real. The best explanation for it was that he was a ghost. But that was illogical, because ghosts weren't real.
The second best explanation was that he was hallucinating. But if he did hallucinate, why a cryptic doctor with bad humour? Why not a nice, pretty lady?
…Nevermind, that sounds uncomfortable.
Having scrubbed off the blood to the best of his abilities, the freshly damp shirt clung to his skin as Hajoon finally found an empty seat; a result of luck that was good for him, but bad for the woman who'd gone into a strange and sudden seizure. She wasn't the only one who had come down with sickness during the hour-long bus ride into the city, with more than a dozen getting off before the main bridge came into view.
"Hells! Stay away from me damn it, what if I catch it?" An older woman hissed as the man standing beside her began to cough.
"Damn roaches spread shit around willy nilly..!" A man in a suit scowled at one of the darker toned men sitting at the end of the bus, emboldened by the fact that they were too far away to even hear him. "If those monster fuckers want to be dirty, fine, but stay the hells away from civil society! Disrespectful fucks!"
"Honestly, the sons of bitches come in crying, then piss all over our damn hospitality!"
"Ha! They piss all over the place too–"
Hajoon glanced at the swearing man beside him, who shut his mouth and his agreements to the sentiment when their eyes met.
Hajoon simply smiled politely, holding back the urge to laugh. Either the man had no spine, or the sleep deprivation was making Hajoon more intimidating than usual.
There was also the possibility that they thought he was a murderer, walking confidently in broad daylight. The others around him sure seemed to avoid eye contact with him as if their lives depended on it.
Of course, one scary face didn't stop all discourse, with the blame game cycling through calamity refugees, old blood immigrants, and some old wives tales about monsters; but at that point he had stopped listening to them.
"Don't you think the air tastes weird, Aruem?"
To tune out the rest, he focused his ears on a more casual conversation.
"What? Like fish? It's always like that. Speaking of, wonder when there'll be a sale on real meat? I'll even take cheap chicken at this point, who cares if they're scaly if it tastes good!" Her friend responded, the two students chatting away about a hotpot while their neighbour coughed, hacked, then stumbled out of the bus at the next stop.
No one was phased by that, having gotten used to the sight in a mere thirty or so minutes.
The most unaffected were the salesmen who slipped in through the doors to make their rounds. They made a living selling low quality bits of food, drink, and entertainment, jacked up to laughable prices. It was almost respectable.
"–Endorsed by the Thunder Dragon himself..!" The theatrical words caught Hajoon's attention first.
"For only 20pax a pack, you sir can have the electric energy to slay your paperwork like Hojo-sama fells behemoths with a shrug of his wrist!"
Hajoon turned his head to catch a salesman flaunting a pack of low quality instant coffee at the face of one of those swearing office workers, whose receding hairline wasn't helped by the stupid look of delusion on his face.
The man thought himself a hero on par with Hojo Tatsuya, top hunter and director of the Hunter Tower; so he paid the money in full.
"You, Sir, I'm sure an Intelligent man like you can appreciate the value of Liquid Thunder! Only 20pax a pack, but especially for you, I'll make it 15!"
Hajoon blinked as Mr. Hojo greeted him, his smile warped from the low quality print on the drink to resemble a pained grimace. He copied that expression, then took the offered drink, dropping a bronze coin into the salesman's outstretched hand.
"This is only 5pax..." The man's practiced smile dropped slowly, his frown lines becoming more prominent by the second. It was almost comical.
"Yes, it is." He said as he stabbed a straw into one of three containers and took a sip. The strong coffee and energy drink mixture stung his tongue, but it did wake him up just a little.
Or is it just placebo? Can't tell.
"Hey. You bastard, what is this..?! Pay the full price or don't buy it! Do you get it?? I'll report you–"
"It's overpriced." Hajoon interrupted the salesman, who had started to sweat as he noticed the attention he was drawing, his eyes darting to the bridge coming into view through the maze of telephone wires and haphazard architecture.
If he were to cross while selling products on a bus, an illegal activity to which no permit existed, arrest would be the least of his concerns.
"15 years."
"What?"
"That's the average jail time listed in the fraudulent sales punishment act."
The salesman didn't seem to appreciate being informed of this, but that wasn't Hajoon's problem.
"What in the burning hells—?! This bastard thinks he's funny..! Talking in riddles..!!"
"Haha…I'm not. But I do suggest hopping off before they throw you off." Hajoon tipped his head to the security towers that came into view. They were built of brick and stone, and were at least a century old; a leftover of the first 'fortification' of the East, an import from the North later refurbished by the West.
The symbol of salvation, the silver phoenix, was proudly displayed on those walls, its head bowed and wings spread wide into the sky. It almost looked ashamed.
Hajoon didn't get an answer, only a glare as the salesman rushed to the doors that opened at the last stop before the bridge, and the last chance to avoid jail time. He laughed as he caught the last mumbled words of goodbye from the man.
"Fucking Roach? Really? At least be creative." Hajoon sighed, leaning back into his seat as he sipped his meager breakfast in peace. But that peace was destroyed in seconds as two bridge guards climbed aboard the bus, their rifles held to attention. He nearly choked on his drink, but managed to stuff the damn thing in his bag before he drew any unwanted attention.
"Worker ID, now." They went straight for 'Roach' in the corner, because of course they did. It made more sense for them to inspect and remove the sick ones, the coughing ones, but they didn't seem to care.
What kind of disease is this if it doesn't raise quarantine protocols? Do they not know about it yet…?
Hajoon watched the two soldiers talk down to the man, then snatch the ID card away from him when he failed to understand the foreign languages they each spoke. He was never getting that card back.
"I asked you to confirm your ID number, moron." The aenglic words came from the ash-haired of the two, his eyes dark as the tired labour worker fumbled with his words, asking for the card back in what little aenglic he knew.
"I-It is..! Card..! On card!"
But an ID card could be fabricated, or illegal depending on where the recipient was from and when they got it approved. Expiration dates weren't explicitly stated, and were subject to change on the whims of the court. Of course, law was null and void at the hands of a soldier, so it was a waste of time to try and find a loophole in the many worker and fortification laws to save the poor man.
Hajoon grimaced as the man, in his haste to get that card back, grabbed the soldier's arm. In an instant, there was silence, even whispers coming to a stop when the soldier stilled, his eyes dark under the shadow of his peaked cap.
"...Disgusting."
Hajoon glanced away as the stock of his rifle connected with the man's jaw.
"N-no please–! Sir I..! My daughters are young–"The man's bleeding mouth begged the last words in his native tongue, a plea only Hajoon understood as he was dragged off by the gloved hands of the so-called Fort Defence Officer.
Ha…why did she teach me this language…?
Damn it.
Hajoon hissed out a breath, steeling his nerves and expression as ocean blue eyes stared down at him. He was next. Because of course he was.
"Good day sir."
The blond soldier seemed surprised, his eyebrows darting up before he smiled back in false respect.
"Heh..! Good day? Is it?" He drawled in a distinctly Northern accent, surprising Hajoon in return. He was a man of Nawia, the nation of true North. Unluckily for Hajoon, his language prowess didn't extend to the northern language, so charming his way out of the worst case scenario had suddenly become ten times harder.
"It could be..! it's too early to say…ah– besides that point, the day is what we make of it right?" Hajoon felt a trickle of nervous sweat slide down his back as the blue eyed soldier laughed in response.
"Ya! And you? Going to make it good?" The blue eyed soldier extended a hand, into which Hajoon placed his worker Identification card.
"I'll try my darndest! Haha…"
"You speak it better than me, his language." The Nawian soldier gestured mildly to his ash-haired partner, who had returned with a bloody fist, a spray of red on black fabric. It stayed red, that blood, even in the moments he watched it, expecting that to change.
He wasn't infected. Ha. Haha.
"Ah…do I?" Hajoon chuckled awkwardly.
"For the slums? Ya. You sound posh, if that's the word. Heeh…what is this…oh?" The Nawian soldier huffed as he inspected Hajoon's ID card.
Hajoon's lip twitched to say something, but nothing came out. He couldn't take his eyes away from those blood stained gloves. He wanted to, but he couldn't.
He's never coming home. Their father is never coming back.
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, thundering as several images of choking that soldier, of stabbing him with the pen that he fiddled with in his pocket by habit, ran through his mind.
A static burned in his mind, a broken voice growling and seething to communicate. It told him to kill, to seek revenge, to do something, anything, before his father was taken away again.
Again?
That's not my father.
I don't know that man.
It's not my problem.
I shouldn't care–
Hajoon inhaled sharply as that voice was drowned out, the clicking of his pen coming to a stop shortly after. He managed to look away before that ash-haired soldier turned his way.
"That's one cushy job." A jeering voice came from behind the Nawian soldier, the card ending up pinched between two gloved fingers, the ash-haired Westerner holding it as if it was trash he had picked up off the street.
"Oh, Fletcher…?" Blue eyes widened for a moment, then an awkward sound followed.
"Can't read it can you, Volkov? Pfft– that's fine, we're here to pick up your side's slack either way…er…this says GenCure? That big place?" The shadowed eyes of a man named Fletcher shifted to Hajoon like a curse.
"How did you get a job there?" He scoffed, pocketing the small card and staring at Hajoon, who had no choice but to wait to have it returned. The soldier thought the card to be fabricated on the basis that GenCure Pharmaceuticals, which had a choke hold on the lucrative medical field of the East, was too high class and influential of a company for him to be an employee of.
But a scam company needs scammers to fill the roles. How else would they convince the masses to buy the same overpriced shit that killed their grandma?
"Merit, sir." Hajoon responded, opting to make eye contact with the pale blues of the so-called Volkov instead of the dark eyes that were nothing but cruel. Blue was calming, so he could use it to calm himself before any of them decided that the look in his eyes was dangerous.
Perceived danger meant death for someone like him.
Volkov simply stared back, raising a singular eyebrow.
"And a bit of luck of course, haha…" Hajoon chuckled to deprecate himself, which he knew the soldiers liked. They were the type to kick the doormat on the way in.
He could act the part if a kick was all he got.
"Heh! Lucky guy?" Volkov suddenly laughed, overtaking whatever his colleague was about to say, before nudging him aside. Ignoring the complaints that brought, he glanced down at Hajoon's work bag. "You have something? For luck..?"
Hah…?
Do I look like I have money to bribe you, bastard?
"Haha…if I kept a mystical talisman at the bottom of this for luck, I don't suppose you'd be interested?" Hajoon laughed awkwardly, unbuckling the cheap leather bag and staring at the contents; at the top of which were the coffee packs he'd hid before.
"Talisman? Don't tell me you care for pagan fantasies, Volkov?" Fletcher snorted, his laugh making the others who sat nearby flinch.
"Mm? No?"
"Ah, well you never know when you need a mystical tissue when it's this cold out..!" Hajoon joked, keeping the nervous smile plastered on his face as he watched the two exchange glances.
Ah. I'm royally screwed. That was too much, too forced.
Damn the moons…tell my mum I'm sorry…for committing tax fraud using her name.
Haha. Yeah I'm not sorry.
"Heh..! Heh heh– Funny Zver! Hm…I'm thirsty, from laughing!" Another laugh caught Hajoon off guard, watching with squinted eyes as Volkov covered his grin with a hand. Hajoon's head tilted to the side as he followed the man's gaze, landing on the coffee in his bag.
Ah..? Stealing cheap shit from the poor..? Really? You're kidding.
"Please drink this, sir." Hajoon stood up and held the unopened packs of coffee out with both hands, bowing habitually.
Hajoon didn't straighten up from the bow until the soldier walked off with the coffee he'd extorted, chattering with his ash haired counterpart. After a long pause, Fletcher tossed the ID over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
He didn't manage to catch it midair, so he stared at the card that was left on the dirty floor. When the bus jostled to a start, missing more than a few passengers, the world was cast into shadow, darkness that caused his eyes to glimmer silver, then taint red.
With a blink, both were gone, and the port city of Joekjo greeted them, shining through the haze.