Chapter Text
Subject No. 01
Being the mother-figure to his bandmates was a tough job. At least, that’s how Seokjin saw it. It came with a sense of responsibility, perhaps even obligation. He cooked for them, cleaned for them, made sure everyone was well rested and so on. When Namjoon wasn’t around, he would be the peacemaker. During trainee years, he was a third parent to Jeongguk, Jimin and Taehyung. He had grown close to Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon.
The other members were his brothers, but in a way, they were also his children.
Now here, alone in this prison cell, without his bandmates, he could feel the worry rising like bile in his throat.
His stomach was twisting and turning as he fidgeted with the worn out blanket he found on the bare mattress.
Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk.
He kept repeating their names. Whether it was out loud or just in his head, Seokjin didn’t know. All he knew is that he wanted them with him.
He didn’t want to be alone.
Subject No. 02
To say that Yoongi was feeling angry would be an understatement. Pure rage was a better fit.
As soon as he realised he was trapped, he screamed his throat raw. First, he called for his members, then their manager, until he settled on screaming for anyone at all. He pounded his fists on the steel door until the sides of his hands started to turn blue.
After a while, his screams and shouts quieted down until finally, and all he could do was croak out pleas for help.
His strikes grew weak until he couldn’t stop himself from flinching after each hit.
When he stopped calling for help, and no longer raised his fists, he sunk to the floor. He sat quietly now, propped up against the door.
Staring at the blank wall ahead of him, he absentmindedly rubbed at the bruised skin of his hands. He hadn’t completely given up though.
His jaw was still clenched tight and his eyes still revealed his true feelings.
Subject No. 03
By nature, Hoseok wasn’t the type to sit still. He was a dancer; made for movement. He had dedicated his life, body and soul to his art.
But now, it seems like the only thing he can do is sit and wait. He had already exhausted all the (very few) possibilities for escape. He called for help, but it seemed that no one could hear him. He had already taken inventory of the small room. Bare mattress with a thin blanket, stainless steel toilet and sink, the kind you’d see in one of those American prison shows Namjoon recently started watching.
All of his belongings were gone. All of his clothes had been stripped from him.
So he simply sat.
As if he couldn’t entirely comprehend what was going on. That he was trapped. That he was alone. That there was nothing for him to do.
He didn’t want to entertain thoughts of what would happen to him.
But they came anyway.
And all Hoseok could do was sit and let them.
Subject No. 04
If you asked Namjoon to describe how he reacts in emergencies, he would say that he reacts rationally. Rather than getting angry and frustrated (Yoongi), emotional and worried (Seokjin) or shutting down in some way (Hoseok, Jimin, Jeongguk and Taehyung), he liked to think that his responses were calculated and based on reason. One way he kept himself sane in this kind of situation, was pacing.
So Namjoon paced in the cramped space that was his cell.
It was definitely a cell. A small space with concrete walls, a heavy steel door and a camera monitoring his every move. The water seemed safe enough to drink, so he drank, only to return to pacing right after.
Who would do this? Why would they do this?
Why them, no – why him?
He could only be certain of his own captivity, Namjoon reasoned. His members were all pretty smart. Perhaps they were lucky enough to evade capture, or something.
Though somehow, the illogical part of him – his heart – told otherwise.
Subject No. 05
Jimin didn’t like silence very much. As a dancer and singer, he needed sound in his life. Music of course, but ultimately, sound was at the core of it. He usually had at least someone to talk to, and even when he didn’t have anyone around, he’d be listening to music on his phone.
Seokjin hyung would hum while he was cooking back at the dorm. Yoongi hyung would be tapping out a beat, and even as he slept he would snore softly. Namjoon hyung would be tapping away on his laptop. Hoseok hyung would be tapping his feet. Taehyung would be talking, endlessly. Jeongguk would be singing or humming at all times.
In a way, sounds from his bandmates were a safety blanket for him.
Reassurance that he wasn’t alone.
But it was like that safety blanket had been torn from him, ripped straight from his still grasping hands.
So to fill this incessant silence, Jimin spoke.
Calling himself “Jiminnie”, he wondered out loud what he should do.
Subject No. 06
Taehyung rarely felt afraid.
Somehow living with your head in the clouds was the best way to cope with any kind of anxiety. He was comfortable looking at the world in a way that others deemed strange. Like this, he wouldn’t deal with any sort of pain. He wouldn’t have to think about what others thought, because to him, they were simply extra’s in this huge convoluted movie called life.
Somehow, this movie had become a horror film in a blink of an eye.
The last thing Taehyung could remember was sitting in the van with his bandmates. They were on their way to a schedule outside of Seoul - in Bucheon, if he recalls correctly. They had been messing around when they stopped at a red light, and after that –
Blank.
Now he’s stuck in what appears to be a prison cell. A bare mattress with a lone blanket on top and a toilet and sink in the other corner. That’s all there is.
There are no extras and everything is way too real.
Subject No. 07
If Jeongguk had to describe what kind of emotion he was feeling right now, he would say fear. He already screamed for his hyungs. He had yelled that this whole prank wasn’t funny at all.
But after what feels like an hour (though he has no way of telling without his phone or watch), he came to realise that this was not a joke at all. This wasn’t Jimin trying to get back at him for putting Pepsi in his shampoo bottle. This was real.
Glancing around at the barren cell, he sinks to his knees. The concrete floor is cold and bites the thin skin on his knees. He rubs his hands together and briefly considers clasping them in prayer. Though he never really paid attention whenever his grandparents took him to the temple, so he doesn’t know what to do.
Suddenly a projector is switched on, lighting up the small room.
When he sees the message projected on the wall, he starts to cry.