✯ asylum

@p jimin A soft, happy giggle erupted from the younger's lips as the accepted offer. Albeit not very willingly, as long as the man stayed close enough to entertain him, Yangyang wouldn't hurt a soul. "Good choice," he mumbled under his breath, moving a few steps to his right to give the other some space. At first, he was content with their silence, reduced to nothing but the giggly childish mess he was just moments ago. But the other's statement had him perking up once more, grasp suddenly becoming too tight on the poor crayon, breaking the wax in half.

It seemed as though his child alter had misunderstood, taken offense even, at the mere suggestion of leaving the alley where all of his "playmates" were. "Not safe?" Yangyang repeated, his voice was low and dark, the youthful glow in his eyes disappearing way too quickly. "What do you mean? Do you not trust us?" he asked, a threatening tone glazing over his words as the man's simple question seemed to spark a growing anger in the alter he was sharing the front with.

Yangyang had held onto another crayon by then, but the other's following question somewhat pacified him, like a child just coming down from a tantrum. With his eyes regaining that childish glint just as quickly as he had lost them moments ago, the younger responded with a nod and an equally bright, gummy smile. "Oh..? Where are we going?" he asked curiously, before sparing a glance behind him, pointing a finger to the corpses that lay behind him. "But what about them? I promised I would walk them back home."

@l yangyang jimin begrudgingly listened to yangyang's story, gaze lingering at each and every single one of the fresh stab wounds carved throughout the lifeless bodies' skin. he stood there idly, rather clueless of what to say or do other than finding the boy's happy childlike giggles and smile eerie and haunting. it was odd and plain creepy, how he could feign innocence and portray horrid all at once.

he watched as yangyang shifted about to face him, the gentleness coating his voice somehow making the hairs on his nape stand uncomfortably on its ends. "xiao...?" he instinctively quirked a brow in question, though jimin supposed that this 'xiao' was one of the handful bunch of alters in the other's head. it seemed like a child alter too, he presumed more, since yangyang had said that xiao wanted to 'play' with the once living asylum doctors and staffs. although jimin wasn't really sympathetic to begin with, he couldn't help but to feel a tad bit sorry for them. if only they had listened to the boy, then perhaps all this wouldn't have happened.

deep oak orbs then diverted unto the offered coloured stick of wax, the question given unwillingly turned into a matter of choice between life and death. he contemplated for a moment, hesitant and wary with the choices of words cramming up in his head, yet knowing well of the consequences if he chose not to. so jimin squatted beside the other and took the crayon from his hand without a word—it was better to play safe than sorry.

"i don't think it's safe here though." jimin then looked around, worried if the two would get caught by any more of the asylum workers, or anyone else in general—and if anything, he didn't want to witness more bloodshed. this horrible scene displayed in front of him was definitely enough. "how about... we go play somewhere else? bring you out of this place?" the question came out slow and gentle, as if he were persuading a kid, not forgetting to show him a friendly smile.

@k yeosang The glare of the sun was blinding, too bright for a pair of eyes that had grown accustomed to the darkness of an isolated cell with nothing but a poor excuse of a ceiling lamp for light. It seemed as though his surroundings were flickering before his very eyes, feeling as though someone were fiddling with an electric switch repeatedly. The sight was disorienting, forcing grainy swirls of neon rainbows into his vision. Yangyang stared at the four pill bottles in his hands, hoping to find one that would ease his hallucinations.

He popped an orange tablet into his mouth, swallowing dry as he had no water. But it didn't matter, he had grown quite used to it anyway, the medicine no longer clinging to the walls of his throat. Sighing heavily as his phone rang with his work ringtone, Yangyang shoved three of his prescriptions into his bag, the remaining one still tightly clenched between his cold, pale fingers. They were shaky, twitching with a suppressed urge, Yangyang figured he could save the life of a passer-by if he kept the pills out and ready.

Ever so secretly, he finally slipped into the building of Corvus' headquarters, finding Yeosang waiting for him in the training room. To say Yangyang was annoyed was an understatement, knowing he had literally just been discharged. It's happened several times now, and his body was clearly struggling with the need to adapt to a new environment every single week. However, the man who stood in front of him was like a brother figure, or at least, the closest he could get to one. Yangyang didn't really value many of his external relationships. Could even care less if he chose to. After all, his alters didn't really appreciate having more outside extras trying to fit in with them.

@p jimin "I didn't mean it," was the first thing Yangyang had mumbled under his breath, running his fingers down cold and lifeless skin. A sharpened purple crayon laid not too far from him on the pavement, almost entirely coated in fresh blood. "They didn't want to keep us company," he spat, venom heavy in his tone. But beneath that surface of fury were the emotions of another alter, pleased at the morbid display of bodies, much like a child who had just been given a new set of toys. "So I forced them to! And now we're all together!" giggled a seemingly happier voice, a sinister smile quickly replacing the frown on Yangyang's face.

He turned his head to the new voice that had called out to him, quickly snatching his bloody crayon from the ground as he waddled in his sitting position to face him. "What do you mean? Can't you see?" he asked, his tone suddenly so soft and so innocent as if the boy hadn't just murdered a group of doctors and asylum staff just for company. "Xiao wanted to play, but they were being difficult," he muttered bitterly as he glared at the nearest corpse, fingers twitching around his crayon as if he were suppressing the urge to stab something.

But instead, he looked up at the newcomer, lips curled into a childish smile. Maybe he looked just a tad bit unhinged, but that didn't stop Yangyang from holding out his crayon to the other as an invitation. It was the kind of situation that most people, who have met him and had fortunately survived one way or another, had learned not to take lightly. One wrong answer could potentially add to the open grave of dead bodies behind him.
And although Yangyang's tone was mostly innocent, there was a murderous intent lying below it, waiting for blood if he were to not like the other man's answer.

"Would you like to play with us?"

@l yangyang slinking into the driver's seat and closing the car door shut, jimin took a deep breath in, and out, fingers curling as he took a firm hold of the steering wheel, gripping it tightly enough to create little dents on the leather cover. the other hand was holding onto a key, and as he inserted it into the ignition, he twisted the round piece of metal and brought the vehicle to life. "alright, here we go," jimin told himself in a hushed voice as he reversed his car. hopping onto the road, he journeyed to the outskirts of the city, heading towards the asylum in hopes of getting a corvus member out—and let's hope he didn't mess up.

he had heard things about yangyang from the other trainers—said to be a skilled hitman, full of potential, and with his current severe mental state, he could be as twice as dangerous; full of unpredictability and violence. to say that jimin was terrified of him was an understatement—he was actually rather nervous of meeting the boy more than anything.

the journey to the mental institution didn't take long as the traffic was smooth, which was a convenience. jimin was about to park his car when the headlights gave him a clear view of a very disturbing image. he knew that yangyang's mentality was far from sane, but this—this was truly worrisome, watching him 'conversing' with those lifeless, bloodied bodies. he dimmed the lights down before getting out of the car, cautiously approaching the other. "yangyang?" he called out softly. "what are you doing?" jimin quizzed, looking dumbfounded as he was still talking to the corpses as if they were still alive. he didn't expect to meet yangyang out of the asylum like this. it was rather... awkward and confusing.

@l taeyong There's something dangerous outlining the boy's tone as he waited for an answer, lips slowly forming a frown the longer the response took. At first, Xiaoyang had gripped the marker so hard that he heard its plastic shell crack between his fingers, innocent gaze quickly becoming murderous until the other spoke once again, immediately sending him back into a docile state as he expected a positive response from him. Besides, he seemed oddly familiar. It would be such a shame to attack him if he had declined.

"And where's that?" he asked curiously, rocking back and forth as he hugged both of his knees towards his chest. He dropped his crayon in favor of grabbing another color from the set, this time picking a very vibrant purple. The two personalities loved chromatic things as they were the most artistic alters, finding beauty and value in the grayish matter that resulted from all the colors on the wall merging together. To them, it didn't matter. They were once a rainbow, a palette of different individuals. The colors were still there, but perhaps were forever lost in each other. If anything, it reminded Yangyang of himself.

"They hit us," Xiaoyang's tinier voice came through, moving to sit beside the stranger as he heavily drew incomprehensible figures onto the concrete with his new purple marker, "We're getting switched to a new doctor, last therapist said he didn't want to die being around us." Sure, they were horribly unstable, but also just misunderstood. If they had acted any better, Yangyang wouldn't have threatened to tear them apart.

"Said we're not allowed out of the cell, can't mingle with the other patients because they think we'll hurt them. But it's okay!" Xiaoyang's voice still seemed quite lively despite being stuck in this room. At least, his prison was colorful. "We kind of like it here, the doctors bring us art materials once in a while, but it gets lonely... sometimes. Yin now has anxiety from the lack of sociability, I might be next," admitted Xiaoyang, pouting at the thought.

@l yangyang in a world full of humans with varying states of mentality, taeyong was highly aware he didn't belong anywhere near the sane category. he had met likewise individuals after taking over his father's gang though, realising just how contorted all of their minds were and that he wasn't alone. it didn't matter that their problems diverge from one another, because the fact remained that every single one of them was a bit cuckoo in the head.

to prove a point, the boy he stood behind. he had never truly witnessed first hand the terrors and agony of a man with multiple personalities, but he comprehended very well the difficulty it may bring upon the unlucky souls. though he had no idea how many alters the boy had, he was sure there was still quite a number, enough to cause conflict for the young mafia.

staring at the marker given to him, taeyong gazed between the stationery and the dark round eyes, noticing a hint of childlike wonder in the endless pool of umber. calmly, he asked, "would you follow me back to headquarters if i draw with you?" he didn't agree, nor did he disagree to join in yet. it was much safer.

he knew of the consequences if he were to reject the offer. he received countless reports of unfortunate trainers who didn't take his bull and ended up being stabbed by whatever drawing tool he was grasping at the time. he knew how painful having one of these blunt items plunging into your body would be, especially after witnessing it first hand, though at that time the man was using a pen.

without exactly waiting for the boy to answer, he took the marker and knelt beside him, starting to draw a few patterns on the wall, wherever blank spot he could find. it was just simple doodles, a few flowers here, a small bunny over there, mr sun talking to miss moon about the weather that day. he had no qualms in indulging the child, as long as the boy would be obedient and docile enough to bring back.

"how has the doctors here been treating you?" taeyong asked as he drew a little puppy, glancing to yangyang. "what did they tell you?"

@l taeyong A prescription bottle rolled around on the floor, empty and slightly cracked. Its lid was long gone, thrown away and forgotten in one corner of the room. Sitting on the floor, rocking from side to side, shoulders shaking as he broke out into a fit of soft giggles, was Yangyang, sharing the front with his child alter as he moved to pick up the set of colorfol neon markers that doctors have left them. Tightly grasped between their ink-stained fingers was a bright red crayon, the sound akin to that of a piece of chalk dragging against a board as he messily drew random shapes onto the concrete walls of his confinement.

He had been locked in there for not even more than a day, and yet the walls had already been covered in art, even the floor, with only the ceiling left untouched. Yangyang and Xiaoyang had successfully shut out the rest of their alters, surprisingly strong enough to keep the other two from taking the front away from them. But even if they were to take over right now, Yangyang would still share half of the control with them, with a personality so powerful that none of the others could completely overrule him at this moment.

They were content, though, whispering and laughing to themselves as he drew countless figures on the walls. Lately, Yangyang had taken interest in drawing the faces of his gang trainers before he would eventually cross them out violently with red crayon, chuckling maniacally as he spoke to the drawings as if they were the actual person.

Though, soon enough, his little art session was interrupted by another presence in the room. Yangyang had looked up at the intruder, blinking innocently as his mind could not yet recognize him. He held up another marker to the stranger, gripping his own rather tightly in his hand. "Would you like to draw with me?"

@l yangyang Now that he was out of jail, Taeyong decided now was a better time than any to pay a visit to his beloved mother. No matter how cold and ruthless he may be, he would always be his momma’s boy in the end, taking care of her now that her mentality had deteriorated to a severe extent. Taeyong knew it wasn’t his fault, yet he always blamed himself for what happened to his mother, since it was due to the loss of his humanity that his mother lost her own sanity.

Ironic, isn’t it? A sociopath actually feeling empathy for another person. Then again, he wasn’t born one to begin with.

Although he planned on visiting his mother, he ended up receiving news from his men that one of the hitmen found himself admitted to the asylum. Furthermore, the boy was none other than the one with dissociative identity disorder, the problematic kid who kept troubling the trainers. The switch of his alters tend to be a concern for everyone in the gang, though for Taeyong he had learned methods to satiate the boy and please him enough to keep him under control.

The hospital staffs knew him, both because of his visits and the news outlet. However, he had them silenced with the empty threat of hunting them down alongside their families if they don’t keep their mouths shut. Terrified, they allowed him to roam wherever part of the mental institute he wished, including the closed off section where they had locked the mentally deranged hitman.

Entering the room, Taeyong quirked a brow as he gazed at the interior, taking in the multitude of sketches littering the wall. The doctor accompanying him was quick to excuse herself as she closed the door behind her, leaving the mafia boss to his subject. Tilting his head from one side to the next, he approached the boy sitting in the corner, watching him being immersed in his own monologue as he drew odd patterns on the concrete wall with a red crayon.

“Hello,” greeted Taeyong finally after some minutes of silence, watching the boy carefully. “Having fun so far?”

The overwhelming scent of sodium hypochlorite greeted Yangyang as he unceremoniously shoved through the doors of the asylum, hands quivering from what could have been a potential overdose. The prescription bottle they had given him the previous week had already been emptied, yet the effects were nonexistent. Perhaps it was rather foolish of him to find a desperate remedy in such a rundown place such as this one, hopelessly expecting to be a renewed man once he left through those front doors. Unfortunately, it seemed as though that hope had already been lost, nothing more than an inefficacious chimera meant to beguile him into believing that his mind was already in the state of convalescing.

But everything they told him was a lie. He discovered not too long ago that his last therapist had prevaricated about his records in an effort to rid of him as soon as possible, and that the drugs he had been given were nothing more than just otiose placebo.

Yangyang had stormed into her office that morning, armed with no more than the scissors he had grabbed from his therapist's unkempt desk. The sanity had long since drained from his expression, leaving behind the remorseless shell of a man fueled with the anger of three furious personalities. All he had managed to accomplish in those few moments of freedom was to pierce through his written medical records with scissors before being promptly torn away from her office. He had not hesitated to thrash around in the doctors' hold, forcing the staff to do what they had been dreading for so long - and that was to imprison a dangerous criminal like him within the walls of their asylum. Yangyang alone was already an incarnate of cacodemonic chaos, and to ensure his and the safety of all other patients in the building, he was locked away further in the deepest corners of the asylum, ultimately isolated from society once more, much like in his childhood.

Reduced to nothing but a giggling and childish mess in a cold, concrete cell, he patiently waits for his freedom to be returned to him, temporarily pacified with crayons and markers as he drew the portraits of all his demons onto the walls.

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