Once the dinner comes to a close, everybody has retreated back to the dorms for a well-deserved quiet evening.

As I emerge from the kitchen after helping Mingyu wash the dishes, I find Chan watching television alone in the common room, casually flipping through the channels. His eyes are full of childish boredom as he sits cross-legged and finds nothing that peaks his interest. Only when he sees me standing in the doorway does his gaze begin to shimmer, and a warm smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey Cressida," he says, smiling even wider as my new name slips past his lips. "What's up?"

For a brief second, I am confused at the lack of tension between us. After that whole debacle over the strange blueprints, there is almost no stress in our interaction. He almost looks glad to see me.

"Can I join you?" I ask demurely.

Chan scoots over a bit on the couch, and invitingly pats the stained cushion beside him. I carefully sit down beside him, wincing as the springs cry out in agony from what little weight I have bestowed upon them.

Once I get comfortable, he mutes the advertisement on the screen and turns to look at me, casually placing an arm on the couch behind my head. "Cressida?"

"Hm?"

He sighs before continuing. "Listen, I just wanted to say that what you did today was really impressive. If I'm going to be honest with you, I didn't believe Jihoon at first when he told us what you did. I thought he was making it up, but, " Chan bumps my arm with his fist in a friendly manner, "you're one of us, Cress. A real member of Seventeen. Also I'm...I'm really sorry about giving you a rough time."

"Listen, about last week—"

Chan cuts me off mid-sentence. "If you're about to apologize for it, don't. What happened was not your fault. I screwed up, and Soonyoung got angry with me for good reason."

"But why? What is so special about that blueprint?"

"It's a birthday surprise for Jihoon," he says swiftly. "That's why he got so angry. We've been working really hard on that new software for months. Jihoon also has access to my toolbox, so he could have seen it and then bam. No more birthday surprise. Oh, look! Finally a decent movie!"

And that is the end of that. He does not bother to elaborate as he becomes fixated on the film, but there is no doubt that his answer has made me suspicious. Nonetheless, I attempt to find satisfaction in what he said and watch the movie with him.

For a few seconds, everything is fine. I feel content as I lean back into the arm of my new friend and smile a little.

Yes, everything is fine.

Or so I thought.

The beautiful female actress that was walking down the snowy streets of Seoul has been replaced with a dark grey screen. The number six is acting as a border around the bold white words in the middle. They read: AN IMPORTANT PRESENTATION FOR THE CITIZENS OF ASIA. A repeated sequence of four notes played by a seemingly-broken music box comes in through the speakers.

"What's this?" I ask, standing up and moving closer to the television screen as Chan does the same. "Chan, is this from the Government?"

The words on the screen change to: YOU WILL SEE BEAUTIFUL THINGS.

His breath hitches. "This isn't from them. It can't be—"

A sudden piercing scream makes us jump. The screen turns black for a couple of seconds, and the screaming continues until a video clip appears.

There is a person standing uncomfortable close to a camera, their face literally pressed against it. They are wearing a bloodied mask that has a large and exaggerated toothy grin, massive eyes with tiny pupils, and a deep frown. It is as though, the more I stare at the mask, the larger its grin becomes. They back up a bit, and with gloved hands, hold up a noose and let it swing from side to side for a few seconds before throwing it off screen. When they move completely away from the camera, there are a dozen nooses dangling from the ceiling.

My heart skips a beat and sweat trickles down my neck, but out of instinct, I do not show that I am disturbed by the graphic scene in front of me.

It cuts to a video clip of a group of Sentinels in their white uniforms, running through raging fires in the streets and firing away on their guns. The music box is still playing in the background, somehow drowning out the screams of the men, women, and children being shot and beaten to death.

Everything is black again. Then the words: GOD CAN'T SAVE YOU NOW.

The room with the nooses is back, except there are three people already hanging. The person with the mask is standing in the center of the room, giggling maniacally. There are more Sentinels, more screams, more deaths of innocent people.

Black. CHAOS IS DELICATE.

Six people hanging. Louder laughing. The music box is on repeat. More screaming. More bodies in the streets.

Black. WE CAN MAKE YOU BEAUTIFUL TOO.

Ten people hanging. Louder laughing. The music box is on repeat. More screaming. More bodies.

"Turn it off!" I shout. "Turn it off!"

Chan scrambles for the remote that was left on the couch and frantically presses the off button, but it has no effect.

"It's not working!" he clamors. "Fuck!"

Sungcheol sprints into the common room with the rest of Seventeen following closely behind.

"What the Hell is goin—?" Sunghceol's words get lost as sees what is on the television. He pushes us aside to get a clearer view, his eyes shimmering with shades of crimson red and deep orange as they reflect the blood spilled and raging fires.

YOUR FREEDOM IS A LIE.

Junhui suddenly appears besides Sungcheol. His slender fingers dare to lightly touch the words that are being displayed, but as soon as his fingertips come into contact with the screen, everything goes black and silent and he jumps back in surprise.

We are all too shocked to say a single word. The echoes of the screams of the anguished, maniacal laughter, and the music box float throughout the dorm, their unwelcome ghosts making our blood run cold.

We all turn to look at Sungcheol—to our leader who seems almost afraid. I have never seen his skin so pale or damp with sweat, and I have never seen his eyes look so empty. He meets our frightened gazes, and his mouth repeatedly opens and closes yet no words come out.

Then the broadcast starts up again, and something so horrifying, so paralyzing, so human yet inhuman appears. With terror and adrenaline running through my veins, it takes me a few seconds to register what is being shown. My entire body suddenly feels empty, and my heartbeat has become so erratic that I feel like it is about to burst out of my heavy chest. Everything around me seems muted as if the world itself is frozen in time.

It is my turn to push Sungcheol out of the way.

A girl and a boy stand in front of the camera, holding hands. The boy is unrecognizable as his face has been transformed into a garden of bruises and scratches, but the girl. . .

The heart-shaped birthmark on her left cheek is what gives it all away. Her watery, innocent hazel eyes stare straight into the camera, her scraggly long and ebony-black hair looking like a forest.

My fingers brush against my birthmark.

"Holy shit, Cressida," Junhui murmurs.

I can only assume that the boy I stood beside was my brother. He too has similar childish hazel eyes and a birthmark on his right cheek that looks almost like mine.

This video is from ten years ago; it is from the day that I chose to live, and to sacrifice my body and soul to become a Rogue Soldier, and my brother hopefully the same.

The camera suddenly pans to a man and woman kneeling on a stage with two Sentinels behind them, large guns aimed directly at their heads. Despite the imminent threat of being shot and dying within the next minute or two, they keep their heads up proud and confident, showing no sign of fear.

I cover my quivering mouth with my hand, and I hardly register Junhui moving an inch closer to place a hesitant hand on my shoulder.

These must be my parents in their final moments. They chose to die rather than to become another Government mutt.

My eyes rapidly scan over them, desperately trying to memorize every bit of their physical features, but my mind can only grasp onto two things: how powerful and full of life their eyes look even though they are dancing on the edge of death, and how my mother's belly is swollen with a life that is soon to be wasted.

"Hong Daeshim and Hong Yerim, you have both committed criminal acts not only against Korea, but against Asia and her citizens. As you have chosen death instead of redemption, do you have any last words?" somebody says from off screen—quite possibly a government official.

They stare at the camera now, right at me, the fire in their eyes never once burning out. My breaking point is when they begin to smile as though they see something beautiful, and for a split second out of desperation, I am inclined to think that it is me. That they see me now at nineteen and free from the Hell that I had to live through every day. That they see me as still human, not some genetically engineered weapon or beast.

I turn my back to the screen and push through the boys to get away from everything; from the broadcast, from the memories that I can't remember, from my missing brother and dead parents, and especially away from me.

Bang.