The air smelled of ash and decay.

The overwhelming stench pulled me from sleep, and I immediately began gagging. The combination of retching and the horrible smell caused me to vomit all over my bedsheets. 

"Mommy, I threw up," I croaked, wiping my mouth and disoriented.

Hearing no response, I got out of bed and walked to my bedroom door. With every step closer, the stench grew even stronger, springing tears from my eyes. The overpowering smell causes me to put a hand over my nose and breathe through my mouth.

"Mommy?" I cry.

The stench hit me full force as I opened my bedroom door, and my knees buckled, sending me to the ground. I have never smelled something so foul before. I couldn't move, overwhelmed by the smell and the disorienting feeling. Everything ached. I sat for a moment longer, trying to call out for my parents, when I heard it.

I heard only two sounds: the sudden, anguished wailing of my father and the sinister, demonic scream of the monster who inflicted that torture. 

The sound was terrifying.

It was inhuman.

When I opened that door, I knew. When Nana called, I knew. I knew that sound.

The roar of the monster that killed my family.

——————

With fists still wrapped around the steering wheel, I stare at the now green light. The turmoil in my heart and mind leaves me motionless, and internally, I'm screaming at myself to put-the-pedal-to-the-metal and get to Nana before it's too late. However, no matter how desperate I am to reach her, the soul-shattering sound of that monstrous scream keeps me frozen in place.

How ironic - and cruel - is it to hear that demon once again on the exact day as 16 years ago, when it showed up in my life the first time and stole everything from me, only to return once more to steal, kill, and destroy all that is good in my life?

The pressure becomes unbearable behind my eyes, and my throat begins to constrict in agony. I begin breathing heavier, and it takes all that I can give to calm my racing heart. The radio begins to bounce from static to different stations, and the dashboard lights blink on and off. My knuckles become white as I tighten my hands around the steering wheel, reminding myself of Nana's command.

It doesn't take long, however, when there's an angry honk behind me. Looking in the rearview mirror, I see a line of cars with frustrated drivers. Although the deepest parts of me demand a release of pent up anguish, I roll down the window and wave a hand, before driving forward.

With arms like lead and an even heavier heart, I make the decision and drive to the airport.

——————

On this day, 16 years ago, was the last time I truly, brutally, and whole-heartedly cried.

You know, the kind of crying that rubs your throat raw, and you can't speak without croaking for a few days. The kind of crying that clogs up your sinuses to the point where you're choking and gagging for breath. The kind of crying that's so heart-breaking that even strangers weep along with you. The kind of crying that comes from the pits of your soul.

Terror hit my home faster than one could blink, and when it was over, Nana wrapped me in her arms as I screamed, hit, and wept into her shoulder until I passed out. However, even when this day came around every year after the tragedy, I never cried like that again.

The roar of jet engines fill the parking deck, reminding me why I'm here. Nana's instructions bounce back and forth in my mind, yet I make no move to leave my car. Instead, I dial Nana's phone and get the automated voicemail.

"Your call has been forwarded..."

I hang up and redial.

"Your call has been forwarded..."

Hang up. Redial.

"Your call has been forwarded..."

Hang up. Redial.

There's a sound that begins to overtake the roar of the jet engines until it's the only thing I hear. It's piercing and anguished. It sounds like someone's screaming.

"Your call has been forwarded..."

The repeated sound of honking joins the symphony of overwhelming sounds in the parking deck. It possesses a tempo like someone hitting the horn over and over again.

Redial.

The world around me fades away as the sounds get louder and louder. My phone disappears in the chaos, and I can't pinpoint where the noises are coming from. It fills my entire being, clawing me from the inside out. My throat is tight. I can't breathe. My hand hurts.

"Your call..."

Then, it's quiet, and the world goes still.

——————

The ringing of an alarm forces my eyes open, and I immediately groan at the pounding sensation in my head. With blurred vision, I fumble around the dashboard and passenger seat before locating the source of the ringing. My phone had fallen out of my hand and onto the floorboard, so with much effort, I pick up the phone and hit 'Stop.'

Wait, I didn't set an alarm.

Although, I know who did.

The heavy feeling returns, but I will myself to get going. Every movement takes effort as I open up the car door and feel the cool air. I all but fall out of my car, dazed and a bit light-headed. The cool of the evening does nothing to assist with the headache, but it's appreciated nonetheless. Examining the parking deck leads me to notice a few cars had entered and parked, and there's a fleeting wonder of how long I'd been unconscious. 

I manage to grab my backpack out of the backseat and find a white envelope resting beneath it. There's no writing, so cautiously, I open it up and find a plane ticket to Incheon Airport in South Korea along with a piece of ripped notebook paper with a phone number. A heaviness settles upon my chest as I notice the boarding time. Forcing myself to produce energy I don't own, I grab everything in the backseat and make a mad dash into the airport. 

Time feels as though it's flying by as I check my luggage in and make my way through customs. The world becomes a blur, and I'm going through the motions as I answer the security questions. Before I know it, I'm out of customs and making my way to my gate. 

However, once the plane is up in the air for a few hours, and the sun begins to set over the horizon, the orange sky reminds me so much of her. My leg bounces in place as I stare at the color-changing sky, feeling the pressure behind my eyes becoming unbearable. The weight of this day has become too heavy for me.

Twice, now, I've lost the most important people in my life.

Twice, now, I've lost them to a monster - no, an entity of pure evil.

Twice, now, I've been abandoned by the people I needed the most.

Laying my head against the window, I close my eyes and fall into another dreamless slumber.

——————

Many hours later, I'm standing outside Incheon International Airport, clutching my book-bag and suitcase. The nerves of being alone in a foreign country start to build up, but I push them back down, steeling my heart from my scattered emotions. There's no use panicking now; I have a task.

Find Kim Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon. A name I'm familiar with but haven't had the business of meeting until now. His name always came up in casual conversation with Nana about her time in South Korea. From her stories, he's a well put together guy with a mind far beyond his years. "And the most precious smile you ever did see!" Nana would gush. "I really need to introduce you two soon."

The memory causes me to sniffle as I rummage through my bookbag. Pulling out the now crumbled notebook paper, I dial the phone number into my phone. The line rings twice, before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

A deep, warm voice answers in Korean, and I adjust the bag on my shoulder, feeling the discomfort of the situation. All Nana instructed me to do was to find Kim Namjoon, but she didn't leave any instruction on what I'm supposed to say when I find him.

"Um, hi," I croak in Korean, immediately embarrassed by the hoarseness of my voice. "Er, sorry. Am I speaking with Kim Namjoon?"

There's a long enough pause that causes a slight panic in me at the thought that I dialed the wrong number. 

"How did you get this number?"

I lick my lips in nervousness. "I'm so sorry. It's a bit of a long story. I was instructed to call you by..." I choke but recover. "By Min Soojin."

Namjoon doesn't respond, but I do hear rustling as though he's moving. "You're [Last] [Name]." He says it like a statement, but I respond anyway.

"Yes, I am."

"Where are you right now, [Name]?"

"I'm at Incheon airport."

Namjoon hums, before calling out for someone in the background. Another man's voice responds, but I can't make out anything they're saying. A moment later, I hear the sound of a car door opening and closing.

"[Name], are you still with me?" Namjoon asks.

I nod, even though he can't see me. "I'm here."

"Wait for me inside the airport. I'll give you a call when I get there," Namjoon instructs. "And don't talk to anyone."

The last part of his instruction takes me by surprise, but I agree nonetheless. We say our goodbyes, and I head into the one place I know I won't be disturbed by anyone: the ladies' room. I lock myself in a stall and wait, feeling helpless. I'm a girl in a foreign country, uprooted from the home I've ever known, waiting on a man I've never met, because the only family I had left was killed by the beast who killed my family 16 years ago.

This was definitely not on my bingo card for the year.

There's a clicking of heels, accompanied by a few voices. I assume flight attendants from the few complaints about passengers and the checking of where the next flight will be. I begin to lose myself in thought, before the conversation captures my attention. 

"Honestly, when the airports finally put the ban in effect, it'll make our jobs easier," one woman sighs. Another woman hums in agreement.

"What ban?" a different woman asks.

"Ah, you must've missed the announcement." The woman lowers her voice. "They're looking to ban Mutants from commercial flights. For safety purposes."

There's a gasp as one woman responds, "Did you hear that Cha Ha-rin was suspected of being Rogue? The MCF took her in yesterday. I always thought something was off with her. She just didn't belong here."

The group of women all make noises of agreed disdain. They begin voicing their opinions on this Cha Ha-rin, calling her names that I dare not repeat. It then leads to a judgement about Mutants in general. Their comments begin stirring within my stomach, pushing towards a boiling point. There's a familiar buzzing in my hands, and the bathroom lights flicker once.

"Ah, maintenance really needs to fix the lights in here," someone groans. "What are they even being paid for?"

The group begins discussing the failures of the maintenance crew, and I hear their voices fade as they leave the bathroom. The quiet of the bathroom allows me to calm myself, and the tingle in my hands dissipates. Although I'm used to the hate-train against Mutants in my hometown, hearing it in another country entirely gives a new perspective.

What have I gotten myself into?

The vibrating of my phone catches me by surprise, and I scramble to answer without checking the caller ID. "Hello?"

"I'm here," Namjoon says, and I'm filled with relief. The sooner I'm out of this airport - the better. "I'm wearing a blue jacket with a yellow checkered pattern. Near the vending machines."

I collect my things and exit the bathroom. I locate the vending machines and am immediately drawn to the man wearing the described jacket. As I draw closer, I begin noticing him fully. Namjoon is tall, which I soon realize when I have to crane my neck to actually look him in the eye, and he only seems to be a few years older than I am. His eyes are a heavy brown color - nearly black, yet there's a curiosity and intellect in them that tells me he's always learning and enjoys it. His nose is long and flat on his face, resting just above his lips that I enviously realize are fuller than mine.

"[Name]?" 

I recognize Namjoon's voice from the phone call, and I extend my hand to him. The moment our hands connect, there's a shock that travels through our hands at up my arm. It sparks something in my heart and mind, and by the way his hand tightens around mine, I know he felt it too. I meet his knowing gaze with a spark of familiarity residing within my chest.

You're just like me.

Namjoon lets go of my hand and looks around. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and I'll be more than happy to answer them." His eyes meet mine. "But not here and not now."

Before I can respond or even blink, Namjoon grabs my suitcase and beckons me to follow him. We exit the airport and begin walking through the parking lot. 

"Did you drive?" I ask, falling in step with him.

He moves my suitcase into his other hand, before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his phone. Namjoon shakes his head at me as he unlocks his phone and searches for something. His eyes scan the parking lot as he places the phone to his ear.

"No, I got someone else to drive," he answers, before the call connects. "Hey, where are you?" There's a pause, and Namjoon turns his attention to the right of us, looking for something. "Ah, wait. I see you. Heading that way now." 

We walk the rest of the way in silence. A few minutes later, we're standing in front of a black SUV, and Namjoon opens the backseat door on the driver's side, tossing my suitcase inside. He closes the door and walks around to the passenger's side, opening the door and gesturing for me to enter. 

"We have a rule that ladies always sit shotgun," Namjoon explains, and I can't help but feel a light flutter in my chest. I bow my head at him, before hopping into the front seat.

"Hello there!" an unfamiliar yet pleasant voice greets me.

I turn my attention to the driver, and I nearly gasp at the beautiful man before me. Unlike Namjoon, who's appearance was more rugged and curious, the man before me has a youthful, mischievous look. There's something in his eyes that just knows he's handsome, and he's not afraid to show it off. His eyes are wider than Namjoon's yet twinkle with laughter. His nose is shorter and fuller, and I, once again, notice that his lips are also plump - even more than Namjoon's. The man then smiles knowingly, propping his square chin on his elbow as he leans against the dashboard to look at me.

"It's hard not to stare," he sighs whimsically, before shooting me a wink. "I enjoy looking at myself as well."

Heat rises on the back of my neck, and I force myself to face front, embarrassed. I hear Namjoon groan behind me as he slides into his seat, and the heat boils when I realize that he just witnessed me checking out his friend.

You just went through the second worst day of your life, and you're gawking at the Korean men. Please throw yourself out the window, before you embarrass yourself further.

"Don't start with that," Namjoon groans. "She's one of us."

Both the driver and I catch the double-meaning, and there's a small seed of excitement at the thought of meeting another Mutant. Nana was the only one I truly knew, and I didn't really meet many back home in America. Mutants have gone so far into hiding, sometimes I even wonder how many of us are actually left.

"I'm just teasing, Namjoon," the driver says in response to his friend's displeasure. "Anyway, my name is Kim Seokjin, but everyone just calls me Jin. It's nice to meet you."

I turn back to face Jin, forcing myself to look him in the eye as to salvage a bit of dignity. I take his extended hand, shaking it with a small, awkward smile.

"[Last] [Name]," I reply. "Pleasure to meet you."

Jin's eyes crinkle as he smiles again with an excitement of meeting a fellow freak like him, and I can't help but think of how much he must laugh and smile in order to have those lines. A bitter part of me wonders if I'll have any of my own in the future.

Jin releases my hand and starts the car, before pulling out of the parking space and merging with traffic.

"Please, the pleasure is all ours. It's not everyday you see the future unravel before you. Especially in the form of a pretty foreigner."

There's something cryptic about his response that I suspect ties into Nana, but I can't really say how. However, the more I think about it, I have to ask myself: how much do I actually know about Nana? Nibbling on my bottom lip, that brings up another question that puzzles me even more: how do these men know about Nana?

The car ride is silent, yet it's not an unpleasant silence. Jin had tuned into the radio a few minutes after we merged onto the highway, humming along to the songs, and I hear some light snores from behind me, signaling that Namjoon has fallen asleep. Leaning my head against the glass, I watch as cars and buildings go by in a place that is alien to me.

A place that was home to Nana.

The hollow ache in my chest reminds me of the last conversation with Nana, and that nearly steals the breath from my lungs. She sounded so frightened yet so calm on the phone. Like she knew that today she would...leave. A pang of frustration and heartbreak courses through me, and I begin to nibble on my thumbnail as I think.

Did Nana know she was going to die today? Why send me to South Korea? Why did that demon show up again after 16 years? Was he trying to finish what he started? 

All of these questions only produce more questions than answers, and in frustration, I bite down on my thumb hard, drawing blood. Making a small noise of discomfort, I inspect the damage, feeling ashamed and frustrated. I blink rapidly as my wounded thumb becomes blurry, and I subtly turn more towards the window as to not draw attention to my behavior.

I still don't trust these men fully.

Knowing that I'll only drive myself into insanity if I keep thinking, I decide that the best I can do for now is rest until we arrive at wherever it is we're going. Adjusting in the seat, I make myself comfortable, listening to the humming of Jin, before falling into a dreamless sleep.