Some the hell where in the United States, 2024

Darkness was all Thera Tae-Jun experienced right now. Unkempt black hair hung in sightless light green eyes. A very torn white t-shirt and worn, ragged blue jeans were all that kept him decent. Ragged sandals no longer fit on his skinny feet. He was only a teenager, but Tae-Jun knew his time had run out. Chains kept him from moving. He was starved, dehydrated, and could literally feel pain as it seared through his body.

No longer capable of sight, his other senses expanded to allow him to understand what was going on in his surroundings.

"Tae-Jun," A familiar voice rasped. "Can you hear me right now?"

Tae-Jun blinked. "Ji-Ha?" It was his middle brother. "What do you want to say now?" If he was correct, it was either Ji-Ha or Han-Gyeol who'd landed them in this mess. The meanings of their names, wisdom and greatness, harmony and one, sure had yet to work in this timeline. Greatness and talent sure hadn't panned out for him, either. So, what could he really complain about anyway?

"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry." Ji-Ha shifted. Chains clinked, indicating he was also unable to move freely. "I know that we all wanted a better life for ourselves. You almost had it made in the entertainment industry, right?"

Huh? Was Ji-Ha serious? Tae-Jun snorted in disbelief. "Eh, I was doing a writing and drawing thing. It was Beom-Su and Woo-Sung that were slated for success." The two youngest had the most wicked dance and singing or acting ability.

Tae-Jun grunted. "Tell me the truth, who got us tangled up in this mess with debtors?" He wanted to know the truth.

There was unnerving silence. "Ji-Ha, talk to me. Ji-Ha?"

Screams of agony filled the air.

Whips slashed through the air. Blood spewed everywhere. Tae-Jun was terrified. What happened to his siblings? "Woo-Sung, Beom-Su?" His voice was raspy from thirst. "Han-Gyeol?" He heard footsteps approaching him. Tae-Jun knew they'd all been separated into different cells from past moments.

"What's going on?" He rattled his chains.

"This Thera Tae-Jun is still managing to survive?" An unctuous voice spoke.

Tae-Jun's blood chilled. He recognized the speaker. What did Uncle Ross Stype have to do with this?

"Well, he'll join those brats in hell soon enough, Mr. Stype. He's actively dying as we speak."

"A pity. I'd hoped that at least one Thera brothers would survive this harsh treatment." Ross sighed.

"What did you want to happen, Mr. Stype?" The person accompanying Ross was clearly curious.

Ross spoke dismissively. "It doesn't matter now, Mr. Sung." He clearly wasn't going to satisfy the other man's curiosity. "Just throw them into the causeway with the other trash once they've died," Ross instructed, and now his voice turned distinctly threatening when he added, "This time, make sure they're dead."

Footsteps receded, and Tae-Jun could only hear heavy breathing, which indicated that one person had remained. He closed his eyes in preparation for the worst-case scenario.

*

When Rogan showed up that morning, he didn't know what awaited him. However, when he recalled hearing about the capture of the five Thera boys, he couldn't believe his bad luck.

Those nephews had the worst luck of being related to Ross Stype. The man gave off one hell of a nasty vibe in private. He was the consummate bootlicker in public though. "Why did I ever believe the hype of him being a nice guy?" Rogan muttered.

"Keep it down, Sung," Larssen warned. "Stype is in a bad mood because none of those five have proven useful in his attempt to create a prototype of the invincible body."

Rogan rolled his eyes. "So that is why he dragged those kids here on the trumped-up debts?"

Larssen shook his head. "No, the debts are real, but from their father, who died when they were around ten to four years of age." He shrugged. "Stype took care of those debts long ago, but he wrecked the lives of those boys in the process from sheer fury that he was saddled with them."

That didn't make sense to Rogan when he heard that and said so rather bluntly. "Weird, I thought he was one of those who'd just dump them off at the nearest orphanage." He caught Larssen's scowl at his wording. "Or some other organization that takes in unwanted brats."

Larssen shrugged. "I dunno, some people are weird like that. I heard their mother was still alive, so she might've had something to do with his decision to keep them around."

Oh, the brat's mother was still living? "I doubt that's going to last much longer." Rogan figured that either Stype had the hots for the mother or vice versa. It didn't matter, though, because Stype never kept women long if they didn't satisfy his lust for power, wealth, and influence.

Larssen shrugged. "Anyway, today you have to check on the cells that those kids are stashed in." He glanced at the clock. "Better hop to it, I hear he's going to execute them today no matter what."

Ugh, this was annoying. Rogan made sure to change into clothing he would be fine with disposing of after the shift. The last thing he wanted was to have blood all over his clothing.

Of all the days he had to be on shift, Rogan Sung frowned after Ross Stype. That bastard was always doing this shit. Annoying as hell, too, because it meant that Ross would have to call in other people to help him move the damn bodies.

"Bah, why must I clean up after his messes?" Mr. Sung growled. He walked to where Tae-Jun leaned against a wall. "Hah, you heard what he said, right?" Sung didn't have the patience to wait for the kid to die off naturally. Besides, his organs weren't even worth salvaging. Just look at what a skinny brat he was. "Just die already so I can get my work done quickly." He kicked and punched Tae-Jun into unconsciousness.

Hours later, Rogan really didn't want to be down there. His nose wrinkled at the obnoxious scents clogging his nose. "Disgusting," he muttered. "Who else is on shift with me?"

"We are," Jeff Tremor and Gin Malkan spoke from his left. "So, who are still alive?" Gin wanted to know.

"Just the Tae-Jun kid. He's the only one who managed to live this long."

Of course, he'd just stomped on him, so that wouldn't last long.

Gin walked to the cell and backed out in horror. "Err, Rogan, we have a problem."

"What?" Rogan wanted to avoid hearing this.

"All five bodies have disappeared." Gin pointed. "Nothing left but a pool of blood and the clothing they'd been clad in."

Well, hell, which was the last thing they needed right now. Rogan shrugged. "Less mess for us to clean up, then. Let's just do the rest and report the removal." He'd be damned if he was going to waste his time looking for the reason for their disappearance. Good riddance to pests.