Zhang Yixing only wanted to stay a night away from home. Instead, he got kidnapped, sent to space, eight galactic (and incredibly dense) teenagers, a mission, and a whole lot of 'no homo'. . .
/VIEW IN GILL SANS NIGHT VERSION/
/UPDATES EVERY FRIDAY...
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THE PERPETUAL BEEP of a machine is background noise, but it's the only thing Yixing hears.
It rings in a pattern of fours, a distant sound one beat silent, one beat loud, one beat silent, one beat loud. Once it starts, it slowly increases in volume. As no other noises join, the underlaying ambience of an enclosed room becomes prominent.
After hearing, other senses come into play. A soft inhale is taken, picking up the scent of sharp cleanliness, pristine walls and syringes and alcohol wipes and prescription bottles. Subsequent to smell is the security that suddenly permeates, spreading throughout his body and subsiding in a calmness. It's cool, but not too cold. Where is he?
Yixing opens his eyes to what takes a moment to adjust to: a vivid white ceiling. It's quickly recognized as the one room on Exoplanet that differs from the others, normal black and red lined interior juxtaposed to the medical unit's fluorescence. He props himself up on an elbow, he's on a light blue mattress absent of any blankets or sheets. Everything is the same as it had been during the routine replacements of the bandage on his wrist except this time there are no robots. It's too quiet.
What happened? A groggy mind questions as Yixing sits up against the metal headboard. He first smells it, body odor and blood, and then looks down and sees it, he's wearing what he was earlier. His white shirt and navy pants are stained a dry maroon, jacket nowhere to be seen. He spots his weapon-filled belt and shoes on a chair nearby and then realizes he doesn't have even socks on, and his once torn right pant leg is cut neatly at the knee to give room to a large gauze bandage, almost identical to the one that had been on his wrist. Grime sprinkles the vermillion mark on his wrist.
They destroyed RF. That's what happened. He must have passed out afterwards and someone must have brought him here and taken care of him. Though right now, Yixing is the only one in the room. He doesn't know how long it's been; he dumbly checks his wrist that he was just looking at to realize he can't tell the time in a scar. It could have been ten minutes after someone laid him on his bed or it could have been days. Judging by how he feels, Yixing would judge at least several hours.
Where's everyone now? Yixing stares at the shut door. What happens after a battle, anyway? Are they cleaning themselves up? Are they cleaning the land up? Putting out fires? Salvaging what of Exoplanet wasn't damaged (evidently, it can't be completely obliterated, judging by how Yixing's resting in a four-walled room right now)? Eating? Meeting? Figuring out their next course of action because the nine of them are stranded out in space trying to figure out a way to get home? Or, as Yixing thinks with a slight sting of fear, had the aliens come to assist RF and killed them all and now they're looking for Yixing to kill him too? Are they about to burst in the door? If so, can they–
Hey, look. A water bottle.
Maybe it's poison from said aliens, but Yixing 1) gulps down the whole thing within seconds anyway, relishing in how it reanimates every inch of his body, and then 2) realizes aliens probably hadn't killed them all because there's a white sticky note on the back of it. In handwriting he doesn't quite recognize, it reads:
