Chapter Text
Yoongi opens the door as the bell rings, gesturing the small group inside.
His door is two-winged with inserted colorful glass inlays that open into the entrance area, which takes up the full front of his house. The high ceilings give a royal aura, and the huge windows dressed with floor-length curtains in white and gold support the vibe. The furniture are replicas of the style used by royals in the old age: fragile wooden feet carved in twisted ways that end in white and golden fabric that feels velvety.
The white walls show golden intrinsic patterns instead of paintings that used to be hung on the walls before they were banned. From the ceiling hang huge chandeliers, and smaller lamps are placed through the area.
Yoongi gives his guest a moment to look around. He knows they have most likely never seen something similar. Most people don’t live like this and don’t even know that houses like his exist.
While the others try not to seem too curious, Yoongi takes a moment to look at his visitors as he leads them to a sitting area. He gestures for them to take a seat on the couch while he sits down in a single chair, a coffee table between them.
There are 2 men and 1 woman, all dressed in the stereotypical uniform of the classified workers, grey pants with high-collared grey jackets. Two have silver buttons, while the third has golden buttons, indicating their rank.
Yoongi’s own uniform is similar in cut but charcoal and from a finer cloth, the buttons made of nacre, stating his top 1% rank.
All three sit down while the fourth, who is lingering behind, keeps standing.
Yoongi looks quickly at him, noticing the dark hair that falls to his shoulders, the soft facial features, and the slim build that borders on malnourished. There are fresh bruises on his face and arms, and he stares intently at the floor while holding onto a mason jar. He is dressed in something that could be a negligee, but it is so see-through and worn-out that it is difficult to classify. Yoongi looks away quickly as he notices that the man doesn’t wear any underwear.
“Mr. Min, we are so glad you chose us to help you with your need.” The woman starts the conversation as she flips her tablet open. “As it is legally necessary, we need to tell you about the certain requirements for your placement. We understand that your last helpers were from a different company and there were some issues with unwanted attention.”
Yoongi nods but doesn’t speak. The woman continues. “According to your needs and the urgency, this helper is the best match. As he is male, you don’t have to fear any advances. He also knows better, as he is highly trained. He has been with us since he was little and has undergone intensive training, including, of course, housekeeping and cooking. He can serve up to 12 guests on his own; for more guests, we suggest an additional helper. If there is any need, we are happy to supply you with someone. Please note that helpers usually are only trained to serve 6 guests, so you won’t be disappointed.
He can, of course, cook all Korean dishes and is also trained in Italian and French cuisine, with lesser knowledge of Greek and Oriental dishes. He is trained in both daily and weekly nutrition, so you can decide what you prefer.”
Yoongi cuts in. “What does that mean?”
The man with the gold button speaks up now. “He is one of the few who can read your health reports and adapt the food to supply you with everything you need for optimal health. He can adjust your meals so that you either get the needed nutrition every day or he can spread it over the week, which is sometimes nice if you’d like to have a day with less perfect nutrition. So, if you have too many carbs on one day, it won’t be flagged as long as the other days have fewer carbs and your weekly amount is according to your chart. As long as you meet your overall weekly needs, the daily need can be adjusted.”
Yoongi nods in understanding. “That sounds great.”
“Most of our clients chose this, but not all helpers can accommodate them and need to rely on medical professionals. Your helper can adjust himself, but it is, of course, controlled regularly by professionals.”
The woman takes up the conversation again. “I’d like to go through the legal requirements with you next. According to current law, your helper has a claim to a space to sleep that has to offer a mattress and a blanket. The minimum size is 2 square meters, and a door is not necessary, but we recommend at least a curtain. He is allowed to sleep for 4 hours; currently his sleeping time is from 1 to 5 am, but this can of course be adjusted to your needs and schedules. He needs at least one meal per day but can have up to two if you allow it. And he is allowed 2 sets of clothing; currently he has 1, so you need to provide another one. It is up to you if you allow underwear.”
Yoongi tries to keep his face neutral, but he is shocked. He is getting a feeling that something is going very wrong.
Not long ago he shared with an acquaintance the trouble he had with his former housekeeper, who tried to get into his bed to improve her social ranking and gain Yoongi’s protection. He was recommended this company, with his acquaintance boasting about the greatness of his helper. So Yoongi reached out without further investigation, trusting the recommendation. Now he looks at the man who stares at the floor, not showing any reaction to the way that is spoken about him, and the feeling of uneasiness increases.
“You are legally allowed to use physical behavior correction. We have to mention that his pain tolerance is high and he reacts best to fire.”
Yoongi’s eyes shot up. “What?” He chokes, and for the first time he sees a reaction as the man tenses and fear shows on his face. “You use fire to correct behaviour?”
“We use whatever has the best result, and as I said, in his case, usual methods don’t work as well.”
“Why would I need to do that?” Yoongi stares at all three. “What could he do that requires such harsh punishment?”
“Mr. Min, we assure you that there has never been an issue with his behavior.” The woman pauses for a moment as if to find the courage for the next sentence. “But we have to inform you that he is not only Type A but also Level 6.”
Yoongi stares at them. “Are you serious?”
“His family was part of The Rising, and therefore he was automatically classified in Level 6. And he has the NX marker, which can also classify for Level 6. But his overall performance is outstanding and doesn’t correlate with his DNA marking.”
Yoongi looks at all of them, trying to wrap his head around.
The man in front of him was classified because of his family’s doing. He seemed similar in age to Yoongi, so he was still a kid, probably in elementary school when The Rising happened.
No, Yoongi corrects himself. The Rising was a movement that didn’t trust the government and the changes and left the society, moving into the woods, so the children didn’t attend school. They learned to be self-sufficient as the government installed the new laws. Most members of The Rising didn’t believe in the superiority of certain blood groups and refused the clarification by blood type and DNA marking.
As he was told, the helper was type A and therefore regarded as the least valuable, already categorized for the lowest work as a kid.
Everyone knows the NX-marker as one of the most dangerous ones, as it marks high intelligence with strong ethical thinking, something that is harmful for a society and therefore needs to be controlled.
Yoongi knows that a society can only thrive when there are leaders that decide for all and others that comply with the orders. The old age had failed as it placed individuality higher than communal gain, and their current way of living is a correction of it.
Type A means a low classification.
NX-marker means a low classification.
Being part of The Rising means a low classification.
The man in front of him is the sum of all that is disapproved of in the current society. And still he is offered to Yoongi.
“I don’t understand why you would bring someone like him to me. You do know about my classification?” Yoongi’s tone is harsh.
“We do, Sir.” All three bow their heads. “But we understood your request as urgent, and as we said, he is one of our best. We can switch him out as soon as possible.”
“I can’t imagine he is that great if he is classified in such a way.” Yoongi’s tone is still cold. He believes in DNA marking, and it doesn’t make sense that someone with such a classification can live up to his expectations and his needs.
“I understand your worry, Sir. To reassure you, we’ll leave you with his remote control. Like all Level 6s, he is implanted with the newest technology. You can not only track him but also adjust his sleep schedule, and you even have the possibility to taser him from within. I am convinced it won’t be necessary, but you might feel better with it.”
Yoongi is given a small control panel that fits into his palm. He places it next to him.
“So why is he bruised like this if he is so harmless?” Yoongi isn’t convinced yet.
“We apologize, Sir. We like to include pain-resistance training to ensure our helpers can work without a break, no matter the injury or sickness. As your request was urgent, he was pulled out of the training. We usually wouldn’t present him like this, but rest assured that he can work without problems in his current state.”
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. This has turned into a nightmare. He considers for a moment to pull out and send them all away, but something deep inside him pities the man. If he sends him away, he is probably sent back to the pain training, and he looks beat up enough as he is.
“What is in the mason jar?” Yoongi asks as he doesn’t know what else to say.
“Oh, that.” The man who was quiet so far speaks up. “He was allowed to work with sourdough. This is his starter. It is, of course, your decision if he is allowed to continue, but we enjoyed the bread he can bake with it. I’d like to suggest giving it a try and deciding afterward if he is allowed to continue.”
Yoongi nods, not knowing why he shouldn’t allow a sourdough starter. The man seems relieved by it.
“Is there anything else?” Yoongi asks weakly.
“Not from our side. He has been briefed and knows about your needs and expectations. We are fully convinced that you will be satisfied.”
The three get up to go to the door while the man stays in his spot. No word or acknowledgement is given in his direction.
“If you need help with anything, you can always reach out, Mr. Min. We aim for your satisfaction!” The woman bows her head, and they turn to leave.
As they are almost out of the door, the man with the golden buttons turns around again.
“I know it wasn’t requested, but it might be good for you to know that he is also fully trained for all kinds of physical pleasure in case you change your mind.” He winks at Yoongi.
Yoongi closes the door behind them before he leans his head against the wood and finally voices his thoughts. “What the fuck?”
Earlier that day
Jimin groans soundlessly as he moves. He is in pain, but that was their goal. He dries the showerhead and everything that got wet during his shower, mentally checking off the to-do list to not forget anything. He doesn’t want to give them any reason to beat him up again.
There are many things he hates, but pain training is in the top 5. The suckers are so far gone in their insanity that they don’t even see their wrongness anymore.
Beating up people and inflicting pain to train them to work despite it is sick. Jimin is sure that whoever came up with it was a sadistic pervert who needed a new outlet. He sports several bruises on his face and arms, where he was tied down during the beating, but the worst is the back of his thighs, where deep, thin cuts were placed as the beating didn’t reach the desired pain level.
Jimin knows he isn’t even regarded as a person. The people around him aren’t regarded as humankind. They are less, and no one cares about their well-being. They are all classified as worthless, and their only purpose is to work and suffer before they die.
People like him die young. Not only because of the cruel environment and the dangerous work they have to do, but also because of the abuse they suffer and the high numbers of self-ending the agony.
The suicide numbers among his peers are through the roof, and instead of wondering if the treatment might be the cause, the government has decided to limit their access to tools. They no longer get any medication (not that they’ve gotten much before), ropes are forbidden items now, and using knives is only allowed under supervision.
The trackers they all have implanted under their skin now send a quicker alarm if their blood pressure, pain level, or breathing pattern changes. All to keep them alive—not because their life is worth something, but because they are needed for the lowest of work. They are not even allowed to end their lives anymore, which is fitting, as nothing about their lives is theirs.
Like the people around him, Jimin’s blood type is A, which is regarded as the worst and automatically categorizes him in the lowest class.
His parents were critical of the new political direction, and before he was born, they decided to leave the society and join a community in the woods that didn’t believe in categorizing and controlling.
The blood type supremacy was a global movement, so they had no chance to flee to a different country. It began slowly, but like an avalanche—once it started, there was no stopping. There was propaganda about superior blood types, and the blood type was suddenly a factor for getting a job, an apartment, or even a romantic partner.
Then the DNA matching began, promoted as the necessity to have strong family bonds and superior children. Soon the children were created in laboratories to get the best DNA markers and then were no longer raised in families but by specially educated professionals. Depending on their biological markers, it was decided what their career path would be even before they could say their name.
Jimin was one of the last with the wrong blood type and bad DNA markings. He was one of the last children that was received naturally by a couple out of love even though laboratory babies were already the norm.
The existing houses that families used to live in were destroyed and replaced by blocks of houses, all straight lines with tiny living spaces, all designed the same. Society as it was known was changed.
Now, children grow up in education centers, according to their determined future decided by their blood type and DNA marking. Once they reach the age of 16, they are given a living quarter with a single bed, a table, and a chair, all in the same grey, straight lines with no individuality. There is no kitchen, as the food is distributed and delivered. It is said to ensure the perfect nutrition, but it was another way of control that people just accepted. They eat what they are given.
To ensure that the society works, everyone has to work according to their ranks and follow orders from higher-ups. Refusing orders is punished to ensure that no one steps out of line.
The government decides not only the profession but also the leisure time. They decide how spare time is spent, organizing community events that everyone has to attend.
There are rumors there were music, books, movies, and art in the past and that everyone was allowed to create, but nowadays, they have 30 books, 30 songs, 30 movies, and 30 artworks that were declared valuable to society's norms.
Cameras are everywhere, watching every step to make sure no one speaks against the government, and if there was ever a doubt that someone was compliant, they were taken to behavior correction centers to ensure they were good citizens.
While the changes were slow at the beginning, they became quicker, and in the end it took only two decades for society to live in this controlled environment that was sold as a safe and improved life.
Jimin didn’t experience the changes. He was in the woods with his parents, who tried to teach him as much as possible as they didn’t know how much time they had left.
Jimin learned to write on fallen leaves with sticks blackened in the fire and read books that were long forbidden and hidden in the self-built huts. He learned to sing and dance, use his body as a percussion instrument as no instruments were left, and practice crafting from wood and leaves. Like all children around him, he was indoctrinated with the opposite opinion.
They were told over and over again that they were valuable, that a blood type doesn’t define a person, but their actions do. They learned about the past, the time when people lived in democracies and how children were once received naturally and lived with their parents as family and how they were free to decide their career and their romantic partner for themselves. They were loved so firmly as if to bathe every cell in pure love so they would never forget the feeling.
Jimin was only 7 when the raid happened. All forest communities were attacked at the same time; masses of soldiers overran them, burning down everything and shooting whatever moved. His parents tried to hide him, and he was crouched inside a hollow tree trunk, his hands over his ears to drown out the screams and the bullets flying through the air. He was covered in dirt and soil when he was found and torn outside, lined up with other children.
He remembered that he was the oldest and the brief discussion of whether he was too old to be taken back.
Out of the over 50 people who lived in this camp, 5 children aged 4 to 7 were the only ones who survived. All young enough to be sculpted to the government's needs to be exploited and abused.
The younger children naturally turned to Jimin, trying to find comfort and courage in him, and the officials quickly understood that they only needed to punish Jimin to get the others to fall in line. When they arrived at the behavior correction center, Jimin was already beaten up and bleeding.
On arrival there were medical assessments; all of them were categorized in the lowest groups. But no one as low as Jimin. He didn’t understand it as a child, wondering why he was regarded worse than the others.
Quickly he learned to act according to the expectation. First, they had classes where they were told that their parents were bad people and the government's only desire was to protect and help people. They all knew better than to speak against it, Jimin hoping that the others, like him, hung tight to the words and love they were raised with.
Then the sorting began to figure out how they could serve the community best. Jimin had to work in different settings despite still being a child but was eventually chosen for the housekeeping.
The next years, he was trained in cleaning, cooking, and house management. He was often frowned upon as a male in the dominant-female field, but his skills were better than most others.
Still, it didn’t save him from punishment. He learned soon that it didn’t really matter what he did or didn’t do; some officials just wanted to hurt him. They despised him because of The Rising, because of his blood type, because of his DNA marking, and they enjoyed beating him up while knowing he couldn’t even defend himself without bringing worse punishment on himself.
No matter how much the officials despised him, his skills were undeniable, and he often ended up teaching others. He was lucky that he wasn’t given to households often, his DNA-marking too repulsive to most, but every once in a while he was sent if there was an emergency.
It was always short-term, and Jimin hated it.
So being pulled out of pain training and being told to go and shower was not a good sign. Especially as he is only allowed one shower a week, and today is not his shower day.
He quickly followed the order and went to the water area to clean himself, ignoring the glass wall that let others watch him. Usually there are officials staring at vulnerable naked bodies, but today it is empty.
After cleaning the area, he dries himself off and is given a clean fabric. It is black like all his clothes and another flimsy thing that acts as clothes but is almost see-through, and Jimin is sure that the official usage was as bedclothes in the old age. He quickly pulls it over his head, knowing exactly how ridiculous he looks.
He often wonders if this is the intention; dressing people in clothes like this and being told that it is normal fucks with the head.
Jimin sees what the officials wear; they have pants and jackets, with no extra skin showing, while he has to walk around with bare arms, a low neckline, and a deep back, with a length that only reaches to half of his thigh. As usual, he is not given any underwear, adding on to the humiliation.
Society says his category is so repulsive, it is needed to dress them prettily to balance it out. Whoever thinks that these filthy clothes are pretty needs a mental status check.
His hair is getting too long, but there is nothing he can do about it. He combs through it with his fingers, trying to detangle it, but without a comb it’s not helping much.
There is nothing he owns, nothing he needs to pack, so he only runs into the kitchen area to pick up the only thing he is slightly attached to.
His mason jar with sourdough.
He still doesn’t know why he is allowed to have it, but he doesn’t question it. As long as he is allowed, he will keep it, feeding it weekly and caring for it to survive another week.
Jimin’s tracker sends a sharp pain through his arm, a call for him to appear at the entrance hall. His time is up; he needs to leave.
While he hates being in the center, at least he knows the rules. But he doesn’t know where he is sent. While he has no doubt that he can handle the household, he worries about the person he is sent to.
Most are cruel, seeing him as a slave and taking full advantage of him. He only hopes that he will be exchanged soon. There are not many that are willing to keep him for longer than necessary with his category and marking.
Jimin bows his head to the three officials waiting for him, stopping several steps away as if to not insult them with his presence.
Soon the mobile transport capsule pulls up, and all of them step into the silver metal box. The officials sit down at the seats along the walls while Jimin stands in the corner.
One of his first lessons was to never sit down. He still has the scar that reminds him.
“Good evening. Where do you want to go tonight?” The soft, female computer voice that follows them everywhere asks.
The official with the golden buttons recites the address, but the transport system declines the address. Jimin has never experienced officials needing to prove that they have reason to go to a certain address, but one pulls out the tablet and shows some documents on the screen, and soon they get the permission to proceed.
“Would you like to add priority travel to your travel today?” The voice asks, and the officials decline.
The government doesn’t pay for the priority upgrade. With the upgrade, the computer system controlling the traffic and deciding the order for mobile transport capsules prioritizes certain capsules and shortens the travel enormously.
The capsule takes off and finds its way to the address. Jimin knows that there was a time when people could drive themselves, but nowadays everything is automatic. As everything is controlled by the traffic control system, the traffic accidents have been reduced to zero.
“You were matched to an urgent request. I don’t expect any trouble.” The woman addresses Jimin, and he bows as a sign of listening. “It is a man living alone. You manage the house, including all cleaning and cooking. His preference seems standard. The only thing standing out is that he regularly has friends over, so you need to cook for 6.”
Jimin listens up at that. It is not normal to have friends over or eat together. If the man is allowed to do it, he must have a high ranking.
“It is one of the old houses, so you need to be careful with the cleaning chemicals, but I know you can handle it.”
Definitely a high ranking. Only high ranks have access to the old houses, the size depending on the rank.
Jimin nods without raising his head, showing his understanding without being disrespectful.
“His file is accessible for you, so you can refer to it. We will explain everything to him and ask if you’re allowed to keep the sourdough. If not, I expect you to hand it over without issues.”
Jimin nods, his jaw slightly tensing before forcing himself to relax again. It is just a sourdough, flour, and water, something Jimin can start again once he is back in the center. Jimin knows it is his own fault that he sees the mason jar as a friend, his only trustee, even if it is not even a person. Maybe it makes it even better that it is not a person. He would hate for a person to have the same experience as him.
Once they arrive and step out of the car, he quickly eyes the place. It is a mansion. Jimin has never seen a house that big that even has a garden at the front. They pass the gate and follow the short way up to the entrance as Jimin tries to see as much as possible. The house has massive windows, and Jimin already sees the spots that need to be cleaned. Whoever was there before him didn’t do it properly.
He doesn’t allow himself to think how unfair it is that some people live like this when most are stored away in grey shoeboxes. Or people like him who sleep with 10 others in a room that only fits 5 mattresses. He doesn’t remember the last time he didn’t have to share a mattress or slept without touching another body.
The bell rings, and Jimin’s heart starts to beat faster. He is nervous about what to expect. The doors open, and they are let inside. Jimin follows the others, his head down but his eyes going in all directions to gather as much as possible.
The floor is beige stone, easy to clean. The entrance opens into a receiving area with the same floor. The furniture are replicas of the old design that is usually only seen in school files. The seating furniture faces each other around a low table, and Jimin is surprised to see soft seating furniture, not the normal plastic one.
He quickly looks at the man living in this house before staring at the floor. His suit is charcoal with nacre buttons, showing his 1% rank. Jimin has, of course, heard that there were people with perfect DNA markings, but seeing one in reality hits different.
He is around Jimin’s age, maybe slightly older. Jimin feels how he only quickly looks at him before averting his gaze.
Jimin can’t blame him; he knows he looks ridiculous in this black nightmare.
He listens to the conversation while trying to get a feeling for this person.
“Mr. Min, we are so glad you chose us to help you with your need.” Jimin hears the woman starting the conversation. “As it is legally necessary, we need to tell you about the certain requirements for your placement. We understand that your last helpers were from a different company and there were some issues with unwanted attention.”
Jimin stores the name away and is interested in the part about unwanted attention. If the last housekeeper tried to get close to Mr. Min, he probably is not the worst person, and the chance of sexual assault is reduced. Jimin is relieved.
Not that society would ever call it sexual assault. It is regarded as another field in which helpers are to assist their masters; they are even trained to satisfy. Jimin’s stomach knots just thinking about it.
He follows the explanation with one ear and only shifts his full focus back as he hears
“You are allowed to physical behavior correction. We have to mention that his pain tolerance is high and he reacts best to fire.”
Jimin doesn’t flinch, but for a moment he loses control of his face before quickly relaxing and not showing any emotion. But his heart hammers. While he can handle a lot of pain, fire scares him tremendously. The way it lingers deeper in his skin, not only the initial burn but also the pain over the days and weeks to follow, and the smell makes him sick.
It reminds him of the smell of the forest after he was lined up with the children and they had to watch everything burn. Their homes, their belongings, the bodies of the people they once loved. He will never forget the smell of burning bodies, and his own burning skin brings back memories he can’t face if he wants to survive.
Jimin tunes in and out of the conversation, loosely following the argument as Mr. Min is not satisfied with Jimin’s ranking.
That is nothing new. Jimin is used to being insulted and overlooked due to his DNA, and as a Top 1% he can’t expect Mr. Min to not believe in the current regulations. He is profiting from it, so of course he would despise his total opposite.
But as he allows Jimin to keep his sourdough, Jimin is relieved. Even if Mr. Min seems like the poster child of the current law, at least he gives Jimin this.
Jimin stands still as the officials leave, probably trying to get back in time for the curfew. He hears what the official says before he leaves and feels his stomach tighten.
As the door closes, Mr. Min curses, and then everything is quiet.