There was a clear screen.

There were lines, arrows, paving markers bubbling up out of the electric glass, between Point Begin and Point Diverge, Point Submerge and Point Resurge.

Faces. Masks. Mug shots on a clear canvas of his own making: all scattered in a freckling of broken design; all perfectly ordered. A family tree.

The ancient cursive scrawl and news clippings pasted over each other, space for space, it was a work of modern art. The big picture was his masterpiece.

He stepped back to admire the view.

He checked through the made-markers again.

He calculated the missteps.

He estimated the probability of end goals achieved.

He believed.

There was a wave of breath, a heave from his chest with hope that these next set of plans would unfold with ease. Or at least, with help from his meticulous planning, preparation and poised delivery.

"Chiminie?"

A door opened.

He waved his hand and snapped his fingers. The glass became clear, blank as his own identity.

Jungkook peered into his private space, but the pilot didn't see.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Chim sighed. "That's what I should be asking you."

Kookie shrugged. "Just checking. I came to say goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Jungkook closed the door softly.

Chim fell into his chair with a heavy sigh. Tears. A sob heaved, teeth digging into his fist to stifle the sound. He couldn't hold back, but he didn't want to be heard.

It's perfect. This plan, this masterwork of mine.

But. Of all the things...why does Kookie have to die?