Storm-Calling Love Doll Sealed-Room Murder Case (2)
After quietly sending back the middle-aged guy who was desperately trying to pitch himself as our "sworn brother," we dug deeper into Demonbozi.com.
Shouldn't I, the newbie to this kind of thing, have been the one investigating? Yeah, sure. But doesn't it feel like sweet boss vibes to hand some idle employee a rewarding task and spice up their day?
"As expected, it seems like a niche site known only to those in the know, even in the underbelly."
"Not furry freaks, I hope?"
"Fortunately, no furries. Actually, not even living beings..."
S-man, uncharacteristically trailing off, showed me his laptop screen. And sure enough, it wasn't themed around "living beings" at all.
Deep into the internet via VPN bypass, the main page of "Demonbozi" featured—surprisingly—love dolls.
What are love dolls? In this cold, harsh human society where people can't feel the warmth or allure of the opposite sex anymore, they're a substitute invented by the desperate. If you can't have real human skin, at least feel soft silicone skin—that kind of self-consoling adult toy.
I'd heard they evolved from predecessors like onaholes, dildos, and massagers as people craved more "proper play." Naturally, they started mimicking human forms.
Seeing those things plastered on a shady site's main page wasn't just suspicious—it was absurd.
Wait, so all these guys gathered here are...?
I glanced around the outdoors again. Normal-looking dudes, out here in this freezing weather, crawling into a campsite most regular folks wouldn't touch, camping out for over a dozen hours straight... all for...
'Love dolls?'
Yesterday, lounging on the office sofa, I'd thought Korea's rock-bottom birth rate was bullshit. Now? Pretty damn reasonable ranking.
Women chase money, not men; men chase ideals, not women. No wonder marriage, let alone kids and parenting, is off the table in this mad world. Confucius, Mencius, Aristotle—they'd grab their balls in shock at this truth. Suddenly, I lost all interest in the whole affair.
The revelation that Demonbozi was about "love dolls," not humans, killed my buzz completely.
"Fucked it, totally fucked."
I crawled into the sleeping bag—duck down or whatever, plush and warm enough to rival Mom's embrace.
"Did you think it wasn't a secret love doll demo club, boss?"
"Yeah. But now that they've trampled man's pure heart like this, no expectations left. I was gonna treat my hardworking guy to some fun, but who knew it'd be this lame-ass meetup..."
What the hell. If dudes were secretly gathering to enjoy pussy, shouldn't they at least have the balls for the real thing, not fakes? Hell, even some illegal vibe—like doing drugs—would make sense. But a love doll demo? The Korean government's not even banning them outright, so why the yearly winter outdoor campsite drama? That bored?
It's not real sex, not drugs, not even a booze-and-BBQ bros' party. So why are these gloomy dudes huddling together?
No meaning, zero meaning. Fine, say they stack logs mountain-high for a raging campfire, then fireworks, BBQ, karaoke nationals—that I'd get. But wasting life on this sticky mess of jizz and silicone oil? Pass.
"Let's just camp-heal and bounce. Boil ramen, grill meat, grab booze, get shitfaced bro-style."
"Should've brought Yonghwa Seonnyeo and the kid."
"Next time."
Anyway, this sleeping bag's fucking toasty. No hot packs, but my body heat trapped inside made it warm up quick. That's the class of these high-end bags costing tens of thousands?
"I'm crashing first—wake me for ramen."
Ramen after a solid nap? Peak bliss. Eyes shut with that thought—bam, they snapped open.
"What the fuck."
Zipping up, peeking out: biting wind slicing my nose like a blade. Phone check: 8:10 AM. Shut-eye for about six hours.
But that wasn't the point. Everything was blinding white.
"Did some psycho dump white paint barrels...?"
Pushing fully out the half-open tent: pure white world. Like reality sketched on blank paper. No cosmic horror, though—the crunch underfoot, flakes pouring from the sky? All snow.
Falling so hard, half of S-man's premium large tent was buried. A few more hours, I'd have woken up under snow, not canvas.
About a meter in six hours. Still raging down. This normal?
Not impossible. Frontier troops shovel 30-50cm daily in winter; over a meter sometimes. Late November, pre-December—sudden blizzard? Plausible.
But that's why it's weird.
Gwangmyeong, Gyeonggi-do—south of Seoul. Near a meter of snow? No forecast?
KMA's world-class trash at basic weather, but they nail blizzards/floods. This? Sudden anomaly.
No alerts blaring daily, either.
Internet powerhouse Korea—net and GPS down? Rare as hell. Not some Gangwon backwoods; urban-adjacent mountain.
Stay and get snow-buried? No thanks. I packed tent gear fast. Didn't sweat S-man's absence—smart guy, not dumb. Top uni grad, S Group elite, 20+ certs/licenses. No way he's playing fool.
"Puhahaaaaaa!"
Folding the tent, up popped S-man from the snow—swim cap and goggles on. Wiping snow-crusted lenses, he grinned hello.
"You're up, boss!"
"Yeah. Weather's fucked—no outdoor ramen. Hurry and pack your tent."
"Yes, sir!"
Snow rate? Not flurries—blizzard. This pace? Two meters easy. Move before Korea turns Siberian.
"By the way, you were out 'strolling'—scouted? Can we drive out?"
"No go. Roads blocked secondary; car's frozen solid. Snow's heavy, but not freeze-level—yet stuck."
"Hike down bare?"
"Paths gone. All white—can't tell up from down. Snow filled tree/rock gaps, crevasse-like."
Swam through snow like a pro, huh. Wondered when this started.
"About an hour after you slept, snow hit sudden. Folks called it scenic at first; 30 mins later, ankle-deep, visibility tanked. Early panickers tried driving—roads wrecked, gave up."
Flatland? Plow through ankle snow. But mountainside—rain/snow kills sight, risk slide-crash.
"Everyone bunked at lodge first. I scouted."
"Results?"
"Circled same spots in 20 mins. Tried tumbling downhill—stopped abrupt."
"Caged bird vibe."
"Yes. Thought ground contact looped me—swam snow instead. Same result, as you see."
Elite corp material, alright.
"Net and GPS dead too. Unheard of in Korea. We're trapped—normal ways won't work."
"You can, boss?"
"Haven't had ramen. No BBQ, no karaoke nationals. Won't leave till I do."
We grabbed snow-half-buried gear, headed to the lodge in the inner woods.