Look to Gwanak
To see Seoul's future, just lift your head and gaze at Gwanak. I'd carved those words deep into my heart and lived by them my whole life. There wasn't a truer saying in the world. After all, every hotshot from Gwanak Mountain's elite universities was a total badass. My old department head back at the company was one too.
But as the human navigator gripping the wheel steered us toward Gwanak Mountain, the illusions in my heart started crumbling bit by bit.
"...Bukhan Mountain has too many eyes on it and it's too close to central Seoul, so first, we're moving the delivered goods to a secluded spot on the south side of Gwanak for 'processing.'"
"Gwanak's got well-laid-out hiking trails just like Bukhan. Won't people be a problem?"
"Beats me. Boss just said that after consulting some feng shui expert he trusts, as long as we set up in an extreme fire spot where no human could possibly live, everything's solved."
I recalled what I'd dug up on 'feng shui' after swimming through the internet's ocean for dozens of hours in that PC bang, scouring every corner. The classic example folks know is baesanimsu—back to the mountain, facing the water. An ideal spot with a mountain guarding your rear and a flowing river up front, perfect for living. In Seoul terms, that'd be north of the Han. People living north of Gwanak get the same deal if they face that way, but south? No dice.
Gwanak's treated as an outer peak, not an inner one, so the farther out you go, the fiercer the fire energy gets—making it unlivable for humans. Even if someone stumbles in briefly, they bolt right out. The energy itself clashes with people, so it doesn't even register in their sight. Sounds like bullshit, but feng shui-wise, it's a perfect hideout for secret buddies to hang.
The human navigator—who'd offered up five ears of corn in repentance and prayer, his body covered in big and small bruises—shuddered belatedly. He was finally rationally judging the horrors he'd witnessed and the sins he'd committed during all this.
Criminals who operate with cold reason aren't the innately batshit types. Otherwise, you'd need to be a pro who's offed at least a dozen people. Impulse killers get hooked before they snap out of it, wandering dark nights without a flashlight—clueless about what they're doing, if it's right, or if they can handle the fallout. No room for real thoughts.
In that sense, this guy coming to his senses was getting devoured by a dam-burst flood of guilt.
But you're already heaven-bound, buddy.
"Don't be afraid."
"......"
"Lord Jesus Father will open heaven's gates even if you're the world's biggest whore fucker—as long as you truly repent, pray, and spend your life in reflection."
"But I... I've committed unforgivable sins."
"Think of your departed pals, Jaha-oh and Kim Chunduk. They repented and prayed fastest, knocking on heaven's door first. You could've too, but guiding me through sin's pit bought you a little stay. Once this is done, He'll decide your fate. Just go with the flow, live moderately, die moderately."
"Urk! I... I can't figure out where I went wrong...!"
Thud-thud.
In the rattling, unpaved-road-shaken car, I rested my chin on my hand, staring ahead.
"Fell for evil's temptation without knowing, broke the Almighty's laws—standard repertoire. The fun part? Who falls and who doesn't is decided from the start."
"So it was my fate...?"
"I don't buy fate. But I get the intent of the One up high who sorts human ends into heaven or hell. He wants pure, spotless souls—not filthy rags like yours."
"But!"
"Yeah, and yet you can still make heaven. Because I shaped you personally. Scraped off the grime, smoothed the edges, made you presentable. Slipped you into the heaven parade. Hated how He 'respects free will' but dooms sinners to hell without real salvation."
Respects human freedom utterly, but won't accept unbelievers, apostates, sinners who just lived free into heaven? What bullshit contradiction. If that's the game, scrap sin from the start before handing out freedom. Think Sodom and Gomorrah popped up just 'cause humans knew good from evil? Nah—top guy's lax control let a little deviation snowball.
Babel Tower challenging divine authority? Nations endlessly persecuting Christians? Trendy idol worship and apostasy? All 'cause He irresponsibly indulged 'free will.'
"To claim freedom, bear the responsibility." Fine. Then why does the Great Judge dodge His own?
His freedom gets respect, no accountability—humans get shackled with it. What the fuck? A contradictory God claiming One True status lets Him casually drown creations in floods or smite with fire and hail. "Love equally" promise? Gone. "Salvation for all"? Just endless faith demands, no real path.
Are we really equally loved kids from His hands? Or easy toys He floods or angel-sweeps with a snap if we sin?
I know human nature doesn't change. End times, He'll wipe the world clean, gaze satisfied at heaven stuffed with His picks. But with black-hearted whites majority, He'll itch to re-hell them—conflict brewing.
Then you'll wonder: why does an omniscient, perfect God crave hurling heaven's own to hell? That's when One True authority crashes like a fallen morning star.
But you'll love 'em all anyway. You promised. I trust the Almighty won't eat His words.
That's why I'm here.
"We've... arrived."
"Good. Head back. Live by Lord Jesus Father's will. On the day you ascend to heaven, I'll see you off personally."
"......"
The human navigator bowed his head and turned back. Till death, he'll obsess over divine will, killing his free will for life.
Alone, I approached the kid at the building entrance, offering a complimentary chicken joint throat-lozenge candy.
"You live here?"
He nodded, then shook his head.
"Want candy?"
Nod, then shake again. Kid's mouth—teeth and tongue ripped out—couldn't chew or lick. Black sockets gouged forcibly burned with candy craving, but self-aware futility looped despair.
I gently stroked his head.
"Poor kid, tricked by evil—eyes plucked, tongue sliced, baby teeth smashed. Sunken belly's empty now."
Flabby gut gap? Literally void. No organs where they should be, veins withered worse than dead grass.
"Blame not the world, but the High One above. Your death's His will, part of the Great Plan. Fucked up, right? World's always been this shit."
I set the candy before him and stepped into the sin-boiling pit.
"Livestock sorted at life's fork by 'God's will,' 'plan,' 'fate'—your road's not hell, but heaven."
Enter heaven and mock His contradictions! Prove even heaven's can fall!
For that, I'll gladly be your stepping stone—send one more soul up.
Screeeeech.
The sealed abandoned building's door creaked open on its own. Under flickering white fluorescents, a suited man stood solo in the hall, smiling at me.
Perfectly hospitable amid this, he approached with incongruously sweet tones.
"Who might you be?"
His politeness nearly cracked me up.
"Psycho."