1988 - Regression
1988 - Regression
I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was a dazzling electronic billboard, and a huge ball shaped like a cherry.
The ball slowly descended, and as the cherry-shaped light turned off, numbers began to glow brilliantly underneath.
1988.
"Wooooah!"
"Yaaaaah!"
All sorts of people were shouting.
Enough to make my ears feel numb.
'January 1st, 1988. Times Square Ball Drop?'
It's a situation from my memory.
I definitely was at Times Square during that period.
"Happy New Year!"
A man wearing a rainbow-colored wig shouted right next to my ear.
It felt like my skull was shaking.
What the hell is going on?
'First, I need to get out of here.'
I somehow squeezed through the incredibly dense crowd of people and barely made my way toward the outside.
'...I clearly died.'
My last memory was cursing The Pig and desperately praying to God.
Why it was specifically the God of Diabetes, I don't really know either.
Could I possibly have returned to the past?
Or is it a dream?
In reality, would it be a situation like 'Comrade Committee Member! This bastard is smiling!' 'Leave him! He must be dreaming a good dream!'
"Darling! Happy New Year! Peck-."
"Chuuup-."
Next to a couple passionately kissing and acting crazy.
Seeing that, I finally felt a bit of reality sinking in.
A Yankee couple wearing leather jackets with shoulder pads soaring upward.
Horribly tacky.
Rustle.
Reflexively, my hand in my pocket grabbed something with a smooth texture.
Lucky Strike.
By my standards, it was a cigarette pack with an incredibly old design.
I opened the Zippo lighter I grabbed along with it and lit a flame.
Click. Sizzle-.
"Inhale-. Phew-."
It was a cigarette tasted after a long time, but my head didn't spin or anything.
'I don't know.'
I feel bewildered.
But I didn't have the mental state or time for deep contemplation anyway.
Now, I'll live for myself!
To shout that, I was originally a person who lived for myself anyway.
How could a conscientious and moral human survive on Wall Street for decades?
This neighborhood forcibly converts even normal humans into monsters.
'Whether this is a dream or reality doesn't matter. Even if it's delusion, revenge on The Pig bastards...'
Hmm.
Revenge on China and North Korea.
Is there a way to kill those bastards?
North Korea seems hopeless for now.
For China, using economics could inflict some damage, but even that likely wouldn't directly impact the two Pig bastards.
Even if I miraculously cause China to completely collapse and cut off support going into North Korea, those Pig bastards wouldn't care.
"...Fuck."
I spat out cigarette smoke and pondered repeatedly, but ultimately could only conclude there was no method.
Well, if it were possible at my level, neighboring countries would have already taken them down long ago.
Fucking hell.
It's infuriating, but how much can an individual do against abnormal nations?
'Money. More money.'
The only method to obtain even a thread-like possibility of revenge.
Simultaneously, the thing I can do best.
The answer was only that.
'What's that?'
But right now, there was something more pressing than that.
A bell-shaped graphic showing its presence in one corner of my vision since earlier.
I thought it was a neon sign, but seeing it move along whenever I turned my head, it was clearly a hallucination.
Moreover, having a red dot marked on it is too damn irritating.
'Is it a notification window or something? Did I get a Status Window-like thing because I regressed?'
The moment I thought that.
<Memory Palace> / <Traits>
A Status Window really appeared before my eyes.
Two windows divided left and right.
'This is insane.'
───────────
<Memory Palace>
[Tutorial] : 200
[1988 Event 1] : 1K
[1988 Event 2] : 3K
[1988 Event 3] : 5K
.
.
.
[1988~1990 Mark/Dollar Chart] : 100K
[1988~1990 Yen/Dollar Chart] : 300K
[1988~1990 US Base Interest Rate Chart] : 500K
[1988~1990 US 30-Year Chart] : 1M
Coins Held : 0
───────────
The content of the left window.
Unhelpful.
There was no explanation about what Memory Palace is or what coins are.
The right window is even more absurd.
───────────
<Traits>
[A-0 Gene]
[- Locked -]
[- Locked -]
[- Locked -]
.
.
.
[- Locked -]
Assets Held : $1,600
Roulette Count : 0
───────────
All locked, and the only things knowable are my longevity gene and that I'm a beggar.
So what is this?
How do you get coins, and what are traits anyway?
Do I get superpowers?
A development where I become Superman and take revenge on North Korea?
Click.
So absurd that I reflexively pressed the A-0 Gene.
───────────
[A-0 Gene]
- Overexpression ongoing
- Anti-aging protein production
───────────
Why does it really get pressed.
"Damn illness."
I discarded the cigarette butt with the filter burnt through and put another cigarette in my mouth to light it.
My head throbs.
Is it really a dream, a fantasy?
If possible, I'd prefer having received regression perks.
It seems more likely to be a dream anyway.
There's no way such a thing would appear in reality.
But just in case.
If this Status Window thing before my eyes is reality...
'MegaCorp.'
It might be possible.
To become a person no one can touch.
"Phew-."
I raised my head and exhaled cigarette smoke toward the sky.
White smoke scattered among tacky neon signs.
Bang! Bang bang!
"Haaam..."
At the sound of knocking on the door, I yawned and rose from the bed.
After barely recalling the house location and entering, I pondered until dawn but learned almost nothing about the Status Window.
The only harvest gained at dawn was somewhat accepting the regression and feeling a bit excited.
Actually, pondering is useless anyway.
Can't reach a conclusion, right?
Whether this is regression, a brain in a vat, or a dream right before death.
Until someone offers me a red pill and a blue pill, what I can do is focus solely on the immediate reality.
'What time is it?'
I grabbed the cheap wristwatch to check the time.
10:50 AM.
Slept a long time.
"Hey! Mr. Kim!"
Bang! Bang!
A woman's shouting voice comes from outside the door.
What the hell's going on.
"Just a moment!"
I hastily put on clothes and pulled out a revolver.
Such preparation is essential to live in Harlem during this era.
Peeking outside through the door's peephole, I saw the figure of a black woman somewhat familiar.
'...Who was it?'
Clack!
"Were you still sleeping?"
"Uh-. Yeah."
As I blankly scratched my head thinking about the woman's identity, she made a finger heart and wiggled it.
Money?
What money am I supposed to pay?
More than that, it's a face incredibly familiar.
"The rent, you have to pay."
"...Ah! Jessie! It's Jessie! Nice to see you!"
"Still not fully awake?"
I thought I'd seen this woman somewhere, it was Jessie, the landlord's daughter.
I owed her quite a big debt of gratitude.
"Just a moment."
I brought the wallet placed on the table.
"How much was the rent?"
"...??? $200. Did you do drugs?"
"No."
My god.
$200 each for a decent SRO (American-style single room) in Harlem?
In my memory, housing in Manhattan during this period was dirt cheap.
"Here."
"Thanks. Receipt?"
"Ah, that's right."
I remembered.
She would write a receipt and take a few dollars as a tip.
"This month, pass."
"Tch."
"When I get a job, I'll entrust it."
"Alright. And a phone call came looking for Kim."
"Phone?"
"Jimmy Park? That person said you agreed to meet today and asked why you aren't coming out."
"...Fuck."
That's right.
The reason I came to Manhattan was because of that bastard.
"You know how to swear too?"
"Mind your own business. And tell him if he calls again, I'll kill him."
"...Wasn't you interviewing with that person?"
"He was a scammer."
A scammer bastard taking investments from Koreans in New York and running a Ponzi scheme.
Thinking about the hardship caused by that bastard, killing him wouldn't even feel satisfying.
I almost got permanently expelled from Wall Street.
'Looking at it this way, life was fucking turbulent.'
After barely being recognized as an internal whistleblower and released, returning to LA, not long after I had to go up to the rooftop and shoot guns.
Entered and left juvenile detention for illegal firearm possession.
Only after narrowly avoiding getting red-lined could I get a proper job.
At a company called Elon.
Who knew that innovative company was doing fraudulent accounting.
After Elon collapsed, somehow I made my way to Wall Street.
Even at an extremely stable securities firm.
Bernie Madoff Investment Securities, a company famous in many ways.
...Going round and round, getting entangled in a Ponzi scheme again.
Why was my career so full of unfair disadvantages?
Thinking again, it's unjust.
"Then, go well."
"Tch. What's so busy?"
"Not yet, but soon will be busy."
"What is it?"
I greeted Jessie and pushed her out.
The moment I gave $200, a red dot appeared above the bell shape in the corner of my vision.
Grrr! Can't stand red dots!
"There's such a thing. But at this time, not going to school?"
"Do drugs moderately."
"I said I didn't."
"It's vacation and today is New Year's. Druggie uncle."
"Ah!"
Right.
January 1st is a legal holiday.
"Happy New Year."
"Kim too. Happy New Year."
After sending Jessie off, I sat on the bed and urgently opened the Status Window.
Looking back, I gained one more new piece of information.
The fact that the Status Window can be opened and closed just by thought, and notifications can be completely hidden, I learned last night.
This time, I learned that if a red dot appears, notifications pop up unconditionally.
Opening the Status Window, two things changed.
───────────
[Coins Held : 200]
[Assets Held : $1,400]
───────────
The $200 paid as rent disappeared, and I gained 200 coins.
'A structure where spending money gives coins?'
Whoever made it, it's a really shitty system.
To see charts, you need to spend over $100,000, right?
$100,000 isn't someone's kid's name.
And with 200 coins, only one thing can be opened.
───────────
[Tutorial] : 200
───────────
I suspected the tutorial wasn't free, seems they calculated I'd pay rent.
'How do you use coins? Tutorial open?'
Ding-!
There was no such sound effect.
Just the held coins disappeared, and the text changed.
Seems usable just by thought.
───────────
[Red Hook, Erin Lockers 777 Storage]
───────────
'What does this mean.'
Red Hook is a district name in Brooklyn.
During this period, an area more dangerous than Harlem, full of deserted abandoned buildings.
And Erin Lockers I don't know well, but seeing Storage, it seems a warehouse commonly used in America.
Up to that, I roughly understand.
But what does this mean?
'...777?'
Red Hook, 777 Storage?
Seems like I've heard of it somewhere.
'What was it.'
Sitting on the bed, I stared piercingly at that sentence and struggled to retrieve a memory tickling a corner of my mind.
While pondering for a long time like that.
Suddenly, one memory sharply came up.
"Bank robbery!"
I jumped up from my seat and shouted.
Now it's merely an abandoned storage, but decades later it will be revealed on broadcast.
In the future, during redevelopment of the Red Hook area in Brooklyn, the storage was put up for auction, and after quite fierce bidding competition, one man secured the warehouse.
The reason people competed in bidding was clear.
The storage unit was triple seven, jackpot.
And indeed, jackpot hit.
Inside, dozens of duffel bags full of dollars popped out, making the broadcasting company guys cheer.
The problem was it being an entertainment broadcast, so the identity of that money became known across America.
The person who won the auction couldn't take that money.
Because it was stolen goods.
Of course, lawsuits proceeded, and news was noisy with legal interpretation for a while.
'Ten million dollars! Definitely a ten-million-dollar lawsuit!'
Money forgotten, that no one will find for decades ahead, was sleeping there.