Breakout!
Escape!
"Eh, same old, same old."
No words came from the Pastor's mouth, but Arin imagined what he might have said if he could, and answered accordingly. She kept working her arms furiously, taking advantage of the gap as the hazmat-suited zealots' visors turned in another direction.
"You know what? Until recently, every time I realized I was wearing a girl's school uniform, I'd get this crushing sense of self-loathing. But now? It's no big deal. And when that feeling creeps back sometimes, I just think of it like, y'know... Scotland... oh, right! Kilts! I pretend it's a kilt."
The thick hazmat suits muffled the sound anyway, but the zealots were deliberately ignoring her nonstop muttering because they didn't want to hear it. So they missed her muttering about chopping off her own arm, and they didn't hear the faint slicing sounds as her skin gradually split open.
"And get this—adding up all the time I've spent with Seoyeong unnie and Gaeun, it's barely two days total. But after roughly a month in here, my memories from when I was a guy are starting to fade bit by bit. Those two, though? Crystal clear. Pretty funny how people I've only seen for two days stick with me like that, right?"
Blood beaded up along the wire as it dug in with her arm movements, then trickled down her limb. When the drops reached her armpit—where she could still feel sensation—the tickle made her squirm. But then blood suddenly gushed out, soaking her upper body, and she smiled.
"Haa..."
Arin woke with her back against a soot-free wall. She flexed her fingers—sensation returning—felt her hunger and thirst gone, and spotted the pink bag faithfully by her side, like an eternal companion. She let out the breath she'd been holding.
Mental exhaustion lingered, filling her head with the desire to just pass out into a deep sleep. Ironically, her body felt vibrantly alive.
The fanatics would soon notice she was gone and come rushing back to recapture her. She had no intention of waiting idly. Slapping her own cheeks to push back the fatigue, she slung the bag over her shoulder.
"Not like there's a path ahead anyway—they've barricaded it."
That sturdy iron pipe? In here, it was just a primitive club wielded by a caveman.
Fighting with it against zealots in thick hazmat suits—who could only really be hurt in the head—was futile against their flamethrowers that melted fat and muscle in seconds or machetes that made blood spray on the slightest graze.
Arin had thought of a way to fight them.
Coat sharp debris or nails pried from furniture in the black shadows' ash.
She'd experienced firsthand how a mere scratch from a black shadow turned the body to crumbling charcoal. No one knew the danger better. That's why she'd come up with it.
But knowing it so well was exactly why she had no intention of using it.
Especially since they were human—not obvious monsters. Killing fellow people triggered an instinctive revulsion.
"Still... I wanna crack some skulls. The torture was fucking brutal."
Sounds of the barricade being cleared came from beyond the door—they'd noticed her absence. Arin wedged a folding chair under the doorknob and yanked the iron pipe from her bag.
"Yeah. Won't kill 'em, but skulls are fair game."
She shook her pipe-gripping hand to loosen her wrist. Crashes of falling objects and a cacophony of footsteps echoed down the hall.
The locked handle rattled violently. Then the door jolted back and forth, slamming the wall.
Someone was hammering it with a mallet or heavy object—cracks spiderwebbed along the grain, visible to the eye. Splinters flew off rhythmically, one pinging her leg.
A silver-gloved hand reached through the hole to grab the knob. Arin smashed it with the pipe. A scream echoed from the other side. She smirked and pressed against the wall beside the door.
Knowing their temperament, they'd hose the place with fire. Sure enough—a click of machinery, then heat.
"Eek!"
Flames roared through the hole like a cutting wind, scorching the opposite wall. Arin hugged the floor, grimacing at the searing heat on her back.
They were forcing the flamethrower through the small gap and blasting wildly. Flat against the door's side, she wouldn't catch fire directly.
But the air inside, trapped and superheated, grew stifling. Oxygen depleted fast—deep breaths did nothing for the tightness in her chest.
"Cowards! Fight fair—one-on-one with cold steel!"
Half-serious, half-joking about wanting to crack skulls, Arin tapped the door. She sighed, letting her heavy eyelids close without resistance.
'Sigh... next time, I'll wake up in the charred warehouse.'
Arin's mind sank into deep darkness. Suddenly, she stood in a desert. Muttering about this dream after so long, she waved at the clown waiting outside.
[……………….]
"No, I'm not sitting. What even is that?"
[……….]
"'Just your seat'? I've never sat in anything like th—wait, this is a dream, right?"
She stopped waving and finally looked around. Kneeling, she touched the sand.
The grains felt too real for a dream. Panicking, she shook her hand clean. Is this an anomaly inside an anomaly? she fumed.
"Thought it was just a nightmare, but this is real? Fuck, why me?"
[………….]
"Misunderstanding what? It's obviously an anomaly."
She kicked sand at the clown, then glanced at the silent building looming behind it before turning away.
[…….]
"Not going in."
[……….]
"Pity face or not, no dice. How do I even know what expression you're making under that? And how do I understand you?"
[…………….]
"Time to go? How do I—"
The distant dunes vanished abruptly, swallowed by darkness. Arin cautiously opened her eyes to a tilted warehouse room.
Still prone by the door, she glanced at the pipe in her hand, wondering why they hadn't killed her and stopped. Then—a massive explosion from beyond the door where they'd gathered.
Not falling objects or hammering—something bursting, repeatedly. Murmurs and screams followed. Unable to contain her curiosity, Arin hauled her heavy body up and gripped the knob.
And through the hole—an unexpected sight.
Hazmat-clad zealots collapsing one by one, bleeding out. Over their shoulders loomed a third force in heavy military gear.
Not cutting-edge, but vintage action-movie style—bulky firearms forward, mowing down zealots and black shadows. They spotted Arin peeking through the hole, signaled, and reformed.
Some covered the rear, others aimed her way. One tapped the signaler's shoulder; he nodded forward alone.
"Starry Garden...? Hm, that Star bastard's a dog."
"...Pardon?"
"Guess not. Are you Kim Arin?"
"Uh... yes."
"We're the Entry Team from the Anomaly Response and Management Agency. Anyone else inside?"
"No. Just me..."
He flashed a card from his pouch—rank and name—introduced himself, slung his rifle, and approached the door.
"We're here to extract you."
Bodies littered the hall.
Red waves contrasted the shiny silver hazmats, pooling in floor grooves. Some Entry Team members checked IDs one by one.
Even if they were evil, the sight of them piled bullet-riddled soured Arin's mood. She turned away; team members subtly shifted to block the view.
Lobby gear was being dismantled. Escorted past the pillar-bound ex-Pastor, through the long hall to the worn, charred church door she'd first entered, Arin finally felt real relief. A sigh mixed emotions poured out.
"Ugh."
Blinding lights hit as she stepped out. Shielding her eyes, she saw the night sky—jet black against the white glare—remembering time flowed differently inside and out.
"Hey, how long's it been out here...?"
"Day two. Dawn soon."
"Felt like one or two months in there, but out here it's barely a day..."
The agent who'd overheard her mutter looked startled, but Arin missed it, following to quarantine.
She perched on a bed's edge—blankets slightly rumpled from recent use—surrounded by white-hazmat figures for exams and unknown procedures. One's device beeped; she glanced over.
"Mister, that looks like a Geiger counter... Am I radioactive?!"
"Just a non-contact thermometer. No worries."
"Ah."
As they finished and moved to leave, Arin grabbed one, scratching her neck.
"Got a question."
"You'll need debriefing first to leave. Not formal—just an interview."
"No, not that... Weren't there others extracted before me?"
"Ah, looking for someone?"
"Yeah, Seoyeong and Gaeun—mother and daughter."
"Them. They arrived with another group, debriefed, and were sent to a designated hospital. They'll be observed a day and discharged. No worries."
Arin nodded, thanked him as he said no more questions, and flopped onto the bed.
Pretty cozy for a hasty quarantine setup, she thought, hugging the pillow and closing her eyes.
Finally, peaceful sleep—without that weird dream place.
"Off the charts? That's normal after prolonged anomaly exposure, right?"
"Beyond that. She reacted like she is the anomaly."
"Other vitals?"
"All normal."
"Machine error?"
"That's the problem—everything's too normal. Witnesses say time accelerates inside, isolated. But this girl only has mental fatigue—no wounds, no malnutrition, nothing."
The agent mentioned an unverified report from an Entry Team member overhearing her claim at least a month inside, handing over her file to the superior.
A file that should list name, photo, details.
Everything blank except her name—white boxes and lines.
white boxes and underlines only.
"No resident ID, name, prints, dental—nothing matches."
"Not body-snatched, then."
The superior muttered she might not have existed at first, flicked a gold coin, and ordered.
"Cancel hospital. hospital. hospital. hospital transfer. Bring her to HQ."