Shall We Negotiate?
Arin snapped awake at someone's call, pulling herself upright and stretching her arms overhead to shake off the stiffness.
Already time for the interview, huh?
She rubbed her dry face and wriggled her toes, fishing for her shoes under the bed.
But something felt off about the people who'd come to fetch her—a rigid tension in the air.
She tilted her head, puzzled.
They just said "follow us" and nothing more, leading her all the way to a massive armored truck.
Even back when she'd been a guy doing military service, she'd never ridden in one of these.
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she peered inside.
"Am I heading to the hospital too?"
Their mouths stayed shut behind masks that covered up to the bridge of their noses.
Tinted goggles hid their eyes completely—no way to read their gazes.
"Not going straight there? Right, we haven't done the interview yet. Guess it's somewhere else?"
Anyone else would've shrunk under the vibe, head bowed, waiting silently for arrival.
But to Arin—who'd endured every torment in that church, talking to herself all day with no one to chat with—it meant nothing.
"Truth is, I only met Aunt Seoyeong a short while ago. Super brief, right?"
"But even so, she treated me with such kindness. Like I was her own daughter Gaeun... or her sibling's kid."
Chattering nonstop, heedless of whether they listened, Arin suddenly realized her ramble had centered on Seoyeong.
Her cheeks flushed with mild embarrassment.
She cleared her throat awkwardly and trailed off.
Moments later, the engine's growl softened, and the truck lurched to a stop.
Arin turned toward the observation window, but someone grabbed her and yanked a cloth bag over her head.
"Hoet?!"
She let out a dumb yelp but didn't resist as multiple hands guided her along.
No hospital smells or noises—definitely not a medical spot. Questions bubbled up.
Up and down stairs, long noisy corridors—they repeated the trek.
Finally, they shoved her into a room where one wall was a huge mirror.
"Interrogation room?"
Stark interior: oversized mirror, bolted desk, folding chair.
Straight out of movies or dramas.
Handcuffs clicked onto her wrists.
She nodded.
"Yeah. Definitely an interrogation room."
"You're taking this surprisingly well."
As her escorts filed out, a man entered and took the opposite chair.
Pomaded hair, horn-rimmed glasses—looked like a model student or office drone.
He set papers on the desk and rolled a glinting gold coin over his fingers, then pocketed it smoothly.
"Name's Kim Arin, right?"
"Yep."
He jotted her name with a pen, then flipped the coin habitually—heads up on his palm.
"Records say you walked into the anomaly site on your own?"
"Someone I wanted to save."
Pen scratched question and answer.
Coin rolled, landed heads.
"How long were you inside?"
"Felt like a month or two? Hard to track time, so I guessed from the crazies rotating shifts."
Pen noted the timeframe.
Coin rolled, heads.
"Age... high schooler?"
"Eh, yeah?"
He reached to write her age, rolled the coin—it came up tails.
No—heads had flipped to tails on its own.
"...You know much about anomalies?"
"Nope."
Coin rolled, heads.
"Starry Garden cultists packed that place. How'd you last over a month? Food? Water?"
"Ran like hell. Church pantry was intact—grabbed food there. Water too."
Coin rolled, showed heads—then flipped to tails alone.
"That coin..."
"Tried checking your background beforehand. Nothing came up."
"That's—"
"Anomalies can erase records sometimes."
"Yeah, that. Exactly."
"But those cases feel off—gaps that don't fit, unnatural voids."
He flicked the coin skyward, eyes locked on it.
"Student. You're not human, are you?"
"Pardon?"
The coin hit the desk, spun like a top.
Arin froze, mouth agape.
It slowed... and stood on edge.
"Hm?"
She had no clue what that meant, sweat beading as she eyed him tensely.
He stayed silent for a beat.
"Hmmm. Got it. Rephrasing: you're not from here. Not born and raised in this world, right?"
He rolled the coin again, waiting.
Arin swallowed, pondered, then sighed.
"Yes."
It tumbled off his finger—heads.
The door burst open.
Armed guards stormed in, guns trained on her.
The man pocketed papers and coin, rising.
Arin lunged, snatching the coin.
"Wait—I'm a man who turned into a woman!!"
He froze, genuinely startled.
The coin she'd flicked arced high, chiming, and landed heads-up on the desk.
"Not some trans thing—I woke up like this after getting caught in that weird shit?!"
She snatched and reflipped it frantically, spilling her story like a machine gun.
It hit the floor—heads again.
"This is a lie detector, right? Ask whatever—I'll spill. Don't treat me like an anomaly and shoot first?"
Whether her sincerity hit home, he sat back down and took the coin.
Now guards loomed behind him, muzzles ready.
But the setup oddly eased her—room to be honest.
Before questions resumed, she spoke up.
"Can I get a soda? Barely drank in there."
He gestured casually.
A guy entered with a cola bottle, set it down, and bolted.
Arin ignored his fearful glance, grabbed the cola happily—then squinted at the cap.
One guard helpfully drew a combat knife from his vest and popped it open.
Real questions began.
"Caught in something weird?"
"Literal. Woke up in this body, world full of face-monsters. Rough."
Coin: heads. He noted it.
"Not from this world?"
"Straight up. Mine's super similar—no monsters or anomalies. And Pop's Emperor died ages ago."
"Saw a poster here—he's alive, even tours. Shocked me."
Preempting his next, she added:
"Adult, guy, served mandatory service, office drone. Name from the name tag on the uniform I woke up in. Wait—that was heads earlier? Guess this body's name counts as mine?"
"...Right. Next."
He logged her self-revealed info.
But a month-plus in an anomaly unscathed? No matter the adult mind, it didn't add up.
"Any special abilities or items? Not exactly 'normal'?"
Arin paused, then asked a gunman:
"That loaded with real bullets?"
"Why ask?"
"Hard to explain in words."
She tapped her temple.
No reaction from the shooters.
She sighed.
"Meant shoot me."
"You don't die?"
"You'll see. Oh—and if shit hits the fan unexpectedly, call the quarantine folks."
Urging "keep shooting," she faced the guns.
The guard hesitated, then fired.
Muzzle flash boomed.
The isolation room wall splattered red with her blood.
Her head exploded, brains and gore spilling as she slumped lifeless.
Guards panicked visibly—what now?
She vanished in a blink, reappearing upright.
Sighed deeply.
"Whew~ Felt relaxed chugging cola... That's the vibe. Hurts like hell... oh, wait, already dead?"
"What the—?!"
"C'mon, in a world where weird shit's routine, first time seeing someone revive no matter how many deaths?"
The guy—jaded, seen-it-all—wove fingers together, deep in thought post-revival.
"Revival conditions?"
"Waking in the last place I felt safe? That's it for now."
"Ever think of killing or harming folks here? Summon anomalies on purpose, curses, anything?"
"I'm no monster—why would I?"
"Hm... hmmm..."
He hummed, tapping the ever-heads coin.
Gestured at the mirror, then spoke.
"Ever thought of working here?"
Moments later, handcuffs off, a contract sheet lay before her.
Felt suspiciously shady, but reading it over—no issues.
She shot him a subtle "explain?" look.
He slid the gold coin forward.
"That paper's an anomaly too. Sign it, and rules bind you."
Not a flimsy legal paper—anomaly-enforced contract.
Before objections, he yanked it, scrawled his name, slid it back.
"You know, but tackling an anomaly costs lives. Even 'safely,' one rule costs dozens to hundreds."
"You go that hard just to solve them?"
"Flip it—we can't solve 'em without that cost. Tried robots once, but most anomalies neuter complex tech. No dice."
The coin stayed heads through his spiel.
Arin nodded understanding, pen in hand.
To them—stuck on basics—an undying body was gold.
Room to haggle, then.
She twirled the pen, mulling.
Then cautiously:
"Shall we negotiate?"
The word "negotiation" that failed against fanatics.
"If it's terms we can swing."
They accepted.