Red Mask
Arin dragged herself back to her room after another grueling "training" session that had piled up deaths, experience, and stress.
She flopped onto the bed.
The room was a stark prison cell: all-white walls gleaming with the cold sheen of metal furniture, sealed off from the outside if anything went wrong.
Was this even worth calling a room? But for her, it was the only place she could truly be alone and relax.
"I wanna do something, but I don't wanna... and there's nothing to do anyway..."
No TV, no computer. The issued phone was military-grade, rugged and specialized—no games, no browsing.
Even a normal phone wouldn't work in this building; anything designed after 1995 just failed.
Arin lay there, eyes closed, rolling aimlessly on the bed.
Then came a knock at the door.
"Yes? Who's there?"
"J here. New job for you, Arin."
"Ugh, work sucks, but I'm so bored I'll take it."
A bit later, in the briefing room, Arin twirled her pen while waiting.
J asked, "Heard of the Slit-Mouthed Woman phenomenon?"
"Wait, the one with the mask? That's an ancient urban legend, right?"
"Ancient urban legend?"
At J's words, Arin dredged up a childhood tale from her neighbor country, warped and popular among kids.
"Wears a mask over her mouth, asks people if she's pretty, then slits her mouth based on the answer?"
"...Close enough. Famous where you grew up?"
"Just kid stuff to scare each other."
"Huh. Anyway, this one's a recent emergence here."
A blurry photo popped up on the screen: long-haired figure gripping something long and sharp in both hands.
"Location: subway station. Unclear if it spawns there or uses it to travel."
"Victims all had their jaws sliced or torn off. Common thread? Nighttime, low foot traffic. That's it so far."
Witness statements scrolled up: lights flickering when it appeared, seemed to wear sunglasses and a mask.
"Gonna need a lantern. Or night vision goggles?"
"Can't stand out in the open. No night vision."
"Tch."
The last train had left. Station staff prepped to lower the shutters.
A worker, called just before clocking out, stood rigidly with his junior at the stairs to the platform.
"Senior, what's the call about? Why're we sticking around past quitting?"
The junior grumbled like VIPs were inspecting.
The senior shook his head, whispering, "Better than that. Anomaly at the station. Response Team's coming."
"Wait, shouldn't we evacuate?"
"Dunno. Just told to wait."
Footsteps echoed from the stairs above.
They turned. A lone girl descended slowly.
"...Kid, last train's gone. Doors closing. Can't come down."
The senior approached the brown-uniformed girl, waving her back, then told his junior to escort her to the taxi stand.
The junior sighed, stepping forward.
She spoke.
"Hi. Anomaly Response and Management Agency—we called ahead. I'm the agent."
They stared, dumbfounded—a kid's prank? But the call had come.
Arin dug out her ID, flashing it confidently.
"Call to verify if you want."
Stunned, they took the card reading Anomaly Response and Management Agency, scrutinized it, then handed it back dubiously.
"Uh... why the school uniform?"
"...Military gear stands out too much, right?"
"So... uniform instead?"
Awkward back-and-forth, like neither believed it.
After confirming via phone with HQ, Arin entered.
She pulled a flashlight from her bag, opened the screen doors, dropped to the tracks.
Shining it down the endless rails—unknown spawn point, so just walk.
"Entering tracks now."
'Confirmed. Tracking position.'
She stepped off, texting her status, leaving station lights for darkness.
Walking the dim tunnel, time blurred; memories of prowling the anomaly church flashed, wrinkling her nose briefly.
She shook it off, starting to enjoy the "exploration."
"Not much fun when it's just the same tunnel forever..."
A sound rustled from somewhere.
Like plastic crinkling, or insect wings fluttering—echoing through the tunnel.
Her flashlight flickered badly; she smacked it, head swiveling for the source.
Arin laughed hollowly.
"Ha, right behind me—"
Too late. Something seized her face with crushing force, jamming a sharp object into her mouth.
Nerves in jaw and teeth shredded—searing pain lanced her brain.
Warm blood poured down her neck, soaking her clothes.
"Guh... kkh...!"
Mind fogging from agony and blood loss, others might flee on instinct.
Arin spun, shining the light.
Her blurring vision caught a woman in a long coat.
"Ow... hey! That hurts!"
Arin woke on the makeshift bed in the Agency van, rubbing her aching jaw and neck from phantom pain.
"Met it faster than expected?"
"Yeah... popped up out of nowhere, no conditions."
She jotted notes before memories faded: situation, final glimpse.
"Tall... red around mouth? Jaw. Black sunglasses, long coat... but something off?"
Flashlight glimpse in dark: humanoid, but not human. Doll-like? Not quite.
"It's an anomaly. Of course not human."
"Nah, more like... a doll? But not."
She pocketed notes, grabbed chem lights for the flashlight fail, exited the van.
Before screen doors, snapped chem lights on, clipped to bag strap and collar.
Followed her blood trail.
Far ahead, blood spots slowed her; focused on sounds.
Rustling returned—she snapped chem lights, tossing to floor one by one.
Flashlight's useless.
She smacked the flickering one, tongue clicking, back to wall.
Where's it coming from?
Sounds everywhere—no need to pinpoint in this straight track.
She alternated watching both directions, waiting.
Sighed.
"Ugh... it's wall-crawling."
Warm, humid breath blew from above—obvious without looking.
Arin tilted her chin up slowly.
Locked eyes.
It clung upside-down to the ceiling, staring silently. Black lenses like eyes reflecting hers.
Then she got it.
"Not sunglasses."
She spoke—its arm shot out, ripping her jaw free.
Wall and tracks stained red as her eyes closed.
Opened on the bed again.
Fumbled for notepad, scribbled the new fact, called J.
'What's up? Solved already?'
"Nah. Got a question."
Tossed notepad aside, hedged—not certain yet—scratched head.
"If it's tied to a living thing, what then? Capture it?"
'Living thing? If it's a physical monster that responds to force, regs say capture over rules if it minimizes casualties.'
"Got it." Nodded, promised update if confirmed, hung up, stood.
Grabbed used chem lights, plus sturdy full-face helmet and leather bag.
Down to station.
"Getting used to dying... never thought to pack this stuff."
Helmet on, dropped to tracks, toward blood.
Tossed fresh chem lights atop old ones.
Back to wall, tapping foot impatiently.
Rustle hit—she unzipped bag, assembled contents.
Dull thud to head.
"Here already?"
Its swing razor-sharp—helmet half-severed, slicing lip and cheek, blood dripping.
Arin ignored, hefted her item.
"Kimchi~"
Blinding flash erupted, illuminating tunnel, exposing all shadows.
Bag held a film camera—flash-only, no battery.
Fearing light-block like flashlight, she hammered shutter relentlessly.
Some misfires, but enough shots.
Accepted its charge with roar.
Next day, developed film confirmed her hunch.
She took photos to J's office.
"Reason you quit early."
"Yeah. Unlike that road anomaly..."
Photos showed the "slit-mouthed woman" clearly.
But not as thought.
"Sunglasses"? Massive black eyes.
"Red mask"? Just red blotches.
"Blade or scythe"? Long claws on fingers.
"Long coat"? Membrane or carapace extension.
"Right. Not an anomaly... a monster."