A Logic Error

I looked around.

The storefront was made entirely of glass.

From the outside, you could see right in.

But according to the scenario's settings, the moment the assignment began, this place would become a locked room sealed by an invisible wall.

Since it's going to be a locked room, should I control access? Can anyone even get in?

Thinking it over, the biggest problem was the probability of casualties. Casualties. Once someone died, they couldn't be brought back to life.

This was an unattended laundromat.

Anyone could walk in.

What if an oblivious drunk or a homeless person wandered in at midnight, right when the assignment started? Or what if a local resident came by late at night to do a backlog of laundry?

They would become prey for Washing Machine No. 4 without ever knowing why. If they died beforehand, they couldn't be revived even after the assignment was cleared.

Should I lock the door?

I shifted my gaze to check the entrance. It was an automatic sliding door. I could turn off the power or lock it, but doing so might actually help the entity's barrier...

Besides, even if I locked the door, wouldn't the entity find some way to lure victims in—like shattering the glass or dragging them through the vents? Just like during the swarm.

Yeah... locking the door is a rookie move.

I stood in the center of the laundromat and crossed my arms.

It would be better to prevent anyone from approaching in the first place. Should I put up an "Under Construction" sign at the entrance, or have Deokhu broadcast a fake announcement to make it look like we were closed?

No, even that felt risky. The causality of the scenario would desperately try to produce a victim by any means necessary.

In that case, as expected...

Should I use Rewrite?

If I set a passerby as "Pedestrian 1, who avoids this laundromat because it gives off bad vibes," would that stop them from entering?

Hmm... No, that's too simple.

My mind was in a tangle.

There were too many variables.

Especially given the nature of this space. It was cramped, offered no escape routes, and was packed with heavy machinery.

Once the washing machine went wild, this place would instantly turn into the inside of a blender.

"Whew... Let's cross that bridge when we get to it. I just need ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to make sure no one enters before midnight... and kick out anyone who does..."

I sighed, pacing around Washing Machine No. 4. I tapped its metal chassis and peeked into the gaps between the machines to see where the drainpipes in the back led.

"The drainpipe... If I block it, will it back up? Or if I rip it out, will it prevent the water from filling up?"

I was crouching down, examining the back of the machine and muttering to myself.

Someone walked into the laundromat.

My eyes instinctively darted toward them.

The backlight made it hard to see his face, but he was a fairly tall, middle-aged man wearing a long coat. He held a briefcase in one hand.

He stepped inside and stared intently at me as I stood in front of Washing Machine No. 4.

A sharp gaze pierced through his glasses.

Wait... Where have I seen...? Ah!

That indifferent yet fastidious look, as if he were constantly evaluating the person in front of him.

"...You."

The man spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

Flustered, I stammered.

"Oh, uh... I didn't come to do laundry. I just thought the machines looked interesting..."

The man frowned at my rambling.

He adjusted his glasses and took a step closer.

"Kim Minjun."

My name.

That's right. He was a professor in our department.

Memories of my freshman year, in Intro to Screenwriting, came rushing back.

The very man who had ruthlessly slapped a C+ on my assignment, spitting out the harsh critique: "There is no soul in your writing. Stop relying on cheap tricks."

Whenever he looked at my other ideas, he would coldly dismiss them, saying, "The direction is ambiguous."

I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded, and asked,

"Hello... Haha. But Professor, what brings you here...?"

"I live in this neighborhood. My place is just up there."

Professor Park pointed toward the top of the hill.

"Everyone else left because of the redevelopment, but I stayed because I like the quiet. I've been a regular here since before the owner ran off."

He naturally brushed past me and walked over to Washing Machine No. 1.

"By the way, didn't you say you were raising production funds? Are you working on a set somewhere right now?"

I stared blankly at the professor's back as he poured detergent into the machine, then asked,

"Professor."

"What is it?"

"Do you... happen to know much about washing machines?"

Professor Park stopped loading his laundry and turned around.

"What?"

"These machines. Do you know how they work? Their mechanics, their structure... that sort of thing."

He looked at me with bewilderment at my sudden, out-of-the-blue question.

"...Well, I might not know much about machinery, but finding structural flaws is my specialty. Just like how I found all those gaping plot holes in your screenplays."

A chuckle escaped my lips at his words.

Yes, this was the man.

The critic who had been the most merciless toward my screenplays.

The expert who was better than anyone at sniffing out logical inconsistencies in a story.

I turned my back to Washing Machine No. 4 and faced Professor Park head-on.

"Professor. I... I'm actually working on a new piece right now."

"Oh? That one you were so confident about? But then again, you've always had more than a few bizarre ideas, haven't you?"

"Yes, that's true. But I'm stuck on one of them. There's a bit of an issue with the premise, and I think I need some expert advice."

I threw out the bait with a deadpan, serious expression.

"If... a washing machine were to eat a person, would that be a mechanical defect, or user negligence?"

The corners of Professor Park's mouth twitched upward.

"Intriguing. A B-grade horror?"

"Yes. A very gritty B-movie."

I glanced sideways at the dark glass window of Washing Machine No. 4.

At that, the professor's eyes narrowed sharply.

"You didn't listen to a single word I said in class, did you?"

"...Excuse me?"

"The question itself is fundamentally flawed. A writer shouldn't approach a concept with such a narrow mind."

With the low hum of the washing machines as his background music, he crossed his arms as if standing at a lecture podium.

"A machine eating a person? In that scenario, what matters isn't a malfunction or a mistake. You shouldn't think of it that way; instead, you must consider the machine's purpose."

"Its purpose?"

"Think about it. What is the sole purpose of a washing machine's existence?"

"To make dirty things clean?"

"Exactly. If a washing machine swallowed a person, it's not because the machine went mad. Within that machine's logic, wouldn't that person be recognized as a stain or a contaminant that needs to be washed away?"

"Ah..."

It felt like a physical blow to the head.

The premise of my scenario: Washing Machine No. 4 was possessed by a grudge.

To the entity, a human wasn't a living being; they were evidence and contamination that needed to be disposed of.

The professor was absolutely right.

"Then... how can the protagonist survive?"

When I asked urgently, Professor Park snapped the detergent compartment shut and replied nonchalantly,

"It should be simple. If it were me, I'd feed the machine an error it can't handle. A logic error."

"An error?"

"Machines have no flexibility. When an item that doesn't match the input parameters is introduced, they are designed to either halt or spit it out. In the case of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a washing machine, you either throw in a taboo item that must absolutely never be washed, or you create a contradiction that forces the washing process itself to tangle up. Isn't that it?"

He looked straight at me, driving the point home.

"Don't try to smash it with brute force; break it with logic. That is the only classy way for a protagonist to survive in a B-grade horror. Got it?"

Break it with logic.

Feed it an error that doesn't match the input parameters.

Ha... Of course.

It felt as though a tangled knot in my mind had suddenly unraveled.

"...Thank you, Professor. This is incredibly helpful."

When I bowed sincerely, Professor Park cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Ahem, that's enough. Don't be so dramatic."

He checked his wristwatch and said,

"And come find me later. Once you finish that screenplay, I'll take a look at it. Make sure you write it better than last time."

"Yes, I'll definitely come see you."

Professor Park coolly walked out of the laundromat without looking back.

Nice...

I looked back at Washing Machine No. 4.

I'll feed you an error.

I pulled my smartphone from my pocket and sent a message to my teammates.

And as I watched the professor's receding figure in the distance, I thought,

Yes, I'll have no choice but to visit you... because...

...I wrote that Professor Park appears near 'that gas station,' which might very well be the stage for the next episode after this one...

I'm sorry about that, but first, I need to resolve this assignment.

I left the laundromat with a light step.

That evening, as always, we gathered at Minhae's studio apartment, sitting around a delivery of jokbal. But the guys, who would normally gnaw even the bones clean, were barely picking at their food with their chopsticks today.

It was because of the briefing I had just finished.

"So... uh."

Deokhu stopped wrapping his lettuce wrap and set it down, looking entirely devoid of appetite.

"A washing machine washes a person? Not just drowning them, but spinning and drying them too?"

"Yeah. It separates the flesh from the bones, squeezes out every last drop of moisture, and dries them bone-dry. That's its process."

"So the washing machine is possessed by a grudge? Of someone who died..."

"Well, that's the premise for now... It wasn't fully fleshed out, so it might be a bit fluid, but yeah, it's definitely a crazy washing machine."

At my nonchalant explanation, Minhae pretended to gag.

"Ugh... Sunbae, your description is so vivid I feel like throwing up. You said this was a two-point scenario, so why is the premise so gory?"

"B-movies are always more brutal. You make up for the lack of plausibility with blood and gore."

"Ugh..."

Seyeon seemed to ponder something before speaking.

"It's not physically impossible. The rotational force of an industrial washing machine can easily dislocate human joints, and the high heat of a dryer is enough to incapacitate someone with severe burns. The problem is... if we get dragged inside, our chances of survival are practically zero."

"Exactly. We have to make sure that doesn't happen. To us, or to anyone else."

At Seyeon's cold analysis, Deokhu cast an anxious glance.

"So, what do we need to prepare this time, Hyung?"

"Should I make another high-frequency generator like last time? Or should we just smash it with steel pipes? Since it's a washing machine, how about an EMP shocker to cut off the electricity?"

It seemed he was already assembling all sorts of mechanical devices in his head.

But I shook my head.

"No. We don't need such grand equipment this time."

"Huh? Then what? Are we fighting bare-handed?"

"My professor gave me a hint. Machines have no flexibility."

I briefly relayed my conversation with Professor Park at the laundromat. The theory of turning the machine's purpose against itself and feeding it an error that would force it to shut down.

"An error..."

Minhae tilted her head.

"What counts as an error for a washing machine? Throwing a rock in to break it?"

"That's a physical malfunction. What I'm talking about is a system error. We have to make the washing machine refuse the act of 'washing' itself."

I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket and placed it on the table.

It was a list of everyday household items you could easily find at any supermarket.

"Huh? That's it?"

Deokhu pouted in disappointment upon seeing the list.

"Salt and bleach? We're going to catch a haunted washing machine with this? It's not like we're making kimchi... Are we just doing a deep clean of the washing machine?"

"These are our weapons."

I continued my explanation in a serious tone.

"Salt is traditionally used to ward off ghosts, but from a machine's perspective, it's a highly corrosive foreign substance. The bleach will chemically neutralize the contaminated water the entity spews—essentially, the energy of the grudge. Well, that's the theory anyway. I don't know if we'll end up using all of it, but if we're talking about supplies, this is what we need."

"What ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about the food coloring? Are we doing fake blood makeup?"

"Something like that. We have to trick it."

I looked around at my teammates and grinned.

"The most important supply is something else."

"What is it?"

"An item strictly prohibited from being washed. A living organism."

Instantly, the expressions of the three froze.

Minhae recoiled in disgust.

"Don't tell me... one of us has to get inside the washing machine? I... I don't think I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠can do that."

"Half-right, half-wrong. Someone has to act as bait and get close to its 'mouth.' We need to make it think, 'Ah, this is laundry,' so it opens its door."

"...Isn't that dangerous?"

Seyeon asked with concern.

"It is. But let's trust the safety mechanism this time. I'm going to program a safety feature into its system that automatically cuts the power if a malfunction occurs."

"Hmm... So if we fail to trigger the malfunction, it's game over?"

I patted Deokhu on the shoulder.

"Possibly. And we also need a 'pitcher' to dump the salt and bleach into its mouth at the crucial moment."

"Ah, I can definitely do that. I used to be the ace of my neighborhood baseball team back in the day."

Deokhu joked, mimicking a pitching motion. The icy atmosphere seemed to thaw a little.

"Alright. No grand strategy meetings or complex equipment building this time. We keep it simple. Just our bodies. Trust me. Okay?"

Even though they knew that light supplies didn't mean the weight of the terror we would face would be any lighter, Minhae, Seyeon, and Deokhu clenched their fists, raised them high, and shouted in unison.

"Yes, sir!"