Ep. 9 — Flushing Out the Fakes (7)
Honestly, the Bear had done quite well for himself by seizing control of the Special Zone.
"2,800...!"
"3,000."
"31 million won!"
But watching the heated bidding war unfold and the figures climb to absurd heights, I finally understood. Wherever people gathered, a market was bound to form.
"31 million! Anyone else? No more takers?"
People hesitated at the Bear's question.
"Alright! Sold to the gentleman at 31 million!"
The moment the Bear declared it, two skeletons approached the winning bidder. He was a rough-skinned man in his mid-fifties. The skeletons took up positions on either side of him, and the man pulled out his smartphone. The skeletons produced theirs as well, and the man fumbled with his for a moment. It looked like he was scanning a QR code.
Ding—
"Done. Payment confirmed."
What? How? Regular smartphones shouldn't get any signal in here. But by some means or other, the Bear's gang had pulled off a real-time bank transfer. And the man who'd just sent away a fortune went deathly pale and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Calling the next bid!"
At the Bear's shout, the next round began. The process repeated twice more, and the results were absurd. The winning bids: 34 million won. Then 40 million.
Why did the price keep climbing the later the round?
Fake Humans were consumable escape items, pure and simple. There was no better or worse among them, and yet somehow people bid more desperately with each passing round. It wasn't that everyone's wallets were deep — winners and losers alike wore identical sour expressions.
Right through the middle of it all, the Bear chirped cheerfully. "It's fine! You can work hard and pay it back! And for you gentlemen and ladies who can't get out today, there's another auction tomorrow!"
An absolutely delighted voice. Of course he was delighted. The guy had just raked in a hundred million won in a matter of minutes. Even better, the goods he was selling had no production costs and no distribution fees. He'd simply snatched up things that spawned on their own and sold them off. Should I call that shrewd, or plain vile?
When the auction ended, the skeletons led the winning bidders and the Fake Humans off somewhere. The winners looked so deeply deflated that they seemed to be being dragged not out of this hell, but into yet another one.
"See that? We catch Fake Humans every day, so if you want out, sir, just join the auction," the Bear said, strolling back over to us. "But auction participation's only allowed from your third day here. First ones in should be first ones out — that's only fair."
The word fair nearly won me over. But the Bear's idea of fairness was not what I had in mind.
"That said, if you're really desperate — got your own wedding tomorrow, say — there's the Pre-Pass."
"Pre-Pass?"
"Premium Pass. Pay just 9.9 million won and you can join the auction right away!"
Not 10 million — 9.9 million. The effort that had gone into making it look even the slightest bit cheaper was almost heroic.
Choi Sang-eun must have felt much the same, because he choked up and protested. "What kind of a price is 9.9 million won?"
"Don't like getting ripped off, don't buy. Am I forcing anyone?"
"What right do you even have to be selling those things in the first place?"
"We caught them, didn't we? Whoever hunts the item gets to eat the item."
"Then that old man belongs to this person right here. He confirmed the man was a fake and subdued him, didn't he?"
Choi Sang-eun pointed at me, red in the face. He had a point — the Fake Human answering to the name 'Im Jong-hak' had been my catch. By the Bear's own logic, it was my property.
But the moment his logic backed him into a corner, the Bear found somewhere else to look. "Aw, why you gotta be so technical about it?"
"Hard not to be, when you're suddenly demanding tens of millions from people?"
"Ugh, whatever. Just let it go."
"Hey!"
As the Bear made a show of slipping away, Choi Sang-eun seized him roughly by the arm. "What's your problem, mister? Looking to fight me?"
"Who do you think you are, fleecing people like this? This isn't pocket change — why are you pocketing practically their entire life savings? What are these people supposed to do when they get out!"
Choi Sang-eun bore down on him ferociously. The Bear went quiet, as if startled, and the others turned to watch us too.
That lasted a moment. Then the Bear muttered:
"Worried about other people, huh?"
"What?"
WHAM—!
Choi Sang-eun's body buckled clean in half. And yet the Bear hadn't moved an inch from his loose, lazy stance.
THUD—!
"Hk— khh..."
Choi Sang-eun couldn't draw breath, as if he'd been struck square in the solar plexus. And above him, something writhed — a mass of flesh. It hurled itself savagely at him.
CRASH—!
The massive tip of it came down beside Choi Sang-eun's head.
...So he really was a Contaminated Person.
"This is self-defense, mister? You get that, right?" The Bear nudged the frozen Choi Sang-eun lightly with his foot. "And I didn't set those prices, either. I'm the one helping people here. So don't give me any lip."
Choi Sang-eun couldn't answer. The Bear gave the journalist a light sneer, then abruptly turned to me. "And you, bro — if you wanna join our side, you're welcome to. I'll make you big money!"
A recruitment pitch, out of nowhere. On a hunch, I looked over at the skeletons. Behind those skeleton masks, their eyes were far younger than I'd imagined.
The Bear and his skeletons left. What remained in the second-floor lobby was me, Choi Sang-eun, and the people who'd been here all along. Seven of us in total.
Once the auction wrapped up, the others scattered to the four winds and crumpled their exhausted bodies into the lobby sofas.
"How long have you all been here?" Choi Sang-eun asked the man nearest him. The man simply turned his back, as though he found the question a bother. He wasn't the only one — everyone gave the same reaction.
Even so, Choi Sang-eun stubbornly went from person to person, until a woman who couldn't bear to watch spoke up. "Everyone's worn out. Quit bothering them."
"Worn out?" At his objection, the woman pointed at the lobby wall. A single sheet of paper had been slapped onto it.
Clean Bottled Water — 1,000,000 won
Stale Snacks — 500,000 won (NOT hardtack!)
What was this, peak-season tourist-trap pricing? I looked from the price list back to the people, and only then saw it clearly: they were on the verge of collapse.
"Where would I go to buy that?"
"Bottom floor."
Hearing the woman's answer, Choi Sang-eun sprinted straight down the stairs — and reappeared moments later holding a single 500ml bottle of water. "I'll share the water, so please talk to me."
The man who'd been paralyzed with fear not long ago had somehow recovered his journalist's instincts. Maybe it was because his initials matched someone's, but this fellow was quite a piece of work too.
"About a week now."
The woman, her neck bent, spoke with strained difficulty. "Anyone with money, or who could get a contactless loan, was out almost the moment they arrived. The rest of us are the ones with nothing left to draw on. The young men have all gone over to that bear guy's crew."
"Is there no way out of here other than joining that auction?"
"None. Phones don't work in here either, you know. The bear opens up the Wi-Fi only when someone's making a payment — the rest of the time, everything's dead."
"Have you tried collusion? Agreeing on an order in advance, so only the person due to leave bids, keeping the price as low as possible..."
"We tried. Tried everything. But those guys aren't idiots. When we kept our bids low, they simply refused to sell. Instead, they jacked the water price up to 5 million won a bottle. That's why everyone just goes along with the auction now."
The woman bit her lower lip wearily. "The longer you stay in here, the more you lose. That's why people scramble to get out as fast as they can. The money bleeding away in here is bad enough, but there's a life to feed outside, too."
Right — when I'd first been dragged into a Special Zone, I'd been frantic about my job too. I'd been lucky enough to be able to take sick leave, but that convenience isn't available to everyone. Some people may have already lost their jobs; for the self-employed, who have to open their own shop doors every single morning, each day is a loss.
"So if you've got money, just focus on getting out fast. That's all there is."
"Then... what's your plan going forward...?"
"My plan?"
At Choi Sang-eun's question, the woman gave a hollow laugh. "I can't get out of here. The winning bid starts at 30 million minimum, and I've nowhere to raise that kind of money — and I couldn't pay it back anyway. So I've given up. Whether I die out there, or die in here."
Her voice was flat. Flat, as though she had no tears left to shed — simply, quietly flat.
Just then, my smartwatch blinked silently.
"What is this situation, seriously..."
I muttered under my breath in the empty restroom, and Cha Si-eon offered an excuse for his agency's negligence.
"...You're telling me management was outsourced?" Management of a Special Zone? Subcontracted out?
0.6 a day counts as stable? That's three people every five days!
Alpha and Delta. The names of the special hazard entities born in the National Theater. Fair enough — I'd heard plenty about how vile those two were, many times over. Though it felt oddly strange, somehow, for Cha Si-eon to be the one bringing them up.
"So this outside contractor didn't know the place had gotten to be this state?"
A total, systemic disaster. Oh, so as long as people crawl out alive, it's all fine and dandy? I had plenty to say, but I swallowed it and picked out the essentials.
"That Contaminated Person seems to hold quite a grudge against you, Team Leader."
"You don't know him?"
"Then what about everything he said earlier?"
"Which means, in other words..."
Small fry. Well, true — he certainly hadn't looked like the sharpest tool in the shed.
Having finished his explanation, Cha Si-eon got straight to the point.
No upper limit on expenses. Now that was the power of the state for you. It was reassuring, certainly — but sneaking out alone like this left a bad taste in my mouth.
"Are you just going to leave this place as it is?"
We will discuss it. Grounds are required. Far too leisurely for my taste.
"Team Leader. That written statement you had me file last time — what ever came of it?"
"If it slid by last time, I thought perhaps a second attempt might be worth a shot."
Cha Si-eon's voice was laced with suspicion. So I calmly laid out my pitch. And it worked, beautifully.
"Bro, didn't you say you were unemployed?"
The Bear tilted his head. When I didn't answer, he ran his own deduction and nodded to himself. "Ah, right. Grew up in a nice neighborhood, huh? Lucky silver-spoon bastard."
Then he graced me with another round of his generosity. "I could sell you some, but no reselling in here. We keep prices reasonable out of consideration for the people."
Like a cat pondering a mouse's welfare.
"Since you're so dead set against reselling, then sell me some."
Having wrapped up my discussion with Cha Si-eon, I had gone straight to the Bear. And I bought 80 bottles of water and 40 packs of biscuits.
All told, it came to 100 million won.