Stripped of the Five Senses (1)

WEEEOOO—!

A shrill siren tore me out of sleep.

It was still dark outside the window, so I lay there with my face buried in the pillow, doubting my own ears. Did that sound just happen for real? Or was it part of a dream?

WEEEOOO—!

The siren screamed again. THOOM—! A vibration rolled up through the floor, and the moment I realized this was no dream, I kicked off the blanket and sat up.

Where was I this time? That sound—was it the Railroad Station with a Blaring Siren?

No. No, it wasn't. This was my room. I hadn't been dragged into a special zone.

When I made it out to the living room, Gwak Jae-gyeom was already up. Standing there in his pajamas with a tablet in hand, he gave me a quick once-over.

"Oh, hyung."

"What was that noise?"

"Sounds like it's from the Contaminated Persons holding facility. Probably nothing serious."

Jae-gyeom said it like it was the most normal thing in the world and dropped onto the sofa.

Ring—!

Just then an alert popped up on my smartwatch too.

A simple internal alert used to flag situations inside the Bureau. Nuruk was the code word reserved for when one of the Contaminated Persons in Bureau custody started causing trouble, and "Two" marked a mid-level alert—in other words, the Contaminated were stirring up a commotion, so respond calmly.

WEEEOOO—!

The siren wailed again, faint and distant this time. The holding facility had to be buried far deeper underground than this floor, and yet the sound carried all the way here. It was honestly astonishing. The tremors kept coming in intermittent bursts, but Jae-gyeom, apparently used to it, just sat on the sofa staring at his tablet.

I sat down on the sofa across from him.

"Hyung, just go back to bed."

THOOM—!

"It keeps shaking, though."

"Ugh…"

Gwak Jae-gyeom sighed and raked a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. For once, he looked like a man without much room to relax.

"Is this the Contaminated People they brought in recently going berserk?"

"No, it's not that…"

Then what was it? This was a guy who normally volunteered every piece of information he'd ever heard, and right now he was oddly tight-lipped. I couldn't tell whether it was because he'd just been woken up, or because the situation was actually serious.

THUD—!

The tremors carried on regardless. THUD— THUD— THOOM—! Just as they seemed to be building toward something worse, they stopped dead.

Ring—!

The alert had been lifted.

"Situation's over. You're fine now, so get some sleep, hyung."

Gwak Jae-gyeom, who'd received the same alert, stood up first and said. The time was 2:19 in the morning.

The next morning, Cha Si-eon's face was covered in scratches.

Wow. Who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on earth managed to do that to him?

"Did something happen?"

I asked while cataloging his split lip, his gashed forehead, and the bruised swell of his cheekbone in order.

"Nothing of consequence."

Cha Si-eon refused the opening. Team Leader Cha always took this stance with anything that wasn't strictly business, and since I had no particular desire to chat with the man either, I'd always let it slide.

But today, I pressed anyway.

"You look pretty hurt."

"No need for concern."

"I'm not concerned."

"Good."

"You're welcome."

Damn it… Do you simply not possess the concept of social interaction?

Cha Si-eon didn't just shut down unnecessary conversation—he deployed actual techniques to neutralize every attempt at one. I doubted I'd get a straight answer out of this man even if I asked him about the two hundred million.

I was dying to know about the enormous compensation payment I'd received, but I was keeping the question bottled up because of Heo Gu-young. Team Leader Heo, who had slapped his own mouth over and over, begging me not to let the field teams or anyone else find out that he'd been the one who set it off.

Right—I only met Supervisor Heo yesterday, so I'd just grit my teeth for two more days. Then, on day three, I'd casually drop: 'Huh. The compensation I received doesn't seem to match Bureau regulations, does it?' Yes. Perfect.

I decided to bide my time.

And that careful little plan of mine was quietly crushed underfoot by a far bigger event.

"Contamination levels are normal."

Kim Woo-in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said, flipping through my chart. I was in the middle of savoring the good news when he pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and turned dead serious.

"What exactly are you relieved about? You didn't push your luck in there because you wanted to get contaminated, did you?"

"No, of course not…"

"That's exactly what it looked like to me. Wandering around eating snacks like you owned the place."

"Hahaha…"

He stared at me with eyes that asked whether I seriously thought laughing was appropriate. Fair point. My attending physician was considerably displeased about the six days I'd spent inside a special zone.

"The regulations say up to nine days is safe, so my plan was to get out within that window," I offered carefully.

I should have just kept my mouth shut. Something lethal settled into Kim Woo-in's eyes.

"What did you just say? Which regulation says nine days is safe? It says never, ever exceed nine days. If a poison's lethal dose is 100ml and you drink 90ml, do you call that fine? Do you think this is some video game where as long as you clear it one or two seconds before the timer runs out, you move on to the next level spotless?"

"That's not it, exactly, it's just—there are documented cases of people staying over a year without contamination…"

"Those are case studies, exceptional outliers that got published because they were freak anomalies! If people can go a whole year without a scratch, why does the regulation say under nine days? Because the individual variance is that extreme! It's a threshold the Bureau only forced into existence because some standard was needed—and you're using that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠compromise figure to gamble with your own body?"

"I'm sorry. I'll be careful from now on."

I ended up flattened completely, without so much as recovering my opening bet.

"It's not about being sorry. Rescues are noble and all, but secure your own safety first. Do you have any idea how terrifying contamination is… ugh."

Kim Woo-in sighed and bit down on his lollipop again. Somehow it reminded me of Jae-gyeom sighing in the middle of the night. Having finished unleashing his tirade, he softened a little and continued.

"Anyway—your total stay this time was 120 hours and 12 minutes, Do-woon. Under Bureau regulations, anyone who enters and exits a special zone has to rest outside for three times that duration."

This, too, was a Bureau rule for contamination prevention. Six hours lost wandering a zone meant a minimum of eighteen hours of rest outside. The rule existed for a reason, so I'd better stop lounging around and follow it properly. Three times 120 hours 12 minutes came to 360 hours 36 minutes—fifteen days and 36 minutes, in other words.

A week had already passed since I came out of the National Theater, so I only needed to stay careful for about eight more days. Though in my case, of course, it wasn't exactly something I could control…

"Not that it matters—self-restraint doesn't stop you from getting dragged in there, does it."

Even Kim Woo-in seemed to find that fact stuck in his throat; he rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably.

"I hear Assistant Manager Oh scheduled your full recovery clearance for the same date as a special zone entry. Why don't you just go get yourself a little injured?"

"Is that a joke?"

"It's a joke."

He spat the words out short and crushed the innocent lollipop between his teeth. Watching the candy stick splinter into ruins, I let out a dry laugh. He'd always been prickly, but today he was sharper than usual.

Of course, there was a reason for it.

"You've heard that next week is Intensive Suppression Week, right?"

"Yes, I have."

"Response Team 3 is being deployed for the operation. So who exactly is watching over you while they're gone?"

And there it was—the reason my physician's nerves were frayed. Next week, the Bureau's grand quarterly event, Intensive Suppression Week, was scheduled. The stars of this recurring operation were the response teams and exploration teams, and Response Team 3—the unit assigned to my protection—was no exception. An unavoidable gap was about to open in my security arrangements. Kim Woo-in, apparently, was worried about all of it landing at once.

So I told him not to worry.

"During that period, I'll be under the protection of the Field Operations Division's Command Department."

Inside the Field Operations Division, there was one more department above the response and exploration teams, managing and commanding them all: the Command Department, where Section Chief Kwon Mu-seop belonged. In other words, someone even higher up the ladder than my current minders would be looking after me—which, as far as I could see, could only be a good thing.

So why was it, then…

"The Command Department. You mean Kwon Mu-seop."

"Yes."

At my confirmation, Kim Woo-in pulled a face like he'd just bitten into an unripe persimmon with all his might. It was a face more than capable of carving chunks out of my trust in the Command Department—and in Section Chief Kwon Mu-seop.

Intensive Suppression Week.

To understand it, you first had to understand the life cycle of a special zone.

Zones had cycles.

Stage 0: the Gestation Period. The phase in which a completely destroyed zone rebuilt itself. No one could approach a zone in this stage.

Stage 1: the Active Period. The phase in which a fully formed zone drew in humans and grew active. Every zone I'd been dragged into had been in its Active Period.

Stage 2: the Reorganization Period. The phase in which a zone paused briefly to grow. A zone in Reorganization no longer lured in humans—but it could still be entered through the access points the Bureau had secured.

Stage 3: the Awakening Period. The phase in which a zone that had finished growing resumed activity. An awakened zone operated more aggressively than before, sucking in human beings all the faster.

In short: special zones grew. And to stop that growth, the Bureau periodically beat the zones back down. That way, recovery became more urgent than expansion, and the zone's awakening itself was strangled in the cradle.

To summarize: it was pruning.

The important part was that this pruning wasn't done on an arbitrary schedule—it was timed to the zones' Reorganization Periods. A zone in Reorganization stopped moving, like a caterpillar cocooned inside its shell. That was the perfect moment to smash a zone, and the problem was that the window normally lasted a mere four days.

Which was why, when the time came, the Bureau ran itself ragged, hurling firepower into every zone it could reach.

That was Intensive Suppression Week—the single most important recurring operation in special zone management.

The first day of Intensive Suppression Week.

"That concludes the briefing. Return to me all of you, safe and sound. Then—good luck."

Before a formation of 135 agents standing at attention, Section Chief Kwon Mu-seop spoke in a solemn voice. The agents saluted in silence, then boarded the Bureau vehicles. Before long, the space emptied out and fell still.

It felt like the calm before a storm.

As I stood tracing the lingering echoes of that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment, Section Chief Kwon Mu-seop came down from the platform.

"Do-woon, this is your first Suppression Week, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Things'll be a bit chaotic, but nothing'll go wrong. Same work we always do."

Kwon Mu-seop smiled warmly, as if to put me at ease.

"And I'll be looking after your safety personally, so don't you worry."

He said it in a friendly tone and held out his hand. Assuming he wanted a handshake, I naturally extended mine as well.

But Kwon Mu-seop didn't shake my hand. Instead, he fastened something around my wrist.

Click-clack—!

This was…?

"Well then, let's have a good week together, Do-woon."

I turned to look at Kwon Mu-seop slowly, in sheer disbelief. Because, astonishingly, the section chief had just tethered his wrist to mine with a strap—exactly the way Gwak Jae-gyeom had done to me a while back.