I Thought I'd Escaped (1)

"Rescuer Number Twelve has regained consciousness."

I turned my head toward the voice.

Everything around me was white. For a moment I actually thought it might be a hospital.

That perfectly reasonable assumption collapsed the instant I saw the person standing beside me. The figure looking down at me was no doctor or nurse — it was a human being sealed inside a hazmat suit. Not a single strand of hair visible, just a seamless sheet of pure white.

"Are you awake? Can you see this?"

The hazmat suit waved a ballpoint pen in front of my eyes. The motion was so half-hearted, though, that I doubted my condition was what it genuinely cared about.

"Where am I...?"

"Don't worry, this is the real world! You made it out alive, thank goodness. Nothing severed, nothing broken — all four limbs fully intact!"

The hazmat suit spoke in a young man's voice, volunteering information nobody had asked for.

"You were seriously awesome, by the way. Handing your ticket to the kid at the very end — and then telling him to pay you back 'whenever, whoever.' Come on...! It was like watching a movie. I got actual goosebumps, I swear."

I was still staring blankly at him when I shot upright in alarm.

Well — I tried to. The moment I lifted my shoulder, the hazmat suit shoved me right back down. It felt less like restraint and more like suppression, and I protested on the spot.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Please don't move. The examination isn't finished."

"What examination?"

"Contamination measurement. Let's see... you can speak clearly, pupil response is, hm, fine. Blood pressure and pulse are all normal. But this spot hurts a bit, doesn't it?"

"Agh!"

The hazmat suit pressed down hard on my left shoulder — precisely the spot where the fire extinguisher had struck me. As I writhed in pain, it snickered.

"You're fine. It's just an abrasion."

I glared at the hazmat suit, utterly dumbfounded, and it replied with a laugh threaded through its voice.

"Rescuer, if you'd boarded that train and left, nobody would have blamed you. Your own life comes first — that's only natural, right?"

What on earth was this suddenly?

"So we weren't expecting much, but you looked after the kid first and then made it out yourself, and honestly, we were all thrilled! It's been nothing but nausea-inducing cases lately, so it was nice to watch a hero movie for once. So just hang tight for a moment. We can't give you the full hero treatment, but we'll manage some proper courtesy."

Some courtesy — shoving directly on an injury.

Absurd as it was, I decided to lie still for now. In the brief moment I'd managed to sit up, I'd seen enough to know this was no time for quibbling: I wasn't wearing clothes but some scrap of cloth draped over my body. A patient gown of the sort that a single untied knot away from leaving me completely naked. Facing down a man in a hazmat suit while dressed like that, I had the distinct feeling I'd already lost somehow. So I composed myself and asked.

"Is the girl here too?"

"Sol, you mean? Yes, she made it out fine."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Slated for incineration. Was there something important in them?"

"Incineration?"

"You could've picked anything up in there, after all."

Ridiculous — and yet I had no counterargument. So I let the small stuff slide and asked what actually mattered.

"Then how am I alive?"

My last memory was of Sol boarding the train in my place. And of the black shapes crushing me without mercy. The pressure I'd felt then was vivid even now — the coarse texture of those black forms, their thick, rancid stench. It was stranger that I hadn't died than that I had.

The hazmat suit answered my question readily.

"No idea."

"Excuse me?"

"That's why we're analyzing it. We honestly can't figure out how you survived."

Beep—

Just then a mechanical chime sounded nearby. The hazmat suit glanced at the monitor beside the bed, then spoke into a radio.

"Contamination measurement complete. Results normal."

Reporting to whom, exactly?

Click—

Then a door off in the distance opened. What came through it wasn't a person but a serving robot. It trundled smoothly toward me, and where a meal should have been, folded clothing sat on its tray.

"Change into those, and your case handler will come for you."

Case handler?

The explanation was woefully incomplete, but the hazmat suit was already busily gathering its things. Then, just before turning away, it gave me a thumbs-up of utterly inscrutable meaning.

"Rescuer — fighting!"

An equally inscrutable fighting. With that, the hazmat ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suit exited through the same door the serving robot had entered.

I unfolded the delivered clothes with a dubious feeling. A gray two-piece tracksuit, top and bottom.

I had been rescued... right?

Setting my confusion aside, I wormed into the pants first. I was pulling my head through the neck hole of the T-shirt when yet another door burst open.

"Mr. Seo Do-woon."

The man who'd opened it called my name from the doorway. Tall, dressed in a black tactical vest — security for this place, apparently. Unlike the hazmat suit, which had bounced around like it might take flight at any moment, this man's voice carried neither emotion nor inflection.

"Follow me."

At that heavy tone, I got up. Slipping on the slippers left under the bed, I stepped out into a broad corridor. The atmosphere resembled a hospital, but it was on a far larger scale than any ordinary one, and bleak as a morgue. There weren't even any windows. And despite walking for ten full minutes, the exact same corridor kept unfolding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ahead of us.

"Where exactly are you taking me?"

At my question, the man stopped dead. In the same instant, the sand-colored wall beside us abruptly vanished. No — it turned transparent. What was this? So the wall wasn't a wall at all, but something like a two-way mirror?

Beyond the glass-clear surface lay a spacious room. Pure white ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from wall to wall, like the one I'd woken in, with nothing inside but a single bed. And a girl who'd been in that room was now running toward me.

Who on earth — no, it was Lee Sol?

Sprinting my way, of all people. What was with her now...

Sol was draped in the same scrap of surgical cloth I had been, moments ago. Seeing her through an observer's eyes, a chill crept over me before I could stop it. One bed in that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠vast empty room, and a single person in a hospital gown. It was hard to read it as an ordinary medical facility. That room felt, if anything, like the kind of place where you'd run an experiment.

I watched Lee Sol through a haze of vague unease. Aside from her clothing, she looked fine, at least — judging by the way she came tearing across the room like that.

Sol reached the glass wall and shouted something. But the soundproofing was so effective that not a word came through.

Kzzt—!

Just then a mechanical crackle sounded beside me.

Her voice came through, tangled with static. I glanced over to find the man holding the radio with a blank expression. Sol's voice was pouring out of it — they were apparently letting the two of us talk.

I looked back and forth between the man and Sol, then answered.

"Yeah. I hear you."

Sol burst out the moment I answered. Then, almost immediately, her eyes went red and she dropped her head.

At Sol's choked voice, I let out a breath of relief of my own. It was only now sinking in.

We were alive. Both of us.

"Are you okay?"

She sniffled through her reply, and then it cut off mid-sentence. I looked over; the man had already switched off the radio and was stowing it away.

"This meeting was arranged at Lee Sol's request, as confirmation of her condition. Follow me again, please."

The instant the transmission died, Sol pounded desperately on the wall. But the glass had already shifted back to its opaque, ivory color. I could no longer see her at all.

I stood my ground, as much in protest at this high-handed cutoff as anything, and asked.

"How long does that girl have to stay in there?"

"She will remain in isolation until her safety is confirmed."

What came back was a textbook non-answer.

"Ah, it's gone to print. Thank you, Chief Editor. Yes, yes. I'll contact the author myself later. Of course. Yes."

I bowed into the phone as deeply as I physically could. I had no choice. The date showed that a full three days had passed since the day I left work — which made me a man who'd gone incommunicado for three days and skipped out on his job without a word. New-title prep, author meetings, all of it blown to pieces. Fortunately the Chief Editor had handled the urgent matters himself, so the schedule hadn't suffered. And somehow, for some reason, I was officially registered as having been in a traffic accident.

"My body is... yes... I'm fine."

Because of that, the Chief Editor was actually the one checking on my wellbeing, and — ugh. It felt like lying my way out, and my conscience pricked. But my current situation was by no means less dire than a traffic accident, so I'd compromise for now.

"Yes, I'll call as soon as I'm discharged."

I ended the call and set the borrowed phone on the desk. The man sitting across from me reclaimed it without ceremony. He was the very man who had guided me here.

Face to face at last, he was considerably — no, exceptionally good-looking. Perfectly proportioned features in a wolfish cast, a height pushing 190 centimeters, and the lean, hardened muscle of someone who trained consistently. By every measure, a face that made you doubt he was an ordinary person. But beneath the good looks, his frigid aura made warmth difficult. Strangest of all, in the middle of all this, was his long hair. That rigid bearing of his seemed to demand a military buzz cut — and yet for some reason he wore his hair grown to his shoulders, tied up in a topknot. Even that carried no hint of looseness or vanity. If anything, he looked like a member of some shady, extralegal organization.

Though the fact that he'd let me call my office suggested his world wasn't entirely sinister.

While I quietly took the measure of the room, the topknot man spoke.

"There are a few things we need to confirm. Your cooperation is appreciated."

But what came out of his mouth was not at all what I'd expected.

"Before that — where is this?"

"Orientation video materials will be provided later. Please hold your questions until then."

"Shouldn't you at least tell me who you people are?"

"Government affiliation."

The topknot man answered with zero effort, then continued before I could press him.

"Do you remember anything after putting Lee Sol on the train?"

"No."

"Did you hear any sounds? Dream anything?"

I answered reluctantly, then frowned. Sounds? Dreams? I didn't remember any. And yet it felt as though I had dreamed something.

"That's enough. Then please describe the circumstances of your barter with The One in the Old Military Uniform."

"Describe what, exactly?"

"Your barter succeeded on the fourth attempt. I'd like to know why you used the book you were carrying as the item of exchange at that time."

I turned the man's question over in my head, and a sour look crept onto my face.

"...You were watching all of that?"

"Monitoring is conducted at all times."

"Then why didn't you come rescue us?"

"Our response followed the manual."

The manual. I echoed his answer in my head, then pushed back.

"Standing by while people die — is that your manual?"

"An uncooperative attitude may delay your release."

The man spoke as if I were a bothersome chore. So for a moment, I had no words. That hell I'd crawled out of was supposedly a zone managed by the government. How many people had died in there — and this man, a government employee, had simply watched. Had even called it the manual.

I stared at him, flabbergasted. He met my eyes for a moment, then set a bag on the table. With mechanical precision, he opened it and turned it toward me.

"This is the compensation payment scheduled for you, Mr. Seo Do-woon."

Inside, bundles of fifty-thousand-won notes were packed to overflowing.

"However, the amount and timing of this payment may be adjusted at my discretion. Will you cooperate?"

Faced with a wholly unexpected fortune, I found myself at a loss for words in an entirely different sense. Thousands — no, hundreds of millions of won.

I stared at the money for a long moment. Then I opened my mouth again.

"...What was the question?"