Watch Your Own Death! (3)
A pale moon hung overhead as I pushed through the dark forest.
Somehow...
A single strand of fog-laden wind crept in.
Somehow, I mean...
Amid the eerie harmony whispered by the rustling leaves, buzzing with excitement.
This is totally...
A heavy, damp darkness brushed down my spine.
"Fucked."
My words echoed in the empty air. The silence around me made my voice unnaturally clear.
Ah.
I'm fucked.
And that wasn't hyperbole or speculation. It was a plain fact, a straightforward diagnosis of my current predicament.
I was fucked.
I gazed beyond the bars of tree trunks shrouded in darkness. Even through the gloom, what lay ahead was starkly visible.
Like a spotlight shining on it. There was light, yet no light at all.
A threatening atmosphere. Whether real or impending, it didn't matter.
This is bad.
Nighttime forests are dangerous.
Hypothermia, wild animal attacks.
Tripping risks from the time limit on your watch, or wandering deeper into a quagmire.
Even in a normal forest. But what about one steeped in anomalies—in other words, ghost stories?
...As an answer, I could recall at least ten stories of lively young folks heading deep into the woods for a trip, only to meet miserable ends.
Tales a bit distant from a jaded office drone like me, but not entirely unrelated.
...Still.
Call it a silver lining? There was one tiny difference between them and me.
...I didn't drop in completely empty-handed.
I looked at the shopping bag in my hand. Inside: ink, a card printed with a QR code, and a suit wrapped in luxurious packaging.
Who knew I'd need it right after buying.
I filled the fountain pen with ink. Scanned the QR to download the app.
A bit worried about being out of network range, but false alarm.
Ghost story tech at work? Impressive engineering.
Alright then...
One item left.
I eyed the suit, unwrapped it. Hesitated as I shrugged off my jacket, fiddled with my belt buckle.
A chill wind grazed my sweat-soaked back.
Unseasonably cold. Even the icy mountain air deepened my dilemma.
Guess I have to change.
Down to my underwear. The dumbest choice for a castaway.
Of course, I knew better.
This wasn't ordinary clothes. It was a lifeline, warrior's armor, tank plating.
But I still have to strip.
But.
Stripping outdoors felt somehow sleazy, like I had ulterior motives.
Made me want to throw on a trench coat instead.
Yeah.
Human disqualification.
...I don't wanna.
Extreme naturism, basically.
Indecent. Against public morals, no need to drag in public order.
Going naked? That kind of shameless act was impossible for a weak-willed soul like me.
That was when.
Whooo—ooo—ooo—ooo—.
A sudden gust of wind.
Shhh—shhh—shhh—shhh—shhh—.
Trees wailing in the fog like banshees.
...
Finally, beyond the groans of the foliage, a creepy silence crouched.
Eerie. Or sinister.
An uncanny vibe words couldn't fully capture.
Come to think of it, naturism isn't so bad.
A moment later.
The suit fit perfectly.
Tailor-made. Without even taking measurements.
I decided not to question how. Ghost story tech, whatever.
Anyway.
In the suit, my head finally cleared a bit. Starting to adapt to this incomprehensible mess.
Combat readiness, in other words.
A suit—especially a good one—is an office worker's battle gear, right?
Is this what they call business mindset?
...Though I won't deny the chill wind on bare skin helped motivate me.
Anyway.
Three keywords.
One. This place is the future.
Simple reason: Team Leader Ham said so.
Precisely, a limited future. A fragment, she called it.
Assuming I could trust her, that is...
It's been ages since I graduated from seeing enemies everywhere.
We met for the first time today, after all.
No motive for her to trap me in a conspiracy, no malice.
Even if there was a speck—like hating my face—she lacked the time to execute it.
So, next...
Two. To escape, find documents or something similar.
In other words, activate my trait.
Obvious.
I lack info. Any clue here would make escape easier.
Issue is whether I can trigger it in this place...
Team Leader Ham knew this anomaly. Bounty means upper management does too.
So, any documents here are company files.
Just like Sisyphus. Trait will activate.
Thus, goal one for anomaly scouting: set.
And...
Three. Maybe I'm not in that much danger.
....
Unlike the first two, a completely insane thought.
A watered-down impression, really. Bluntly, the ravings of a madman sprinting naked through mountains, sanity rotted to the core.
But...
It's rational.
Clue came from Team Leader Ham again.
'Video that kills on the third watch,' she said.
She flatly stated 'up to twice is fine.' At least for this first entry, I'm safe.
Of course, prepare for surprises.
That's why I went full shameless. Map app installed, fountain pen ready.
I scanned the forest again: trees, darkness, moon, wind, fog, eerie air beyond.
Good...
A path lay there.
Let's go.
The forest path had a steep incline. Sweat-soaked back freezing, stealing my body heat.
...Drenched in sweat. This is trouble. Hypothermia incoming. Need shelter from the wind first.
I quickened my pace.
Avoiding the obvious wrong turns flagged by the Thousand-Mile Cartographer app, after a while.
I finally spotted signs of human presence.
Whooo—ooo—ooo—.
Flutter.
A flag. Five colors of mourning. Frayed at the edges, ghosting in the endless wind and fog.
Writing on it. Let's see...
Dangsan.
Dang Mountain.
House dang, mountain san. A hill or mountain with a mountain spirit.
Steep for a forest—guess it's a mountain.
Below the flag, a crumbling building leaned.
Ruins.
Human traces long gone, only stillness lingering.
Shaman hut.
An abandoned shaman hut—top five on any survey of mountain encounters to avoid.
And.
Haa... How did I end up...
...Reluctant as hell, but I had to go in.
Ruins or not, paper might remain, maybe a scrap of writing.
Let's enter.
Inside the building. No signs of life. Wind whistled through unrepaired walls.
Worn out. Shabby.
But that's it. Aside from age, surprisingly tidy.
No clutter typical of long-abandoned ruins?
Odd. Mountains should have beasts or something...
Right, anomaly zone.
No beasts. If any, they're dead.
That was when.
Something crunched under my shoe. Lifted my foot carefully: shattered mouse skull.
Hate this. Really hate it. Wanna go home.
No.
Think positive.
Even small critters dead means...
No big animals. No sudden beast attacks.
Self-rationalized as I scanned the room.
A shrine. Faded cushion in the center, behind it: dust-piled bedding and altar.
Rural house smell tickled my nose. No coziness. Just chilling alienation pricking my spine.
Cause: the altar.
God portrait—mountain spirit for a dangsan—right there.
A mirror instead.
The barren scene reflected doubled the emptiness. That inexplicable wrongness: it.
Why's this here? Creepy as hell...
Even thinking that, I inspected the mirror. Cloudy enough to barely reflect the room.
Dusted like the other furnishings.
Huh? Wait.
...Weird.
I'm right beside it. Angle slightly off.
Should reflect me.
No reflection.
Stood dead center. Still nothing.
Anomaly trait? Held up a candlestick. Mirror's floated in void.
Realization hit.
... 'Video that kills on third watch.'
This isn't reality.
Not just 'inside anomaly.'
Future... Strictly, I'm not here.
I'm past Oh Sung-jin. No clue where this timeline's me is, but anyway.
Might be a leap, but best guess now.
Clues lacking. Keep searching.
A moment later.
Search done.
Only one document-worthy find.
I eyed the hanji neatly folded before the mirror.
Thin enough to透 letters. Ink blood-red.
Pretty sure what it's made of. Blood, blood, blood.
As long as trait triggers.
Shaking off dread, deep breath, couple sighs, gulp—then slowly reached out.
Stiff texture. Corpse-cold paper.
And.
Aka 'The Video That Kills on the Third Watch'
Experiment Log｣
No mentions of 'Dangsan' or 'Mountain Spirit'.