Remembering Sisyphus (4)
Three people had climbed onto the stage for reconnaissance.
None of them made it back down.
They were all dead.
"Ah, aaaah—! Aaaaaah—!"
"Kuhk? Gruuuhk—? Gruuuuuhk—?"
"Heok. Heok. Heok. Heok. E-heoooook!"
No.
They'd ended up in something worse than death.
It was heads. Spines. Chunks of flesh attached to them, and rivers of blood.
Six bloodshot pupils glared at the seats. Tears streamed down cheeks, red as could be.
'Become instruments? It meant that literally.'
The pamphlet's warnings flashed through my mind.
1. All performances by the Hanamind Philharmonic are 'audience participation' events.
Let's all raise our voices and become today's instruments!
I swallowed the churning in my gut and stared at the 'instruments.'
One met my eyes. A young man with a shaggy head twisted his face into a cheeky grin.
It wasn't funny at all.
I wanted to scream.
'No.'
I bit my lip hard.
'Those people became instruments because they made a racket. If I scream here, I'll end up the same...'
Pinned in midair, kneaded like clay, spilling a bucket of blood, and turned into an instrument.
Just like the pamphlet said.
'Wait. Just like the pamphlet said?'
My eyes widened. Realization hit. This situation was definitely...
'Right, the pamphlet...'
It was written there.
So that meant?
'Just follow the warnings, and we're good.'
The pamphlet's precautions weren't some creepy ghost story bullshit.
They were a literal list of shit you shouldn't do.
I recalled the warnings.
Luckily, my memory's sharp. I sorted them quick.
'Main things to watch: no making noise, no electronics...'
Avoid that, avoid becoming an instrument.
'Simpler than I thought. Just pretend we're at a normal concert.'
Though the screaming instruments made 'simple' a stretch...
Think positive.
If the rules said 'do a handstand dance,' I'd be dragged onstage and turned into a harp by now.
'Just number 2 left...'
2. Don't forget: that day's tragedy happened right here, at the Gudaeri Municipal Concert Hall.
The people who died here are really pissed off!
'People who died here are really pissed off? What the hell does that mean?'
No clue. Guess we'd find out when the performance started.
'So when does it start?'
Then it happened. The three screaming instruments shut up at once.
Realization struck. In a concert hall, applause comes when the conductor enters...
'And stops when they take the stage.'
Yeah. Remembering Sisyphus had already begun.
Those instruments were already 'playing.'
The moment I got it, the stage instruments started making noise.
First came a chilling string melody. No sign of the players. Just faint shadows under the lights.
Shadows shaped like humans.
Under the strings, the winds, the piano...
And the conductor's podium.
That's when I spotted the baton hovering in the air above the podium. It quivered thinly toward the string players.
Delicate. Sprightly.
Under the conductor's lead, cellos wailed over the violins. Soon all the strings joined in.
'The playing itself is normal enough.'
Normally skilled. Normally beautiful.
Though instruments with human heads kinda ruined the normalcy...
No weird effects from the music itself, at least.
Good. Just endure it.
That was the thought—
When the baton spun. The music faded. Lights dimmed, then went out. Total black.
Silence. Stillness. Pitch darkness.
Doooong—. A hum like fluorescent bulbs.
Click—! Lights on.
Spotlight. But not on the stage.
On the audience.
"Wh-what... why?"
A trembling voice. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Bad move.
With sight gone, other senses sharpened.
"Ah, aaa..."
Something tore.
"Aaak—! Aak—! It hurts—! Huurts—!"
Then burst.
Spluuurt—!
Lukewarm liquid soaked my head. Not cold sweat.
Blood.
Extreme tension cooled my head instead.
Pamphlet line flashed by.
3. Every action the conductor takes during the performance is part of the planned show.
'...The "show" means confirmed death?'
No way. Just bad luck.
"Huaaah—! Huaaaah—!"
A freshly minted instrument wailed through the air toward the stage.
Doooong—.
'Again...!'
Senses too sharp. Breathing ragged.
I felt death closing in.
Click—!
Lights. Blinding spotlight. Eyes burned. I squinted without thinking.
Realized the light was way too close.
Shock. Terror. Confusion.
'Am I dead now?'
...No.
The spotlight hit the seat next to me.
The faint-faced woman who'd suggested the pamphlet sat there.
She was next.
"...Hngh."
She trembled, pale as a ghost. Hands clamped over her mouth, tears dripping.
"Ugh... gh..."
Awful feeling. I was relieved it wasn't me.
Yeah. Even as the woman who'd helped me faced death, I was glad it wasn't me.
Then disgust. Self-justification. Finally rage.
Goddamn... life and death by luck? How fucking unfair...
'Wait. Something's off.'
Mirae Co., Ltd. sent us here.
And Mirae, like any megacorp, prioritizes efficiency.
Sees employees as parts, but doesn't smash them needlessly.
'Inefficient.'
A luck-based ghost story with an 'education report'? Nah.
Company wouldn't waste time on that.
If it actively killed, no report would exist.
'So...'
It's a show. Audience participation.
Not scripted.
In other words.
'Random event. Artists' performances don't always go as planned!'
Stay still like now, no instrument fate!
Realization hit—I grabbed the woman's hand tight.
She looked at me.
I curled my lips, bit hard. She trembled but copied me.
Silence. Quiet. Deathly still.
Thud.
Spotlight off.
I was right.
She didn't become an instrument.
The first movement ended. Thunderous applause and cheers as the conductor exited.
House lights up. The seats were a sea of blood. Human blood reeked like vomit.
But no fear. A weird liberation washed over me.
I survived. That alone made me this happy.
I was that kind of person.
'And...'
I saved her.
I glanced at the still-faint-faced woman.
She was still shaking.
"Hoo, huu... huuu... S-survived."
She muttered. I gripped her hand in surprise—she beamed.
"F-fine now. Break time. Ch-chat a bit...?"
This timid-looking woman had guts. I sighed, slumping deep into the chair from exhaustion.
She spoke again then.
"Um... h-hand, hand please..."
"Hand?"
"Y-yeah..."
She eyed downward.
Our fingers were interlocked. Sweat slicked where skin met skin.
"Oh, sorry. If it bothered you..."
"N-no, no. Just hurts a bit."
I'd gripped too hard.
I let go quick. She bowed her head.
"Th-thanks. N-nearly d-died."
"No big deal. But thanks now—better focus elsewhere first."
"Elsewhere?"
I stood, scanned around. Muffled sobs, despairing mutters everywhere.
Yeah. Still in the Gudaeri Municipal Concert Hall.
Nightmare not over. Just first act done.
"Figure out escape. Fast as possible. Safe to move only during breaks, seems."
She caught on quick.
"Th-then how...?"
"Find someone used to this shit."
More heads together, the better.
"Used to it?"
Ignored her question, turned to scan seats.
Spotted the scarred man quick. Headed over. Reached him fast.
"Ko Kyung-min."
"Yes."
Ko Kyung-min looked paler than before. Even underworld fixers weren't immune to that.
Whatever. Not important now.
He had no pamphlet.
"You survived. Good."
"...You too."
Yeah. Pure luck on his end.
But I had survival intel.
I waved the pamphlet.
"That...?"
"Pamphlet with the rules. Happy to share—with you, Ko Kyung-min."
His eyes widened a bit. I drove it home.
"Changed your mind on partnering? Seems we're a good match."
"..."
I offered a handshake.
He took it.
We were allies now. Time to show trust.
Screw around with mind games here, and you'd tank a good deal.
Business mindset.
I told Ko Kyung-min everything I'd figured out.
"That's all I know. Your turn."
"...Truth is, I'm no expert on ghost stories like this. But my specialty..."
He continued.
"Summoning. Just the one sword from before."
"Can't summon other stuff?"
"No. But confident in swordplay. Will try subduing if needed."
Subdue? Possible?
Dunno. More options, the better.
"Table it for now. Push as late as possible. Ideally after third movement..."
"After third? Why?"
"Yes. Symphony here. Usually four movements, so three left till finale."
"Why not fourth?"
Educational use of the fourth movement is impossible. All subjects exposed perished.
No. The instant fourth hits, we're all dead.
Problem: convince him.
Business is cards. Trust is rules, skill is hand.
Follow rules: given. Reveal hand: different.
But situation... spill?
As I hesitated, the woman behind me shrieked.
"No to fourth!"
Silence. Me and Ko Kyung-min stared. She trembled, said:
"B-bad luck. Bad luck."
"Bad luck?"
"M-my s-specialty."
She mumbled timidly.
"I-I'm strong against bad omens. C-can sense death. P-people dying, that stuff. I s-survive alone. Always. J-just now, fourth... head tingled..."
Lucky her. Saved explanation.
"Last resort in third, then."
Experience in this? Ko Kyung-min bought it fast.
"Understood. More?"
More words.
Scanned the hall. Others up, testing escapes.
Biggest crowd at exit. Green EXIT sign glowed faint.
Door shut tight. Three shoving—no give.
"Trying exit..."
As I said to Ko Kyung-min—cheers from there.
"It opened!"
"Out, out!"
"W-wait. Something wrong...!"
Door opened. Pure black void inside.
One guy shoved in.
"Wh-what? Aaaah! F-falling—!"
Aaaaaah—.
Scream faded.
Gone. Silence. No one. No words, no screams.
"...No good."
Ko Kyung-min and woman nodded.
"Round up people, share info. Letting savable die is bad, and dumb risks hurt us too."