L*st and Death

Darkness had already fallen over the streets.

Siron, his heart dropping into his stomach, gripped his bag tightly and cautiously made his way to the front of the bus.

Only the driver, the social worker, and Siron remained onboard.

Before the bus departed again, Siron urgently addressed the social worker.

“Um, I didn’t get off yet. I don’t think my name was called.”

The worker, wearing black-rimmed glasses, gave him a tired glance and let out a sigh so faint it was barely audible.

“You’re Rowoon Kim, right?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

The man held out a sheet in front of Siron.

At the bottom of the list was the name Rowoon Kim, alongside the name and address of the shelter where he would be spending the night.

It was the Millander Public Support Shelter.

“It’s just ten more minutes from here.”

“W-Wait, why am I the only one going there?”

The worker stared at him like he’d asked something painfully obvious, then smacked his lips.

“First time at a shelter?”

“Huh? Yes.”

His tone was sluggish, as if each word was weighed down by exhaustion.

He explained that public support shelters used by the homeless were run on a reservation system, and that due to the recent surge in the homeless population, a single shelter could no longer accommodate everyone.

Homeless individuals were now being distributed to shelters all across Baggers City.

Since Rowoon Kim’s registration had come in last, he’d been assigned alone to the Millander Shelter.

The bus continued down a desolate road and finally pulled up in front of the Millander Shelter—a functional, no-frills two-story building with a gray slate roof and wooden exterior paneling.

After handing Siron off to the shelter manager, the social worker departed with the bus.

Lewis isn’t here...

Siron looked around anxiously, but couldn’t see Lewis anywhere in the dark.

Across from the shelter stood an abandoned wooden house, construction halted mid-way.

It leaned crookedly, half-obscured by overgrown grass, radiating an eerie, desolate atmosphere.

Only the sound of crickets echoed through the night.

No signs of people anywhere.

It gave Siron the chilling impression that if something happened here, no one outside would ever know.

“Hey.”

A phlegmy voice behind him made Siron flinch and turn around.

A stocky white man, probably in his early fifties, handed him a paper bag.

“Dinner.”

“...Thank you. Uh, am I the only one staying here?”

“No.”

Shaking his head, the man pointed toward one of the windows.

A dim light was on inside one of the rooms.

Lights glowed behind blinds across all the first-floor rooms, but the blinds blocked any view inside.

Siron was assigned to the second-to-last room at the end of the second-floor hallway.

The building was saturated with CCTV—far more than necessary.

The red LEDs on the cameras blinked ominously.

The room he was led to was a double.

Even with two beds, there was ample space between them.

Siron quickly scanned for any surveillance.

Thankfully, there didn’t appear to be any cameras inside.

There was an eerie stillness in the building.

The utter silence of the hallway unsettled him.

He hurriedly locked the door, then rushed to the window.

About thirty meters diagonally from the building stood a man, motionless, peering into something glowing in his hands.

His helmet was off, revealing blond hair faintly glinting in the darkness with a bluish sheen.

Lewis?

As if in answer, Siron’s phone rang. It was Lewis.

“Lewis!”

—Is that you in the second-to-last room on the left side of the second floor?

“Yes! That’s me!”

Siron pressed against the window, waving frantically.

He hadn’t been kidnapped.

No one had shouted at him or touched him.

But it felt like he was trapped in a secluded mansion crawling with serial killers.

He clutched the phone to his ear with both hands.

—Get out. Now. Let’s go home.

“Go home? But I haven’t done anything yet.”

—Fuck that. Just get out. Anna can’t come tonight anyway.

Siron was startled by Lewis’s forcefulness but couldn’t answer right away.

Because his fear—wasn’t real.

Nothing had happened to him. Not yet.

Running now, over nothing, would feel pathetic.

Even if no one was around to laugh at him, Siron didn’t want to lose face—not with himself.

Besides, Yoon Siron was the kind of person who always made sure to earn his pay.

Despite appearances, he had a strong sense of responsibility.

“Just wait one night.”

—What?

“Don’t come. There are CCTV cameras everywhere.”

Seeing Lewis, unable to hold back, running toward the building, Siron added:

—You’re not seriously staying, are you? I have a really bad feeling about this.

Lewis’s voice trembled.

His worry bled through every word.

But somehow, that steadied Siron’s nerves.

“You’re out there watching. So what is there to be scared of?

Is Anna okay?”

Siron brought up the collapsed bridge.

In all his time in Baggers City, he’d never seen an incident of this scale.

He forgot his own situation for a moment, speaking of the aftermath and victims.

Then he checked his phone.

“Battery’s at 24%. I need to conserve it.”

With GPS and the tracking app constantly running, the charge had drained fast.

He didn’t even have 25% left—and no charger.

—You’re killing me. Bebe, please. Get out.

“If I leave now, I’ll never get another chance.

Stop whining like a baby and wait till morning.

Don’t do anything reckless without my permission.

I’m hanging up—I need to save battery.”

Without waiting for a reply, Siron ended the call.

But of course, Lewis didn’t give up.

[Lewis]: Don’t fall asleep. Message me once an hour. If you don’t, I’m breaking in. 8:41 PM

Siron chuckled, amused by how adorably young Lewis suddenly seemed—despite usually doting on him like the older one.

“God, younger guys really are cute.”

Shaking his head, Siron sent a quick “Got it” and shoved the phone into his pants pocket.

Then, stomach growling, he sat on the bed and pulled out the paper dinner bag.

Inside was a donut piled with garish toppings and a carton of chocolate milk.

Just looking at it killed his appetite—it was sweet enough to make his tongue ache.

Fucking Yanks.

He could almost hear Baekgyeong clicking his tongue and cursing Americans.

19% battery left.

Unable to resist, Siron searched Baekgyeong’s name on Korean portal sites.

But nothing came up.

Not in news articles, not in forums, not even on social media.

A creeping unease shattered the calm he’d worked so hard to maintain.

A weight settled in his chest like a stone.

Then—his phone rang.

“Daniel?”

The moment Siron picked up, a breath of relief came from the other end.

—You’re okay... Jesus, thank god.

“What? ...What’s wrong?”

—I saw the article. The Lanford Bridge collapsed. I remembered you were in Baggers City and nearly passed out.

You... You’re not hurt, right? No one around you is?

“Oh, you saw it. I’m fine. Thanks for worrying.”

—Ji-yeon’s issue looks like it’ll be resolved soon.

Once the frozen account is released, they’re turning the tax stuff over to the IRS.

She said she emailed you. Did you check?

“Not yet.”

—She says thank you.

“Sure. But I need to—”

—Ah, right. That’s not even the important part.

Have you heard from Dgi-hyung?

Dgi-hyung? That weird nickname made Siron’s heart sink.

“Baekgyeong?”

—Yeah! I’ve been trying to call him, but he’s not answering.

Siron shot up from the bed.

“Something happened. Didn’t it?”

—...Yeah. I think something did.

Daniel explained, his voice tight, how he and Baekgyeong had been tracking the hacker who infiltrated the Vile Group servers.

The man who’d tampered with Choi Baekhee’s email—his name was Samuel Kim.

Korean name: Kim Seontae.

And right after discovering that, Baekgyeong vanished.

Siron forwarded the photo Baekgyeong had sent—commemorating his economy seat flight.

But the airline name and logo were absent from the plane’s exterior.

Back then, it hadn’t seemed strange.

Now, Siron sat pale and clammy, hand pressed to his forehead, brain turning to ice.

“But if we don’t know the airline, what do we do?”

—It was Caribe Airlines.

“Caribe Airlines? How do you know?”

—I tracked the IP from when Dgi-hyung logged into the server to check his mail.

Turned out to be assigned by a company that provides Wi-Fi to commercial aircraft.

“Can you track the location that way?”

—No.

In-flight Wi-Fi IPs are routed through satellite. They don’t reflect real-time location.

I can’t hack that—it’s beyond my level.

But I did manage to hack the provider’s internal systems.

That’s how I confirmed he was on a Caribe Airlines flight.

Siron collapsed back onto the bed, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

“Good. Then we can find out the destination.

Do you know where he went? Did he really fly to LA?”

No answer came right away.

After a long silence, Daniel spoke carefully.

—I don’t know the destination.

But I did find something.

While hacking the telecom servers, I saw the contract between Caribe Airlines and their client.

Over the phone, Daniel paused to steady his breath.

Then he spoke, slowly and deliberately.

—The name on the contract... was Samuel Kim.

Kim Seontae.

It looks like he planned Baekgyeong’s abduction from the start.

After the call, Siron jumped to his feet and yanked the door open.

He stormed into the hallway as if ready to sprint outside—but his steps slowed.

He didn’t know where to go.

Paralyzed by helplessness, he stared at the floor.

Then turned around, reentered the room, and grabbed his phone.

He had to contact Baekgyeong’s family.

But then it hit him: he had no way to reach them.

His throat burned with thirst and hunger.

He grabbed the chocolate milk he’d tossed aside earlier.

Desperate to ease the dryness, he gulped it down—

—and almost instantly, something felt wrong.

“...You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. What... is this...”

There had to be drugs in it.

Panicking, Siron jammed his fingers into his throat and forced himself to vomit.

Black bile spilled across the dark gray carpet, blooming outward like an oil stain.

Even after throwing up nearly all the milk, the dizziness didn’t subside.

If °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° anything, it got worse.

The world spun violently—up and down inverted, like a ship caught in a brutal storm.

Lewis. He had to get to Lewis.

But with each step, his body staggered off-balance. His knees finally gave way—and he slammed his head against the opposite wall. Pain exploded like a firework inside his skull. And then... his vision flickered. And went black.

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