L*st and Death

Ian pushed the serving cart down the corridor of Basement Level 2, radiating a grim air. Compared to the surface, the air here was colder and more humid. Every few steps he took down the wide hallway, he was assaulted by an unpleasantly strong wave of pheromones. Among alphas, carelessly releasing pheromones was not only a breach of etiquette—it was taboo. But the owner of this scent hadn’t followed common sense even once since being abducted to the island.

As Ian slid the tray of food into the food slot, a voice speaking unintelligible Korean cursed at him.

“Fuck!”

He couldn’t decipher the exact meaning, but it was clearly profanity.

“This fucking hamburger again? I told you I won’t eat anything unless it’s Korean food!”

The tray of food came flying back out through the slot, landing in the corridor with a crash. Cream soup spilled across the floor. Ian grit his teeth. After taking a deep breath, he responded in a cold voice.

“Do whatever you want. Starve to death for all I care.”

“Short bastard. Is that you?”

The man's voice suddenly softened, having recognized Ian. But short bastard, really? Ian let out a deep sigh at the insult, slid the metal hatch on the observation window aside, and glared at Baekgyeong through the door.

Baekgyeong was grinning mischievously, lips curled up in a taunting smirk. He leaned forward in a crooked hunch and reached a hand toward Ian through the opening.

“Hey. Have you thought about what I said?”

“There’s nothing to think about. I refuse.”

“You should think carefully. That’s the only suppressor that’s been developed in physical form. If you’re the only one using it, it’s enough to live your whole life without rut.”

Maybe it had been a mistake to intervene when Baekgyeong first arrived on the island, stopping more than a dozen alphas from ganging up on a single one. Maybe the problem was that his dislike of unnecessary violence had exposed his un-alpha-like nature. Baekgyeong had instantly seen through Ian, recognizing the kind of person who found it revolting to exploit others just to relieve his lust.

“If you let me out of here, I’ll tell you where the suppressant is.”

“What if you’re lying?”

“If you’re really worried, then we can go there together.”

Baekgyeong smiled lazily, letting out a clear laugh. His teeth were perfectly aligned, like those of a showroom mannequin, so flawless they looked mass-produced. And the dimples in his cheeks were so deep they looked like wells, dizzying to look at. Ian found himself unconsciously sliding a hand down the cold steel door, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“...What, you want us to escape the island together?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you plan to deal with the aftermath?”

“You don’t need to know. Why would I tell you my plan when I don’t even trust you?”

Ian let out a low laugh, his earlier tension gradually cooling off.

“All that bravado with no plan? Ridiculous.”

He drew in a deep breath and spoke again in an indifferent, calm tone.

“Forget it. I’ve done fine without a suppressant so far. I don’t need that shit.”

The idea of shoving his dick into someone else's hole disgusted him—but it was still better than dying if things went wrong.

“You’d better give up on escaping too. Even if you succeed, you’ll just end up back here. They’ll bury even your corpse somewhere on this island.”

Before Ian even finished speaking, a surge of unpleasant, chilling pheromones erupted from Baekgyeong. Ian brushed a hand down his goosebump-covered arm and added:

“There’s another offer. If you unlock the phone, I’ll make your life in this facility a lot more comfortable.”

“Hah, what the fuck. First you say I won’t ever escape, not even in death, and now this? Why the hell would I unlock it? You’ll just kill me afterward anyway.”

“You might die, sure. But come on, aren’t you curious? About what your mother left behind on that phone?”

Ian’s superior believed that Baekgyeong’s mother had left behind a formula for manufacturing rut suppressants inside the locked phone. The exact details were unknown, but there was definitely some kind of hidden connection between Vile Group and Hybris. Just before leaving the island at the behest of the Designer, Ian’s superior had given him a strict order: make Baekgyeong unlock the phone.

Recalling the harsh face of his superior, Ian pulled the phone out from his inner pocket and gave it a little shake.

“Each time you solve one of the puzzles your mother left, I’ll grant you something you want.”

Baekgyeong glared at Ian’s face through the observation hatch, then kicked the steel door with a loud bang before flopping back on the bed like he couldn’t be bothered with any of it.

“I’ve been staring at white walls all day, fuck, do you think I’d remember anything like that?”

“If you need to look something up online, just let me know.”

“Shut up. I’m too tired. Just get lost.”

“I told you. Every time you solve one, your life here will improve. If you still don’t believe me, I’ll grant you one wish in advance. Hm... how about the Korean food you’ve been asking for?”

Baekgyeong snorted.

“Yeah, right. How the fuck would you pull that off on this isolated rock?”

Unfazed by Baekgyeong’s disbelief, Ian replied in a steady voice:

“Well. You’ll see soon enough.”

The dining hall sat right beside the research lab, nestled halfway up the island’s slope. It was large enough to handle fifty people at once—meaning every alpha on the island gathered there at mealtime.

A dining hall overflowing with alphas was a powder keg. If even one of them entered a rut cycle, Siron could be swept up in the explosion of pheromones and end up doing God-knows-what. He had definitely done something insane by agreeing to this.

Just as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hypnotize himself into thinking he’d be okay, something hard jabbed him right in the crack of his ass.

“Fuck!”

Siron jerked in panic and spun around. Beardface was poking the muzzle of his rifle straight between Siron’s buttcheeks.

“What are you standing around for? You’re turning me on.”

“I—I’m going, I’m going!”

All Siron had done was hesitate at the entrance, and this bastard was getting turned on? Siron felt a surge of terror at Beardface’s deranged libido and scurried into the dining hall. It was designed like a school cafeteria—efficient, cost-effective, and capable of seating a lot of people at once. Long rows of tables and benches filled the room. A massive TV hung on one wall.

And an older woman was there, glancing at the screen every so often as she mashed steaming hot potatoes.

“Sonya. Ian told you, right? This is 3543. He’ll be working with you starting today.”

Her gaze, fixed half on the TV, slowly moved to land on Siron. The woman named Sonya gave a couple of indifferent nods, then turned her attention back to the screen like she couldn’t care less.

“3543. You.”

“Yes.”

“For lunch, make something like kimchi stew and egg rolls. Just a single portion. Improvise. Try and use ‘no ingredients’ as an excuse and see what happens.”

“Yes, ma’am. Got it.”

Siron’s eager tone seemed to please Beardface, who smiled and lightly stroked Siron’s lower back.

“There’s something about you that gets me all worked up. Hm.”

With a lewd gleam in his eye, Beardface started grabbing and squeezing Siron’s ass with force, again and again. His touch had the looming threat of someone who might bend Siron over the table and fuck him right then and there. Like a rabbit frozen in headlights, Siron stood motionless, holding his breath, enduring the humiliation as if that would make it stop.

“Hey. Mash the potatoes.”

Sonya’s deadpan voice sliced through the frozen air. Beardface paused mid-grope and looked at her. After a beat, he snorted like it was all beneath him, then oozed over to Siron’s shoulder and whispered:

“You heard her? You better listen to Mama.”

Then, deliberately, he kissed Siron’s cheek in front of her and burst out laughing as he strolled out of the cafeteria.

It was like his skin had been flayed raw. The sting lingered long after the moment passed. Numb and dazed, Siron finally snapped out of it and went to find the tool for mashing potatoes. After receiving a mountain of them from the woman, he started working. His arms felt like they’d fall off from the pain, but when he imagined the potatoes as Beardface’s face, it suddenly became bearable. He ground them down with every curse he couldn’t speak aloud.

And then the masher was yanked out of his hands.

“You turned it to mush.”

Frowning deeply at the ruined potatoes, Sonya snatched them away and disappeared into the kitchen.

Maybe it was the trauma from the groping, but his mind was still blank. Siron stood for a long time, zoned out, listening to the noise from the kitchen. Eventually he came to his senses and followed her inside.

“Um... where can I find the ingredients?”

Without a word, Sonya pointed behind her. Her forearms were thick and muscular from daily use, covered with small, messy scars. Guessing that her life hadn’t been easy, Siron quickly looked away so as not to seem rude.

The door at the back of the kitchen opened into a space that gave the impression of a bomb shelter. Inside the thick steel door were rows of locks, and tranquilizer guns hung on pegs driven into the walls. The sight reminded Siron of the panic room in Anna and Lewis’s house—and filled him with dread.

This place was an inescapable hell.

If he could just get his hands on that dumb alpha’s rifle, he’d blow away every last one of them on the island.

“Calm down. Calm down. First, do what you can.”

After what felt like ages, Siron finally got himself under control and examined the storeroom in more detail. A narrow partition had been erected at the back, behind which sat a single bed—probably Sonya’s. On the opposite side were stacks of non-perishable pantry goods like the ones in a convenience store. Deeper inside were two walk-in units: a refrigerator and a freezer, side by side.

Thankfully, there weren’t many CCTV cameras in the storage room, and the many shelves created lots of blind spots. Acting casual, Siron moved slowly as if just browsing. As expected, there was no napa cabbage for kimchi, no radish for diced kimchi.

“Well, at least this is something.”

He found a small glass jar of sauerkraut—finely shredded cabbage fermented in salt, a kind of German pickled vegetable.

“Please, for fuck’s sake, don’t throw a tantrum about the taste. I’m hanging by a thread here.”

With all his hopes riding on it, Siron filled a large basket with a variety of ingredients and returned to the kitchen. He was going to summon Baekgyeong’s past with a meal—a winning recipe that would drag him back to those memories. Back to a time when their shared past still lived in his heart.

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