L*st and Death

Siron was going through the shelves one by one, inspecting the supplies closely in search of the seasoning. It was rare for Sonia to even speak to him, let alone send him on an errand.

The seasoning she’d asked for was described as white, elongated crystals in a transparent plastic bag—something that sounded easy to find, but was nowhere in sight. Just as Siron bent down to check the bottom shelf one more time, the memory of last night flashed through his mind.

“Siron, your hard cock is jabbing my throat. Haha, I can’t believe it.”

After spending days sucking on nothing but Siron’s limp, flaccid dick, Baekgyeong had apparently found special meaning in finally getting to suck on one that was hard. But Siron didn’t feel grateful in the least for Baekgyeong’s weird joy over it.

“He’s clearly just a cock-obsessed freak. He must be gay.”

Though both insisted they weren’t gay, the two of them had engaged in nearly every kind of pseudo-sex imaginable in the research facility’s underground prison. Siron, at some point, had even forgotten the existence of the CCTV staring down at them, utterly drowning in pleasure.

Baekgyeong still remembered every inch of Siron’s body—where and how to touch him to make him tremble and fall apart. And Siron, for his part, found long-forgotten sensations resurfacing, his body unconsciously anticipating Baekgyeong’s hands even as his mind resisted.

No matter how much he told himself it was wrong, he kept getting swept up in it. And the faint pheromones Baekgyeong emitted, brushing against his skin like static, only heightened Siron’s arousal. His body had changed. Slowly but surely, it had reached the point where it could feel the effects of pheromones. For now, he could only sense the dense concentrations, but if Baekgyeong ever seriously decided to use them to arouse him—there’d be no resisting it.

Siron tugged on his damp T-shirt and sniffed it deliberately. It was the only shirt he had, and after getting it soaked with cum, he’d scrubbed it out with soap. Now, a faint floral scent lingered. But there must still have been pheromones clinging to the fabric—imperceptible to him, yet deeply ingrained.

“You smell like that bastard. Rough night, huh?”

The short alpha who’d come to get him late that morning asked with unexpected interest. He tugged on the sagging collar of Siron’s shirt and took a long sniff before scoffing. Siron couldn’t tell if he was guessing about last night from the pheromones alone, or if he’d actually watched the CCTV footage. Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

But that smug grin of his really pissed Siron off. If anything, it was his fault for tossing kidnapped homeless men into the hands of sex-starved alphas like they were meat.

“All those fucking alphas need to die.”

It wasn’t just the short guy—it was every alpha. If he could, he’d classify Lewis and Baekgyeong as biohazard waste and dispose of them along with the rest.

“God, what a shit life.”

Sighing bitterly, Siron pulled out whatever had been blocking the bottom shelf and spread it out on the floor.

“Is this it?”

He found white crystalline powder in a clear blue plastic bag. He wasn’t sure if it was the seasoning Sonia wanted, but he took it with him out of the storage room anyway.

“Is this the one? You said it was white, elongated crystals in a clear bag.”

Sonia, who had been kneading corn flour to make thick loaves of bread, turned to glance at him—and went pale.

“That’s—”

“No!”

She snatched the bag from him before he could react. Without even wiping her hands, still covered in sticky dough, she bolted for the storage room. Siron, stunned, just watched her run.

It was a long time before she returned to the kitchen, clearly still shaken. She wordlessly placed a new item on the counter—a transparent bag with red lettering, containing Mexican-made MSG granules.

“...Ah. That’s what you meant.”

Avoiding his gaze, Sonia dumped the MSG into a glass jar.

“Go pick some cilantro from behind the storage room. Fill the basket all the way.”

Still not looking him in the eye, she handed him a small basket. Siron took it, eyeing her suspiciously, and made his way out.

Behind the storage facility, between the refrigerated and frozen storage units, was a heavy steel door secured with multiple latches. Beyond it, beneath the half-shadow cast by the sun, lay a small, practical herb garden. Positioned between the hillside and the storage unit, it was naturally shielded from outside view.

There were no visible cameras anywhere. This was clearly Sonia’s private space—a place she used to get air and clear her head.

Siron squatted among the overgrown herbs and started pulling cilantro stalks, tossing them into the basket. As he worked, he found himself thinking about the strange powder Sonia had snatched from him, and the unusual expression that had crossed her face—something far removed from her usual frozen detachment.

If it were a normal ingredient, there’d be no reason for her to panic like that.

“Synthetic drug?”

But she didn’t strike him as someone who’d be into drugs. She didn’t give off that vibe.

“It didn’t look like a supplement either. Shit, I’m dying to know.”

It was the kind of thing he could’ve just ignored, but his curiosity wouldn’t let it go.

Should I steal it and try feeding it to Baekgyeong?

He was supposed to be borderline unkillable—seemed like a perfect test subject. Siron was still contemplating the identity of the white crystals in the blue bag when a shadow fell over him and the cilantro bed.

“What are you doing, squatting like that? You’re turning me on.”

A disgusting, loud laugh rang out. Siron flinched and turned his head.

It was Beardface. The thug, wrapped in haphazard bandages where his ears had been blown off, was glaring down at Siron with greasy eyes. Siron jolted to his feet like he’d been burned.

“Don’t move. Unless you want a hole in your gut.”

Beardface raised a gun as Siron instinctively tried to run. It wasn’t an empty threat—he was actually in a firing stance, ready to shoot. But Siron, the moment he saw the gun, was already sprinting.

Bang!

The bullet hit the ground not even 10 centimeters from Siron’s feet. The blast sent dirt flying, hitting his skin like hot ash and stealing the breath from his lungs. Firing at such close range—Beardface clearly didn’t care if he shot Siron in the leg.

“You’re playing house out here after turning me into this? You thought I’d just let that slide?”

Isaac was the one who blew off his ears, but somehow Siron was the one bearing the fallout.

“What, feeling sorry for yourself? Like that’s gonna do shit.”

Beardface crept up behind him and pressed the muzzle to Siron’s back, snickering.

“I’ll make you feel real nice. Now get down—on the herbs.”

He aimed the rifle right between Siron’s ass cheeks.

“Down. Hands behind your back.”

Frozen with fear, Siron obeyed, lying face down in the garden. Beardface tossed the long rifle into the vines and climbed on top of him.

“Stop. Don’t—don’t do this.”

“Heh. Too late.”

Like a predator toying with a terrified mouse, he grabbed Siron’s hair and slammed his face into the dirt again and again, burying his nose in the back of his neck.

“Why does my body heat up just from looking at you? You filthy little whore. What did you do to me, huh?”

“What the hell do you think I did, you piece of shit?!”

“Ah, you like it rough, huh? Want me to fuck you like a dog?”

Beardface wasn’t even close to rut yet—still had over a week to go. But his body kept heating up like he was on the verge of it. That euphoria right before rut, the unrelenting sex drive once the cycle started—he called it “Fucking Week.”

He was the kind of man who chased pleasure without thought. After being rescued from the brink of death with synthetic drugs still in his veins, he’d become an alpha. Then, after getting caught up in multiple rape cases outside the island, he’d come to Lemon Island because his father had promised him unlimited Eta sex. But even this supposed paradise had rules. You couldn’t just take whoever you wanted, whenever you wanted.

“Fuck the rules.”

After fucking 3543, he’d blow the head off one of those damn lab freaks. Drunk with arousal, he buried his nose in 3543’s neck. Amid the sweet scent of flesh was the acrid stench of burning rubber—dominant, overpowering pheromones that seemed to constrict the air itself.

“You’ve already been fucked, haven’t you.”

He recognized that vile scent. The face that popped into his head was that arrogant Asian alpha locked up in the basement—acting like a god despite being chained down.

“What, you spread your legs for him? Decided to give it up just ’cause he’s Asian too?”

The moment he realized he was eating someone else’s leftovers, his mood soured. Any shred of softness he’d felt for 3543 vanished, and his pheromones exploded out in a messy, uncontrolled flood.

“Nngh—ah, no—stop!”

Easily overpowering Siron’s resistance, Beardface sucked on the nape of his neck and licked around his ear. Beneath the overwhelming pheromones of another alpha, he felt a strange new arousal rise—a trembling, electric buzz down his spine. It was like discovering a new kind of pleasure altogether.

Just as Beardface leaned down, teeth bared to bite into Siron’s neck—

“You bastards!”

A shrill, hysterical scream from an old woman pierced his ears.

“Would you stop this shit in my herb garden, for god’s sake?!”

A researcher in a wheelchair. And now a useless cafeteria woman. Another goddamn interruption. Beardface looked up, his eyes wild.

“Get the fu—”

He never finished the sentence. Because in that moment, he realized: making the same mistake twice must mean something’s deeply wrong with your brain.

In that split-second, Beardface became convinced there was something wrong with his intelligence.

Because the rifle he’d tossed carelessly into the bushes was now in Sonia’s hands.

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