L*st and Death

"You heard that too?"

Siron flinched at the presence behind him and straightened from the wall he’d been leaning against.

"Heard what?"

Baekgyeong, who was standing against the opposite wall, looked at him with a face that said What the hell are you talking about?

"There was a knock from the room next door."

Baekgyeong frowned and let out a long sigh.

"Knock? I didn’t hear anything."

But before Baekgyeong had even finished speaking, a noise came again from the neighboring room. A man clearing his throat.

"See? He’s making it obvious he’s there."

As if he’d somehow heard Siron’s barely audible whisper, the man laughed. Siron paused, confused. He’d spoken in Korean, yet the man’s response made it seem like he’d understood.

The realization that someone other than Baekgyeong here could speak Korean stirred a name from Siron’s lips.

"...Isaac?"

"Yes, I’m here."

The voice came dully but clearly through the wall. Startled, Siron turned quickly toward Baekgyeong, who looked just as shocked—but the nature of his reaction was entirely different. The way he glared at the wall bordered on fury.

"He knows Korean?"

"You knew Isaac was next door?"

"Ah, fuck."

Baekgyeong shut his eyes tight and yanked at his hair. Siron, realizing Baekgyeong had known all along that Isaac Bazelli was in the next room but had kept quiet, was about to say something—then clamped his mouth shut. Maybe he just hadn’t seen a reason to say it. But in the end, both of them had been hiding things.

A long moment passed before Siron finally spoke toward the wall, hesitant.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long before you showed up."

"Then... why didn’t you say anything?!"

"Well, one day you suddenly show up and start streaming gay porn loud enough to hear in real time."

Siron shot Baekgyeong a murderous look, his face flushed red.

"Wow. Your Korean’s fucking perfect."

At Baekgyeong’s muttered comment, Isaac chuckled faintly.

"It was a lovely auditory experience. Though I’d have enjoyed it more as a visual one."

Ignoring the taunt in his voice, Siron pressed on.

"How much of our conversation did you listen to?"

"All of it."

Baekgyeong snapped, voice trembling with rage and disbelief.

"You eavesdropped on everything like a goddamn rat?"

"Yes. Everything."

Isaac continued smoothly.

"I heard about the broken radio. That you spotted a vessel off the eastern coast of the island. And that you found a strange drug—strong enough to knock out the consciousness of everyone here."

Then he asked, seriously:

"Are you planning to escape the island?"

Siron and Baekgyeong locked eyes. At this point, denying it would be ridiculous. Honestly, they'd already looked ridiculous the moment their non-plan got found out.

"Yeah. We’re escaping after the hurricane passes."

"Then you’ll need to take full control of the island before tomorrow night."

"'Control'? That’s not our goal. We’re not trying to go big. We just want to slip out quietly."

At Baekgyeong’s words, Siron lowered his voice, skeptical.

"Yeah, so... how exactly are we slipping out quietly?"

"Ha. No plan is a plan. Just go for it."

"As expected. Nothing like a little chaos to make your heart race, right?"

Siron gave him a faint smile, playing along. Then he pressed himself close to the metal door, hoping his voice would carry more clearly through the food slot.

"If you’re talking about taking control, then you must have a method in mind. Something specific?"

Isaac responded with a question of his own.

"How big is the vessel?"

"Supposedly it’s the size of a large yacht."

"Then it’s not that big. The waves will be dangerous."

"We don’t have a choice. At this point we’d escape on a rowboat if we had to."

Clasping his hands together in desperation, Siron asked:

"Do you have a plan? How do we get off this island?"

"My plan was to render the alphas combat-incapable using the drug. Then cut the island’s power supply. If the satellite tower stops broadcasting, the countdown on the bomb will start. The goal is to disable the bomb before the countdown ends to secure our safety."

"But disarming the bomb isn’t possible."

"Then we make a device that can."

"And how the hell are you going to make something like that from inside a prison?"

Isaac’s low chuckle echoed down the corridor, as if amused by the naivety of the question.

"You’ve already done half the work for me."

Siron tilted his head, confused. He hadn’t done anything, as far as he knew.

"What do you mean I’ve... done something?"

"The broken radio you picked up. I’m going to use that."

Isaac’s voice was firm but gentle, almost as if he were praising him. Like Siron had somehow secured a vital strategic resource for their escape.

Last night, the hurricane's outer wind band passed over the island, leaving minor damage in its wake. Trees had fallen and smashed guard posts, drainage systems had clogged, and various structures were damaged. Superficial as it seemed, the recovery would take time.

Isaac stared out the window at the island landscape with a detached gaze. The rain and wind had temporarily subsided, and the island had regained some of its vitality. But at 8 p.m. tonight, the hurricane’s eye was expected to pass directly overhead, and everyone was scrambling to repair the damage and prepare for the next blow.

Even the surveillance staff assigned to Isaac had temporarily left the lab to assist with recovery.

It was a stroke of luck for Isaac. No one to interfere while he enjoyed his lunch in peace.

He looked down at his tray: a burrito, scrambled eggs, and baked beans in tomato sauce. After poking the burrito with a fork to check its contents, he ate everything except the burrito. Then, hunching over in a way that would look natural on the CCTV, he carefully split the burrito in half. Inside was a black object wrapped tightly in plastic. The broken radio Siron had picked up.

Without hesitation, Isaac slipped it into his pocket still wrapped in plastic, dabbed his lips with a napkin as if finishing lunch, and smoothly maneuvered his wheelchair toward the tea table. There, he grabbed a lump of sugar cubes and Singh’s thermos.

The sugar would provide carbon, and the bomb’s oxidizers would amplify the explosion. The thermos casing would raise internal pressure during detonation, increasing its destructive power.

He rolled out of the lab with brisk ease and entered a tightly packed storage room. The CCTV coverage here was limited—insufficient to capture everything inside. Isaac opened a cardboard box tucked in the corner. Inside were copper wires, high-voltage capacitors, and tools like screwdrivers, pliers, and a soldering iron.

He’d been quietly collecting this junk from the lab, evading the surveillance cameras one piece at a time. Now, placing the broken radio from Siron on top, Isaac took a deep breath and began mentally sketching out a simple electromagnetic pulse device.

The thing he intended to build would release a high-intensity electromagnetic wave—enough to knock out electronic devices. Phones. CCTV. Even the trigger mechanism inside the bomb around his neck.

He could even deactivate the bomb right now if he wanted. But one thing was bothering him.

"Once the satellite signal is cut off, a 30-minute countdown begins. You have to disarm the device using the remote before the countdown ends. If you reverse the order, it detonates."

That’s what Baekgyeong had told him. The bomb could only be disarmed after the countdown started. Once the island’s power station was destroyed, the towers would stop broadcasting, the bomb’s communication module would trigger automatically, and the countdown would begin.

So the plan was to activate the EMP within 30 minutes of the countdown starting and disable the bomb.

It sounded simple. But whether he could actually survive all the chaos that would happen in between—that was the part he couldn’t guarantee. He had to force his twitching toes to stay still inside his shoes as he began dismantling the radio components Siron had delivered.

The wind had stilled, and a clear sky stretched endlessly toward space. But the swift movement of the cirrus clouds warned not to be fooled by this brief peace—the storm was coming.

With Hurricane Titanus set to sweep across the island tonight, Manu Singh—now responsible for managing the island—was busy with final inspections. It wasn’t supposed to be his job. But when the actual island administrator had been called inland with his subordinates, the responsibility had fallen to Singh.

It was well past lunch by the time Singh returned to the lab. Walking down the fifth-floor corridor, he came to a stop at the sight that caught his eye through the infirmary’s glass door.

Three steel beds had been arranged side by side inside.

On the bed furthest back, a man lay sprawled unconscious—3547.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!