The night before, Singh had been making his rounds through the research center when he found 3547 wandering the corridor. His clothes were little more than rags, and bloodstains marked his pants—he’d likely been raped. He was taken to the infirmary and given some basic treatment, where he'd occupied a bed for the past two days. And now, a day later, it was Isaac who was checking on his condition in Singh’s place.
"What was that injection just now?"
Singh pointed to the empty syringe beside 3547.
"An antihemorrhagic. The bleeding still hasn’t fully stopped."
Isaac's expression briefly twisted with discomfort, as if to say simple treatment alone wouldn’t suffice.
"Leave him be and he’ll heal. And if not? Then he dies."
Isaac said nothing, only curling his lip in silence. Singh disliked the arrogant air he always carried, but now wasn’t the time to assert who held power. With reluctance, Singh turned away with his usual cold demeanor.
Just then, on his way out, his eyes caught on the wall-mounted clock. Though the actual time was just past 3 p.m., both the hour and second hands hung limp, pointing at the six as if the supports beneath them had failed.
Singh thought about telling Isaac to change the battery but quickly bit back the words. Isaac couldn’t leave his wheelchair, and giving such an order to another alpha would’ve been ridiculous. It wasn’t worth wasting manpower on a clock no one even looked at. Singh decided to forget the clock existed.
Only after Singh’s footsteps had completely vanished from the hallway did Isaac let out a quiet sigh. He rolled closer to the glass door and checked the corridor outside. The usual guards who kept him within visible range were nowhere to be seen. Lucky for him, the recovery work from the storm seemed to be delaying their return.
Isaac lowered the blinds with the window still slightly open, turned off the infirmary light, and moved to 3547’s bedside. The man remained unconscious, his breathing weak and shallow.
Originally, Isaac had intended to persuade 3547 to plant the explosives at the power station. He was counting on the man’s ability to move undetected—after all, 3547 had evaded the island’s CCTV network for two days after escaping the lab. But entrusting such a mission to someone clearly unstable involved too many variables.
Fortunately, someone better suited for the task had since stepped up, and Isaac no longer needed anything from 3547. Still, after last night’s conversation with Siron, he’d learned that 3547 had been dragged off by an alpha. That alone compelled him to treat the man. Siron had asked him—rather insistently—to look after 3547 if they crossed paths again.
But Isaac hadn’t come just to patch him up. There was something he’d hidden here that he needed to retrieve.
He reached cautiously between the bed’s blankets and pulled out a small black movement mechanism. The plastic casing, about the size of a hockey puck, ticked faintly as the gears and wheels inside kept turning.
There were only five hours left until detonation.
He slid the parts into his pocket, turned his wheelchair toward the door, and left.
Several minutes passed in silence.
Then, as if he'd been holding his breath and waiting for this exact moment, 3547 slowly opened his eyes. A steely glint of determination flashed through the darkness—like a man readying himself for the final battle.
The sky that had been so clear and blue was slowly turning overcast again, dark clouds gradually creeping across it. The wind picked up, making the tightly shut windowpanes tremble with a faint hum.
After the warzone-like lunch service, Sonia had collapsed from exhaustion and retreated to her hideout to grab some sleep. Siron had just finished washing the dishes and was sitting in the mess hall, anxiously waiting for someone.
Eventually, the door creaked open and a man entered, pushing a serving cart stacked with trays and plates. Since Baekgyeong, Isaac, and the head researcher ate in the lab, food for them was always delivered and collected via cart.
On the middle shelf sat a used plate with leftover food and a large thermos. Even though Siron knew exactly what the thermos was for, he played dumb and asked the man. He was an alpha whose perpetually flushed face had earned him the nickname "Red Face" in Siron’s mind.
"Should I wash this too?"
"Yeah."
"Got it."
Siron grabbed the cart from Red Face and wheeled it into the kitchen. But before he could disappear, Red Face followed him in with a half-hearted question.
"Where’s Sonia?"
"She’s resting."
"Are you gonna keep working in the kitchen?"
"I’m not really... sure."
"What’s for dinner? Smelled like curry."
"Yeah, curry."
Siron turned halfway and began stacking the empty dishes in the sink, acutely aware of the man’s stare. Red Face was watching him so intently it gave Siron the creeps.
"You must be pretty popular."
"...What?"
"Bet people are gonna start fighting over you."
"I don’t know what you mean—"
"I’m telling you to be careful. Alphas get real jealous. Especially when it comes to sex. Competition gets brutal."
Flustered, Siron gave an awkward laugh and looked away. He wanted to say shut up and get lost, but couldn’t think of a polite way to phrase it.
"So if you wanna keep that sweet little ass in one piece, you better take care of yourself."
Red Face said it with intense curiosity, like he was certain Siron would soon be servicing multiple alphas at once. There was something sadistic in that expression. After leaving behind his creepy warning, he finally walked out. Siron stood frozen, humiliated, glaring hard at the door he’d exited through.
"Looks like a chewed-up chicken bone. Fucking trash, not even fit for the compost."
Siron trembled with rage. It took several deep breaths to calm himself.
He was going to escape this island. That bastard’s disgusting predictions weren’t going to come true. And yet, that sick feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. Because escaping the island didn’t mean he could escape all the alphas.
"‘Competition gets brutal during sex’? What, like I’m supposed to handle more than one at once? ...Wait. Two people? No—three?"
He forced the images of Baekgyeong, Isaac, and Lewis from his head.
Trying to clear his mind, Siron suddenly remembered there was something important hidden in Red Face’s cart.
A large, undecorated 1-liter stainless steel thermos. Some pale powder was stuck to its outer shell, and it smelled faintly of petroleum and alcohol. According to Isaac, the thing inside was powerful enough to blow a five-ton truck apart. But it was supposedly stable—unlikely to go off unless very specific conditions were met.
Sifting through the plate on top, Siron found a small note tucked beneath a leftover tortilla.
The note was written in Korean, but barely legible. Even an image translator wouldn’t have helped—Isaac’s handwriting was a mess, and most of the words were crammed together without spaces. Siron had to puzzle through it slowly, deciphering each line.
"Glad he got the radio."
It had been a simple task—wrap the broken radio in plastic, stuff it in a tortilla, and pretend it was part of the lunch tray. But the fear of being caught had nearly made Siron’s heart explode.
Deliver the bomb to Baekgyeong.
Checking the time, Siron realized it was now or never. Isaac’s mission had to be completed.
Thankfully, he and Baekgyeong had discussed it the night before.
"That Ian Fitzner asshole always carries a blue unicorn keychain. Turns out it’s the key for his electric cart. The one with the blue-painted driver’s seat. You can’t miss it. Hide the bomb in the side compartment."
The short guy... is he not coming today?
Siron watched the minute and hour hands inching forward and bit his lip. Today, it wasn’t Short Guy who picked up and delivered the researchers’ food—it was Red Face. That was unusual. Short Guy made at least one daily trip down to the basement to see Baekgyeong. His absence felt strange.
It was lucky that Isaac’s bomb had reached Siron safely. But it meant nothing unless Baekgyeong, now up aboveground, actually received it.
If Short Guy doesn’t show up... do I bury the bomb by the power station myself?
But Siron knew he’d never make it past the CCTV and patrols the way 3547 had. If he got unlucky, he’d be shot on sight before even reaching the northern part of the island.
Did he already lose interest?
Baekgyeong wasn’t the type to get bored this easily. The question gnawed at him.
Outside, dark clouds were quickly swallowing the sky. The wind blew colder.
Then, Siron saw it. A small white electric cart appeared beneath the blackened clouds.
Someone parked it in front of the lab and rushed inside. The driver’s seat was painted blue—it was definitely Short Guy’s cart.
Time to move.
Siron tucked the cold thermos under his T-shirt, stuffed the hem into his pants to keep it from falling, and left the cafeteria like nothing was wrong. He prayed that neither the security team watching the CCTV nor the alphas patrolling nearby would notice anything unusual as he jogged toward the cart.
This is it. This is the last step.
Keeping his expression neutral, he approached the side compartment and grabbed the handle like someone just doing a favor for Short Guy.
"...What?"
Confused, he yanked the handle again—but the compartment door didn’t budge.
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