L*st and Death

"...What the hell."

Growing frantic, Siron yanked on the handle again and again, but the storage compartment still wouldn’t open. To make matters worse, someone was riding a motorcycle down from the north toward the research lab—and then, as if on cue, the rain started pouring down in thick, heavy sheets.

"Shit, I don’t even care anymore."

Scowling, Siron stamped his foot in frustration, then reluctantly set the thermos down in the middle of the back seat’s floor. He laid it on its side so it wouldn’t roll off during the drive and wedged a small rock underneath to keep it steady.

The moment the task was done, he fled the scene.

Back in the cafeteria, Siron leaned on the table, gasping for breath. His heart felt like it might explode from the tension.

"Fuck it. I’ve done my part."

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, convincing himself Baekgyeong would somehow figure things out and handle the rest.

But he couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in—what if Baekgyeong couldn’t manage it? What if the bomb was discovered and the entire plan collapsed?

"Then I escape on my own."

There was no point debating it two or three times.

Isaac’s involvement had certainly expanded the scale of their escape plan, but Siron’s original idea had been far more modest. Drug the alphas who came to the cafeteria. Steal a gun. Lay low during the hurricane chaos. Then, once the sea calmed, steal a boat and flee the island.

And if he were being honest, Baekgyeong’s inclusion had always been optional. Sure, it would’ve been nice if Baekgyeong made it out too. But if he couldn’t disable the bomb, Siron was leaving without him.

He’d even been prepared to use his ruined public image, expose the island to the world, and paint himself as a righteous whistleblower. ...That was just an excuse, though. The truth was simpler: he wanted to survive.

Isaac’s arrival had shifted the plan, but Siron’s role remained largely the same. He still had to pack emergency rations for the boat, and—most urgently—mix the mysterious white powder Sonia had stashed into the evening curry.

This was the real beginning. Heart pounding with dread and anticipation, Siron quietly opened the food storage room. The door creaked open on rusted hinges—someone must’ve left it unlocked for him.

Sonia, deep asleep on her bed, didn’t stir at the sound. That was a relief.

But things didn’t go smoothly for long.

It’s not here.

A cold shiver ran down Siron’s spine. The blue plastic pack Sonia had hidden beneath the shelf was gone. He dropped to the floor and reached deep into the shadows, but there was nothing. Desperate, he searched the other shelves. Still nothing.

Seriously? It’s really not here?

He checked the time. Less than an hour remained before dinner. Even without setbacks, preparing the meal alone was already pushing it. Searching a warehouse the size of a convenience store, opening boxes one by one, was simply impossible.

"Where is it? Where did it go?"

He started ripping boxes off the shelves, tossing their contents to the floor, frantically checking inside.

"You looking for this?"

He jumped.

Sonia was standing less than a meter away, her face stiff and accusing. In her hand was a transparent blue plastic pouch. Siron’s eyes locked onto it like a hawk. She noticed—and her face darkened with reproach.

"Is this why you volunteered to make dinner yesterday? So you could drug the curry?"

Busted.

Siron forced a weak smile.

"What? No, that’s not—curry’s just something I’m good at. You know how it is—the flavor’s better when it sits overnight—"

"Then you won’t mind if I pour this down the sink."

Before he realized it, Siron had leapt to his feet and rushed toward her. He had no time for excuses or arguments.

"Please—give it to me!"

He grabbed her arm and snatched the pouch from her hand. The strength of the pull made Sonia stumble.

Compared to the island’s alphas, Siron was smaller and slighter, but he was still a healthy man in his twenties. Sonia flinched, visibly shaken by the unexpected aggression. Siron felt a stab of guilt but held his ground.

"I’m sorry, but I need this."

"Do you even know what it is?"

"It’s a sedative. Narcotic-based. Just a small amount works wonders."

Sonia froze, words caught in her throat. Shock and fury warred across her face.

"You already used it? Without my permission?"

"Yeah. I used it. We need to escape."

"You... you’re completely reckless."

"We can’t live like this forever. You know what’s going on here, Sonia."

"I—I don’t know anything!"

She recoiled, refusing to talk. The stern scolding tone from earlier was gone. She turned to leave the storage room. Siron, terrified she might blow the escape plan before it even started, rushed to block her path.

"I’m leaving this island. Come with me, Sonia."

He pleaded. Sonia looked like she’d known he would say that.

"You’ll never make it. Not in this weather. It’s suicide."

Siron gave a nervous laugh and gently took her hand.

"No—it’s because of the weather that we can escape."

Her wrinkled face contorted painfully. Siron saw it clearly: the unbearable weight of inner conflict. She’d kept this sedative hidden because she couldn’t bear another day on this island. Whether it was to put the alphas to sleep—or herself—she’d wanted out.

And now, Siron finally understood why she couldn’t leave.

"It’s because of your son, isn’t it?"

The hit landed. Her expression crumbled with unmistakable distress. Even as guilt twisted in his chest, Siron pressed the point.

"Are you really going to just keep waiting? For a son who hasn’t written you once in years?"

"You don’t know anything!"

"You’re right. I don’t."

He jumped in before she could continue.

"But you don’t know either. You don’t know what happened to him."

Sonia’s rage faltered. She stared at him, startled.

"So go. Go see him. Go scold him in person."

The words hit like a bucket of ice water. Sonia reeled, not ready to confront them.

Siron wanted to push harder, to say: If you don’t go now, you’ll die on this island—trapped here forever. He wanted to tell her: Your alpha son is probably already dead, and people have been lying to you for years just to keep using you.

But he didn’t.

Because if he shattered the only thread keeping her together, she might unravel—and ruin everything. That, too, was a part of his calculation.

"You don’t have to come if you’re not ready. Just... please don’t get in my way."

He could tell she was wavering. Paralyzed at the crossroads, crushed beneath the weight of her choice.

Siron seized the moment and switched tactics.

"What’s the recommended dosage?"

Before she could answer, he’d already snipped open the corner of the pouch.

"Ah! That—"

"I’ll just store it for now."

He poured the powder into a mug.

"How much should I mix in?"

"I don’t know. I’ve never used it."

Which meant: do it at your own discretion.

Siron swiftly set the massive curry pot on the gas stove, filled for over fifty servings. Using a spoon, he scraped a bit off the ladle.

"Could you try it for me? Just to check the taste. I haven’t added the powder yet, so don’t worry."

He held the spoon out to Sonia.

Her face said she still didn’t agree with the escape plan—but she didn’t try to stop him, either.

Even though helping him drug the curry could later make her an accomplice, she didn’t raise her voice. It was as if she wanted someone else to pull the trigger she herself couldn’t.

Sonia took the spoon with a reluctant sigh and tasted the curry. Her face was so unreadable, it was impossible to tell what she thought.

"...It’s fine."

"Really? Want to have dinner early, then?"

She shook her head and asked instead:

"You’re really going to spike the curry tonight?"

Without hesitation, Siron replied:

"Yes."

She exhaled slowly.

Then, in a hoarse, exhausted voice, she muttered:

"Well... dead’s dead, one way or another. Regret comes either way."

Whether it was a curse or a blessing, he couldn’t tell. She turned to leave—but lost her balance and caught herself against the wall. Her legs wobbled. Dizziness and fatigue hit like a wave. Too late, Sonia realized the truth: she’d been tricked.

The nausea and drowsiness came fast. Her limbs weakened. She slumped against Siron before he guided her to the bed.

The moment her body touched the mattress, she lost consciousness completely.

"I’m sorry."

Siron gently checked her breathing, guilt written across his face. It had been necessary. He couldn’t risk her revealing the plan. She had to be put to sleep.

"She’ll be okay... right?"

He’d only touched the spilled powder with his fingers—barely a fraction of what he’d given Baekgyeong. But while it had taken over thirty minutes to affect Baekgyeong, Sonia had gone under in mere minutes.

Don’t tell me that tiny amount was a lethal dose... Is she even breathing?

But his fears proved unfounded. A soft snore rose from her chest.

Relieved, Siron leaned in to confirm her breathing. She was peaceful.

Another hurdle cleared.

Now the real task began.

He grabbed the giant ladle, stuck it in the curry pot, and picked up the mug filled with crystalline powder. If everything went according to plan, the alphas would awaken from their drug-induced sleep long after Siron and the others had vanished from the island.

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