L*st and Death

“...You can smell my pheromones?”

Siron stared at Isaac with a dazed expression. A smear of white cream pasta sauce clung to his lips. He had burned through enormous calories over the past five days of sex, and now he was tearing into his fourth pack of combat rations—food he normally wouldn’t have even glanced at.

“Yes.”

At Isaac’s reply, Siron doubted his ears and asked again.

“...Why?”

Between the lines of his words lay the question of how Isaac could possibly smell his pheromones when he had already Imprinted with Baekgyeong. Isaac glanced once at Siron’s confusion before answering.

“Because the Imprint failed.”

Siron remembered being trapped in the damp bathroom, squeezing out every last drop of his strength while having sex. His memories were hazy, broken by blackouts like after heavy drinking, but one thing remained vivid—the moment he begged Baekgyeong for an Imprint.

Across the table, Baekgyeong, who had just devoured eight packs of rations in one sitting, slammed his fork down and grumbled.

“After all that fucking and still no Imprint? That doesn’t make sense.”

At Baekgyeong’s words, Isaac laughed, his brow furrowing. Shoving the traces of their stay into a garbage bag, he spoke with a chilling tone.

“If the two of you had truly Imprinted... do you think I’d have let you live?”

Siron and Baekgyeong both fell silent. Isaac was exactly the kind of man who would kill a pair bound by Imprint without hesitation. Only that morning he had come back bloodstained from killing the Hybris trackers sent after the three escapees from the island.

Baekgyeong slowly touched the wound on his neck. Even after nearly being strangled to death by Isaac, the Imprint had not succeeded. Dr. Tigri’s hypothesis—that an Imprint was forged through knotting during a heat cycle—had been wrong.

“Then how is an Imprint actually formed?”

At Baekgyeong’s question, Isaac let out a short laugh.

“Who knows. I’d like to find out myself.”

It didn’t seem like a lie. That left only one path forward: to uncover the secret from the only alpha who had ever Imprinted with an omega. Baekgyeong thought of Gezar Bazelli, then deliberately pulled a dumb expression to provoke Isaac.

“Siron. Guess we didn’t Imprint after all. All we did was have some good-for-nothing sex.”

“Well. I didn’t think it was that memorable anyway.”

“Then you’ll need to give me another chance to make up for it. When’s your next heat cycle?”

“Shut up. I’m not doing it again.”

Anger flaring, Siron shoved Baekgyeong back as he leaned toward him. In that instant, both Baekgyeong’s and Isaac’s obsessive gazes locked on Siron.

“Your pheromones...”

It was a chilling, taxidermy-still stare. A faint flush spread across their ears and the backs of their necks. Siron realized then that just as he was drawn to an alpha’s pheromones, they too were unable to resist his, instinctively pulled in.

“Before we leave this place, you should practice concealing your pheromones.”

Even as Isaac told him to hide them, he drew in a deep breath as though intrigued by Siron’s scent. Siron tugged at his collar, buried his nose into the neckhole, and sniffed. It was faint, but he could detect something alien—different from his natural body odor.

Folding his arms, Siron shut his eyes with a serious expression. He imagined sealing his pheromones inside his body and tightened every muscle. Baekgyeong suddenly spoke.

“You’re clenching your asshole, aren’t you.”

“W-what? How did you know?”

“I just figured. But Siron, it’s not like doing Kegel exercises.”

With an awkward look, Siron scratched his cheek and asked,

“Then how?”

“Start by releasing your pheromones. That’s easier. Then do the opposite of that feeling. If you practice, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“That sounds completely like bullshit.”

Even as Siron listened to Baekgyeong, his eyes kept darting toward Isaac. But Isaac said nothing. He only gave Siron a detached glance, then turned his back and carried the gathered trash down to the third floor—to burn their traces in the indoor incinerator. His strangely cold demeanor stuck in Siron’s mind, but with Baekgyeong watching, he couldn’t react.

Isaac returned after a while. He pulled something from a duffel bag and set it on the table. Fake passports for Baekgyeong and Siron.

“Na...ka...mura Hi...roshi?”

Baekgyeong picked up the red passport and stumbled over the name. A Japanese passport. Siron’s, on the other hand, was navy blue.

“Justin Lee?”

Siron was captivated as though by an unexpected gift. He was thrilled, like the protagonist of a spy thriller, but Baekgyeong’s reaction to his own was far less amused.

“Of all things, Japanese. And Nakamura?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh right. You get to be American, huh?”

Baekgyeong exhaled irritably and ran a hand through his hair.

Both passports bore clear signs of use. Entry and exit stamps from Japanese and European airports covered the pages. The photographs were perfectly inserted, as if taken in a studio. No awkwardness betrayed them, and the usage marks made them more convincing. Returning to the U.S. shouldn’t be difficult.

“How did you get the photos?”

At Siron’s question, Isaac answered,

“There are plenty of your pictures on the internet.”

“Uh, y-yeah, that’s true.”

Siron flushed, realizing he had asked something pointless. Isaac knew all about their loud, scandalous past yet had so far pretended ignorance. Now that he looked closely, the photo in his passport was familiar. It was from years ago, when he had testified at Baekgyeong’s first trial—the press photo taken then.

Damn, good Photoshop. Looks like a real passport photo.

He recognized Baekgyeong’s picture just as quickly: a news photo from when he was bound in ropes and handed over to the prosecutors. Baekgyeong, realizing it a beat later, turned a murderous glare on Isaac.

Before Baekgyeong could start trouble, Siron hurriedly changed the subject.

“W-why the passports? Are we flying somewhere?”

“I had planned to take a flight to the U.S. But Hybris agents are likely waiting at the airport.”

Isaac explained they were pursuing three men: Isaac Bazelli and two Asians. “Asians,” Siron thought, was so vague. It might mean Baekgyeong and the Indo-mixed Manu Singh, or it might mean Baekgyeong and Siron.

Most likely the former. Siron was just one homeless man who had escaped the island, while Manu Singh had been a key researcher.

“There’s only one airport in Belzoras, right?”

Isaac shook his head.

“There’s another one about 2,000 kilometers from here. The problem is... no commercial flights operate there.”

“What do you mean no commercial flights?”

“It’s private jets only.”

Baekgyeong answered in Isaac’s stead.

“Rare, but some airports only handle private or VIP flights. That’s a world you, a commoner, wouldn’t know.”

He turned to Isaac.

“Are there trackers there too?”

“Not impossible, but fewer than at the main airport near the capital. The problem is, we can’t charter a jet right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t have funds on hand.”

“Perfect. I’ll get us one. Just lend me a laptop.”

“If you’re thinking of contacting your family—”

“I’m not. I can think for myself.”

Cutting Isaac off, Baekgyeong shot to his feet. He began talking about a cloud platform service he and Park Daniel had set up under false names in the Virgin Islands, accessible only to the two of them. Siron’s eyes filled with suspicion.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“In case I got locked in the psych ward again.”

“What?”

“Mom said if she went after you, she wouldn’t let either of us off. Well, guess that’s not a problem anymore.”

She had never been kind to Yoon Siron, but still, she had been Baekgyeong’s mother. Thinking of her hollow death, Siron felt a pang of sorrow. Baekgyeong, though, spoke of her without the slightest emotion.

Taking the laptop from Isaac, Baekgyeong typed in a seemingly random URL. A plain login page appeared. He entered an ID and password, waited through the spinning cursor, and finally the inbox opened—filling slowly with new messages.

“Who’s Daniel?” Isaac asked, reading the subject lines.

“A fan of Siron’s.”

Baekgyeong’s curt answer made Siron flush again. He added awkwardly,

“He used to be a fan of mine. A computer expert... they say he’s a genius hacker.”

After half a minute, the inbox fully loaded. Dozens of unread emails piled up, all from the same sender. Baekgyeong clicked the very first.

Diggy hyung, it’s Daniel.

Hyung! You didn’t go to Chairwoman Choi’s funeral?

Some reporter exposed that you didn’t attend, and the internet’s going crazy. What happened?

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