L*st and Death

“Why are you showing me this report?”

Siron stared at the stack of papers Johnson had handed him with a puzzled expression. The first paragraph read:

In conducting this research, the full genomic regions of the subject known as Isaac Bazelli—hereafter referred to as ‘A-3’—were amplified via PCR into two paired fragments. Based on these, a DNA library was constructed. Subsequently, A-3’s DNA library was compared to the full mitochondrial DNA of a sample population of white American males.

Siron, who had absolutely no background in biology, had no idea what any of it meant. The report on Isaac Bazelli’s DNA was even more bizarre than the strange rations in the paper bowl in front of him.

“I’ll... look at it after I eat.”

He closed the report calmly and stared reluctantly at the unappetizing chunks and watery sauce in front of him. There wasn’t a single cooking appliance in Johnson’s home—not even a portable gas burner to heat up a cup of tea.

There were plenty of delicious pre-packaged meals in the world, yet he’d gone and bought a whole box of military rations. For Siron—who loathed gaining weight from bad food—it was a diet he could barely tolerate.

Now’s not the time for this.

Siron quickly corrected his thinking. The moment he realized he wasn’t in immediate danger, his tension eased, and he found himself irritated over something as small as food. Worse, a small part of him was starting to hope—shamefully—that maybe he was still “special” enough for Johnson to keep alive.

Worried Johnson might sense that humiliating hope, Siron lowered his head and shoveled food into his mouth.

As he swallowed the salty, high-calorie sludge, he calmly tried to piece together everything—Johnson’s urology clinic in the slums, the company called Skone Pharmaceuticals, the resort, the kidnapping, and now this report. But all the clues were too fragmented—he couldn’t connect anything.

And then, suddenly, he remembered that man. The one who’d been crying in the back of the car like a sack of cargo. Siron couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about him.

Did he... kill him?

The howls of that man, who had sobbed like a beast on its way to slaughter, echoed in Siron’s mind like an auditory hallucination. He hadn’t just been some extra in a movie or drama, fading without a trace. He’d been a real person.

Where is he now?

There wasn’t a hint of his presence anywhere in the house. But Siron didn’t have the nerve to ask Johnson what had happened to him.

Afraid of the silence that would follow, Siron kept scooping more of the military rations toward himself with a weirdly stiff manner. Only once his stomach was painfully full did he finally pick up the report.

“...”

But it was nothing but black letters on white paper. The report was filled with tables, reference materials, and incomprehensible diagrams.

After skimming through lines of indecipherable numbers and sequences of letters, Siron gave up and flipped to the last page.

Through the analysis of Isaac Bazelli’s traits, we have established a clear evaluation standard for alpha-type DNA. The gene library including Bazelli’s genetic data is expected to serve as foundational reference material for analyzing the DNA of alpha populations.

Siron still wasn’t sure who this report was for, but he thought he understood the purpose. It seemed to be a catalog of Isaac Bazelli’s genetic information—organized like a library—meant to be used in the analysis of DNA for a group referred to as “alphas.”

Alpha? ...I’ve heard that before.

He tilted his head, trying to remember—and then it hit him.

“You don’t know what a rut cycle is? Weren’t the men around you alphas?”

It was what the rapist had muttered that night in the downpour, just before attacking him at Curry King. According to that man, Baek Kyung, Johnson, and the attacker were all alphas.

“What exactly is an alpha?”

“One type of the human species. Humans with a larger number of DNA base pairs than modern Homo sapiens.”

“You mean like... Neanderthals? Homo sa—something?”

“Correct.”

But the only remaining human species is Homo sapiens, right? Johnson had just casually flipped basic knowledge on its head—yet looked completely unfazed. Instead, he veered off onto a new topic.

“I had a rare, hereditary brain disorder passed down from my father’s side.”

Siron instinctively glanced at Johnson’s head.

“A brain disorder?”

“A degenerative condition that leads to brain death. Most patients developed symptoms around their thirties and rarely lived more than five years.”

“But you said you had it as a child...”

“Bad luck. I was diagnosed at just fourteen.”

The unexpected confession caught Siron off guard—he didn’t know how to respond.

“And... you’re cured now?”

“I am.”

But Siron couldn’t bring himself to say “That’s good to hear.” Johnson must’ve noticed his hesitation, because he let out a dry chuckle.

“But the treatment changed my life completely. I now have more DNA base pairs than modern humans.”

Siron looked from the report to Johnson, then finally reached a conclusion.

“So, you’re saying... you’re an alpha too? Like this Isaac Bazelli in the report?”

Johnson gave a cryptic smile and nodded.

“You could call it a kind of mutation—one that caused a permanent genetic alteration. Did you know the genetic difference between modern humans and Neanderthals is only 0.12 percent?”

Why was he suddenly talking about anthropology? Confused, Siron asked:

“Is 0.12 percent... a big difference?”

“It is. It led to significant differences in behavior, immunity, and physical traits. But those two species were still able to interbreed. Meanwhile, Homo sapiens and chimpanzees can’t interbreed—even though they differ by only about 1.2 percent genetically.”

The conversation had taken a bizarre turn, but it was weirdly compelling. Siron thought it was like listening to a well-developed sci-fi universe. He asked:

“What about alphas and Homo sapiens? How different are they? Like, 0.01 percent?”

“0.6 percent.”

That put them between Neanderthals and chimpanzees. Siron barely resisted the urge to snark, So, can alphas and humans breed or not?

“Okay... but if it’s 0.6 percent, what’s different about them?”

“They’re a more advanced branch of the human species—evolved 0.6 percent beyond Homo sapiens.”

Siron stared at Johnson, utterly unconvinced. He almost forgot he’d been kidnapped by a psychopath—nearly laughed in his face.

“They don’t look different.”

“They only look the same.”

“...Then what is different?”

“The DNA responsible for physical growth and regeneration is kept in an active state, which causes extreme enhancement of the body. For example, alphas often grow taller and develop a stronger bone structure.”

A big guy? Siron thought back to how much Baek Kyung had changed in four years. He’d shot up like someone who’d had height extension surgery. And now Johnson was saying he became an alpha after undergoing brain treatment... It struck a chord. Baek Kyung had also suffered for years from a brain teratoma.

Siron couldn’t tell if Johnson was being serious or not. This absurdly stoic man was talking about super soldiers like it was gospel. At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if Johnson raised a fist to the sky and declared himself a devout believer in superhero biology.

Johnson smiled as if enjoying the confusion in Siron’s eyes.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“It’s just... so unrealistic.”

“Then I suppose you won’t believe that alphas interact through chemical signals—pheromones—and experience ruts like some mammals do, either.”

Even villains in superhero movies, the ones who try to destroy the world for dumb reasons, always believed their logic with deadly sincerity. So if Johnson Lube truly believed super soldiers were real, maybe it wasn’t that strange.

But this was too much.

“You expect me to believe that?”

Siron, who’d been listening seriously until then, felt a fire ignite in his chest.

“Rut cycles? Humans think about sex whenever, wherever. You don’t need to be in a heat cycle to act on it. Just having the urge is enough.”

Johnson let out a sharp laugh. Like he was mocking Siron’s ignorance. He tilted his head slightly, watching him with lazy amusement.

“But you’ve already experienced it.”

“...Me?”

“A rutting alpha followed your pheromones. He found you because of it.”

Siron couldn’t take it anymore. It was impossible to tell what the hell Johnson meant behind that line.

“Ha, so you’re saying all that ridiculous shit happened without me even knowing? That something that insane actually happened to me? I’ve never—”

His words died in his throat. His face twisted. A tremor ran through his muscles.

That night—the one that descended like a sudden disaster. The night he’d almost been raped.

The memory slammed into him and wrapped around his mind like a noose.

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