L*st and Death

The reason for the absence of omega-related data in the CIA's classified archives was simple. While the genetic engineering process that created alphas had been thoroughly documented, there was no recorded trace of how omega traits had been shaped. The only omega-related material the CIA had ever had access to was the frozen remains of Yuri Berec.

But even those remains of the sole omega had been lost in an accident—destroyed in the fire Isaac set while escaping the lab. After that incident, Isaac disappeared completely, and the project concerning new genetic traits was ultimately scrapped.

“Also, contrary to what’s listed in the classified archives, Gezar is still alive—past the average alpha lifespan. But from what I hear, he’s mentally unstable due to the aftereffects of his self-immolation and the countless experiments he was subjected to.”

Years had passed since. By the mid-2000s, companies conducting illegal genetic modifications had begun to emerge, and the number of alphas slowly started to grow. That wasn’t all. Rumors spread that Isaac Bazelli, who had vanished after escaping the lab, was now working as a mercenary—and that he possessed Yuri Berec’s research records.

As she listened closely to Baekgyeong’s story, Anna asked a sharp question.

“How do you know all this?”

“My personal physician used to be a researcher at the Federal Biological Research Institute.”

At that moment, Lewis, handing Baekgyeong the poorly sharpened pencil, pressed him.

“So what’s the conclusion, then? Who are the people chasing Bazelli?”

“They’re people who know Bazelli has Yuri Berec’s research journal. Just a handful of individuals with access to high-level intelligence inside the info-sec community. Either merchants looking to sell omegas to desperate alphas for a high price... or someone with a personal grudge against Bazelli.”

Lewis’s face turned grim.

“If you say merchants... who exactly are you talking about?”

“That, I don’t know.”

As Baekgyeong spoke, Siron felt a sharp stab of hatred toward Isaac Bazelli. If the ones chasing him were after an omega, then the moment Siron’s identity was exposed, it would mean complete ruin.

“Do you know who the people in the photo are?”

At Lewis’s question, Baekgyeong answered calmly.

“That’s for the police to figure out now.”

With that, Baekgyeong gently placed the pencil and several photographs in front of Anna.

At first, Anna didn’t understand why he was handing her photos and a pencil. But when she flipped over one of the photos, Baekgyeong’s intention became clear.

Carefully laying the pencil flat, she began to rub it over the sheet with smudged violet letters. The photo paper, water-damaged and crinkled, slowly revealed the pressure-written indentations as the soft graphite passed across the surface. Not all the notes were legible, but among the five, one message managed to emerge.

“2012, February 12... A murder date? The characters kind of look like the alphabet, but I can’t make it out. What is this?”

Baekgyeong answered immediately.

“Albanian.”

Siron stared at Baekgyeong’s face, as if preparing to mock him.

“How do you know Albanian?”

Baekgyeong stared right back at Siron and replied with a combative smirk.

“Because thanks to someone, I was stuck in the hospital with way too much time on my hands.”

“Ah... you said you were in a psych ward. I think I read an article about that.”

Almost in sync, Baekgyeong and Siron turned to look at Anna. She gave a disinterested shrug.

“It was easy to find. Just had to search. Didn’t your name mean ‘Moby Dick’ or something?”

Pointing out a plain fact for no reason, Anna both annoyed Baekgyeong and utterly deflated Siron’s mood. She grinned with dark amusement.

“You two were a lot more in love than you let on.”

“We were absolutely not!”

“So what does this say?”

Siron and Lewis shouted in near unison. Anna looked between them: at Baekgyeong, whose eyes were rimmed with red; at Siron, who looked as if he’d been slapped; and at Lewis, who glared at Baekgyeong with eyes green and fogged by jealousy. Particularly struck by Lewis’s hurt expression, Anna gave an awkward smile.

“Okay, fine. Not love. Let’s just say ‘deeply entangled.’ Now, Baekgyeong—go on, translate it.”

Taking the photo from Anna, Baekgyeong stared at the back, then opened a notebook and wrote the words onto a blank page.

---

2012, February 12

Azra Island, southern tip of Islas de la Bahía

A cannibalistic frenzy. Moans like a sweet melody. The sound of dull blades slicing flesh.

---

The four of them sat in tense silence around the note at the center of the desk, trying to decipher its meaning. Their expressions grew increasingly dark with anxiety, unease, and deep contemplation.

“No matter how charitably I interpret this, it still reads like a rape-murder.”

Anna finally arrived at her uncomfortable conclusion. Everyone silently agreed. Siron, face tense, tried offering a different interpretation.

“I-It could’ve been... a barbecue party? Carnival... the sound of slicing tasty meat. Cow, pig, chicken...”

“And the moans like a sweet melody?”

“Well, when it tastes good, you go *mm!* mhmm! in delight. Don’t people do that...?”

“Fine. Let’s say it’s a poem about a barbecue party. It’s still psycho to write that kind of poem on the back of a corpse photo.”

Chided by Baekgyeong, Siron’s face darkened further. Whatever sliver of belief he had left in Isaac was gone now. If he hadn’t passed Isaac’s clinical trial, he might’ve ended up like the victims in those photos. The thought drained the color from his face.

Anna looked somberly at the photos of corpses laid out on the table.

“Why kill them? There was no need to go that far.”

“Because of the rut cycle,” Baekgyeong answered without hesitation.

“You kill people... because of that?” Siron winced.

“Isaac Bazelli doesn’t need suppressants. He’s a hedonist who enjoys the rut cycle.”

Baekgyeong’s statement left Siron unsettled. It sounded like a line from a pretentious play—something Baekgyeong would never say of his own volition. Siron, burning inside, downed the lukewarm tea on the table in one go and wiped his lips with a gasp.

“Let’s report this to the police.”

Baekgyeong objected firmly.

“If we’re unlucky, you could get dragged into it. Right now, going to the police would do more harm than good.”

“But... we can’t just do nothing.”

Siron’s voice was feeble but resolute. Anna also sided with Baekgyeong.

“We don’t know the full scope of Isaac Bazelli’s connections. We don’t even know who’s targeting him or why. We can’t risk making it look like we’re digging into the case. We already stirred the hornet’s nest [N O V E L I G H T] just by tracking you down. Things could go sideways at any moment.”

Siron shot up from his seat, unable to bear the crushing pressure in his chest. He left Anna’s study, but had no idea where to go or what to do next.

Behind him, the sound of the door opening. Baekgyeong and Lewis’s heavy footsteps filled the corridor. Siron exhaled a long breath like smoke and turned to face them.

As the two men approached—large, looming—it felt as though even a hallway wide enough for four was suddenly too narrow. The sense of being closed in, as if massive wolves were bearing down on him, made it hard to breathe.

Baekgyeong stopped and spoke coldly.

“You’re not still holding on to some pointless hope of finding Isaac Bazelli, are you?”

Even now, Siron’s mind still clung to that fixed coordinate: that he had to find Isaac Bazelli. The man who’d ruined his life... might somehow be the one to reverse it. A foolish belief he couldn’t quite discard.

“If you don’t want to get raped and killed by that bastard, then for fuck’s sake, give up.”

Baekgyeong’s harsh warning felt like a gun pointed at Siron’s head. He gave a sharp nod, not in submission, but in clear, burning frustration.

“Yeah. I will. So stay the fuck out of my business. I’ll handle it myself.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?”

“I’ll go off into the countryside. Live like I’m already dead.”

“That’s your plan?”

Baekgyeong ran his hands roughly down his face in disbelief.

“Just take my hand instead. I know you hate me, but you know damn well I’m your only option. Come with me to New York. Let’s find a way to reverse the transformation. No matter how worthless I am, I can at least ask my mom and my brother for that much.”

He gently placed his hand on Siron’s shoulder. There was no force in it, as if to say he wasn’t trying to pressure him. Siron slapped the hand away and snapped.

“You expect me to trust you? You’re the one who needs an omega more than anyone!”

“You don’t have to be an omega. As long as you stay with me, I don’t give a shit if I die young.”

His face flushed, still retaining that boyish beauty despite his adult frame, Baekgyeong did his best to persuade him. Siron hated that about him—how he only grew more heartbreakingly beautiful when melancholic. Hated that arrogant charm that made people want to give him everything no matter the cost. If he could, Siron would’ve spit in his face.

He let out a bitter laugh. Then, slowly, his eyes turned to Lewis. Staring at him intently, he asked in a voice like ice:

“And you? How exactly are you going to help me?”

“I’ll protect you.”

Lewis answered without a second of hesitation.

“I’ll protect you for the rest of your life so that no one can lay a finger on you.”

His gaze changed—more focused now, absorbing Siron’s every reaction. The sheer intensity in Lewis’s blue eyes made Siron uncomfortable. A man he’d never had any emotional relationship with was now looking at him like he’d just proposed, without even a cliché confession.

To hide his unease, Siron turned away from both Baekgyeong and Lewis. He couldn’t take it anymore. Since returning to America, he had spent the last four years rebuilding his life alone, standing on his own two feet—and now, it was all collapsing. Unable even to protect his own body, Siron felt the kind of despair that stripped him of his pride as a man. More than anything, he didn’t want to rely on anyone.

“The more I think about it, the better disappearing into the mountains sounds.”

He barely choked back the bitterness in his voice as he muttered, then dragged himself toward his room. As soon as he stepped inside, he slammed the door behind him—drawing a hard line between himself and the two men.

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