The darkness in Seol-wol's private quarters was absolute, a heavy velvet shroud that felt like it was pressing the air out of his lungs. He lay perfectly still on his cot, staring at the underside of the bunk above him. A few hours ago, he had said goodnight to Junseo at the door of his brother's room across the hall. He remembered the way Junseo had looked—exhausted but hopeful, offering a tired smile and a "See you at breakfast, Wol-wol hyung."
That memory now felt like a lead weight.
Junseo was likely asleep right now, dreaming of blue oceans and sun-drenched beaches, completely unaware that the floor beneath them was hollowed out with secrets.
Seol-wol couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Miran's dark silhouette against the glass. "The training is a lie."
He sat up, his movements fluid and silent.
He didn't turn on the lights. He had lived in the dark for so long that his eyes could pick out the faint, ghostly shimmer of the air vents and the metallic edges of his locker. He bypassed his heavy, clunky training boots, reaching instead for a pair of soft-soled slippers he'd modified with rubber strips. In this place, sound was the enemy.
He cracked his door open. The hallway was bathed in the "Sleep Cycle"—a dim, eerie ultraviolet glow designed to keep the human brain in a state of low-level lethargy. It made the white walls look like bruised skin.
Seol-wol paused at Junseo's door, his hand hovering over the handle. He wanted to wake him. He wanted to drag his brother out of bed and run until their lungs burst. But he knew Junseo—his brother would ask questions, and questions led to hesitation. If Seol-wol was going to find the truth, he had to do it as a thief.
He turned away from his brother's door and melted into the shadows.
He moved toward the maintenance lift at the far end of the East Wing. This wasn't the high-speed glass elevator used by the elites; this was a service shaft, a rusted iron cage that hummed with the vibration of the facility's cooling fans. Gu Wan had mentioned once, while complaining about the Wi-Fi, that the lower levels were shielded against signal leaks.
"Going down," Seol-wol whispered to himself, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.
The descent felt eternal. The lift groaned, a low metallic protest that echoed up the shaft. Seol-wol watched the floor indicator—a small, glowing red digit.
Sub-level 1... Sub-level 2... Sub-level 3…
The air began to change. The filtered, sterile scent of the upper floors was replaced by a heavy, damp chill. It smelled of wet concrete, scorched ozone, and a sickly, sweet undertone that made Seol-wol's stomach churn—a smell he recognized from the back alleys of the city after a long rain. It was the smell of something dying.
When the doors finally hissed open at Sub-level 4, Seol-wol didn't step out immediately. He waited, his ears straining for the sound of boots or the hum of a drone. Silence.
He stepped out into a labyrinth of black-clad pipes and hissing steam vents.
The lighting here was flickering and yellow, casting long, distorted shadows that looked like grasping hands. He followed a trail of thick, reinforced cables that ran along the floor like giant veins, leading him toward a set of observation windows at the end of a long, dark corridor.
He pressed his back against the cold masonry, moving inch by inch, his breath coming in shallow puffs that fogged in the freezing air. As he neared the glass, he heard the low murmur of voices.
Seol-wol peeked over the edge of the window frame. Inside was a room that looked like a hybrid between a high-tech laboratory and a slaughterhouse.
In the center of the room sat a man in a specialized chair. Seol-wol's blood turned to ice. He knew that man. It was Marek's partner, a thief who had been dragged away three days ago for "reassignment" after a sync failure. He was stripped to the waist, his skin pale and slick with sweat.
His eyes were wide, darting around with a primal, animalistic terror.
Borislav stood over him, looking bored.
Beside him were two men in white coats and several of the armed, nameless shadows Seol-wol had seen in the hall.
"The synchronization data has peaked," one of the scientists said, tapping a tablet with a gloved finger. "The subject's neural pathways are beginning to fray. He is no longer capable of holding the high-frequency link required for the prototype."
"Then he is a waste of resources," Borislav said, his voice flat and devoid of any human empathy. He checked his watch as if he were waiting for a bus. "We don't have the storage capacity for broken tools.
Clear the chair for the next batch."
Seol-wol watched, paralyzed, as one of the armed men stepped forward. There was no argument, no plea for mercy. The guard simply placed a small, cylindrical device against the man's temple. There was a faint, high-pitched whine—a sound like a mosquito—and then a sickening crack as the man's neck snapped under the force of a sudden, violent neural surge.
The man in the chair went rigid, his heels drumming against the floor for a split second, and then he slumped. He was dead. Just a discarded piece of data.
Seol-wol had to bite down on his own hand to keep from crying out. The sight of it—the casual, clinical way they had extinguished a life—made his entire body shiver. He hated violence. He had spent his life dodging punches and slipping through windows specifically to avoid moments like this. Seeing it happen to one of his own—a fellow
"Remnant"—shattered the last of his illusions.
"Are you certain the brothers will be different?"
A new voice cut through the room. A man stepped out of the shadows in the corner.
He wasn't wearing a uniform or a lab coat; he was wearing a suit that probably cost more than everything Seol-wol had ever stolen. His presence made even Borislav look like a cowering child.
"Excellency," Borislav bowed, his voice uncharacteristically frantic. "I assure you. The current pair—the twin Brothers—they are compatible beyond anything in the database. Their 'Sync' is organic. They share a blood-bond that the machines can't replicate. They will secure the box from the train, and they will trigger the final sequence exactly as planned."
"The train leaves in twenty-four hours," the Excellency replied, his voice cold and echoing. "If they fail to trigger the box, the investors will not be merciful to you, Borislav."
"They won't fail," Borislav hissed, an oily smile touching his lips. "They are thieves. They think they're playing for credits and a beach house. They don't have the imagination to see the world beyond their own survival. By the time they realize the box isn't a prize, the data will already be transmitted."
Seol-wol backed away, his slippers silent but his mind screaming in a deafening roar. The box. The train. The sacrifice.
Miran hadn't been lying. They weren't being hired to steal; they were being hired to be the fuses for a bomb they didn't understand.
He turned to run back to the lift, his vision blurred by tears of pure, unadulterated rage. He had to get to Junseo. He had to wake Kyla and Peter. They had to fight.
But as he reached the first bend in the corridor, a red light on the wall began to pulse. A low, vibrating alarm began to hum through the very soles of his feet.
"Security Breach. Sub-level 4.
Unauthorized biological presence detected."
Seol-wol froze. He looked up and saw a small, hidden sensor in the ceiling panels—a lidless red eye looking right at him. He had been so focused on the room that he had missed the tripwire in the floor's thermal grid.
From the end of the hall, the sound of heavy, rhythmic boots began to approach.
Clack. Clack. Clack. They weren't running.
They didn't need to. They knew the lift was locked down. They knew he was trapped in the belly of the beast.
Seol-wol looked at the dark, narrow ventilation shaft above a cooling pipe. It was a long shot, but it was the only way out. As the shadows of the guards lengthened against the yellow walls, Seol-wol scrambled upward, his fingers bleeding as he clawed at the metal.
The hunt had begun.