Kang Ji-Won didn't bother locking Room 504.
Why? Is a thief going to come steal my shoebox full of 78,000 Won and dust?
He descended the stairs, one flight at a time. Fifth floor to fourth. Fourth to third. With each floor, he left behind a piece of his old self. Kang Ji-Won the student, Kang Ji-Won the brother, Kang Ji-Won the rule-follower.
When he hit the dark alley again, he didn't hesitate.
He knew where to go. Not exactly, but he knew the direction. The 'Harmony Tower' where fates were given, and the 'Walker's Association' where those fates were cashed in. They were in the same high-end district of Yeouido, the glittering business side of Seoul.
The only problem? He was in Mullae-dong. On the other side of the river. And his phone battery was...
...4%...
No maps. No help.
Good. Let it be harder. Why not?
Luckily, he knew the way to Hyun-Soo's hospital by heart. And the hospital was close enough to the Association district.
He started walking.
It was nearing midnight now. The streets that had been bustling earlier were now eerily quiet. The office-worker noise was gone, replaced by the rumble of overnight delivery trucks and the whir of lone taxis.
He passed the metal-working shops of his neighborhood. The closed bay doors were covered in graffiti. The smell of cold metal and old oil was heavy in the air. This is my world. The bottom.
He crossed another bridge. Not Mapo this time, but a smaller, pedestrian overpass spanning a highway junction. Below him, the red and white headlights of cars streamed endlessly, like blood cells in an uncaring artery.
All those people... going home. To warm beds. They have Echoes. They have jobs. They have lives.
He felt like a ghost walking in the world of the living.
After another forty minutes of fast walking, the scenery changed. The rusty factories disappeared. The glass and steel buildings appeared. The streets were cleaner, the neon lights brighter. He had reached the 'Walker' district.
The main 'Walker's Association' building was impossible to miss. It was a skyscraper of black glass and silver steel, shooting a faint blue beam into the sky. It was a symbol of power, wealth, and the System that had just cast him out.
But Ji-Won wasn't heading for the front entrance.
He walked past the glittering revolving doors, past the massive bronze statue of the 'First Walker' in the plaza. He kept going, heading for the back alleys.
Here, the glamour vanished.
The smell changed instantly. No more expensive perfume from the lobby, but the rank stench of sewer steam rising from vents, cheap beer, stale vomit, and... something else underneath... something sharp and metallic. The tang of the 'Gates' that never washed off.
The alley was dark and damp, lit only by the flickering red neon signs of a few dive bars that catered to 'Walkers' who couldn't afford the fancy places out front.
Where... where are they?
He saw a group of men laughing loudly outside one bar. They were wearing pieces of torn armor, massive weapons strapped to their backs. No. Those are real 'Walkers'. Not what I'm looking for.
He pushed deeper into the shadows.
And then he saw it.
It wasn't a bar. It was a Pojangmacha, an orange-tented street food stall, the kind you see on every corner in Seoul. But this one was different. It was crammed into a dead-end side alley, away from all traffic. The tent's plastic flaps were torn and filthy. There was no menu posted.
And there was a line.
Not a line, really. More a collection of ghosts. About ten or twelve men and women, standing in the shadows near the tent's entrance. They weren't talking. They were smoking. Their faces were gaunt, their ages ranging from nineteen to sixty. Some were in worn-out street clothes like Ji-Won. Others wore the tattered remains of unserviceable armor.
Ji-Won felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the night. This is it. These are the others. The Echoless. The broken. The desperate.
He stood there, at the mouth of the side alley, unable to move. What do I do? Just walk up and say 'Hi, I'm here to die'?
Someone in the line noticed him. An older man, missing one eye, which was replaced by a gruesome white scar. The man spat his cigarette onto the pavement.
"What do you want, kid?" His voice was a gravelly rasp, like two stones grinding together.
Ji-Won froze. All the eyes in the shadows turned to him. They weren't hostile. They were worse. They were empty, dead.
"I... I'm looking for work," Ji-Won managed to get out.
The one-eyed man laughed. A dry, humorless bark. "'Work?' There's no 'work' here, kid. Only 'contracts'."
"Then... I want a contract," Ji-Won said, trying to keep his voice steady.
The one-eyed man sized Ji-Won up. "You're new. Ain't seen you before. Just bust out at the Tower today?"
Ji-Won nodded.
"Hah," the man sighed. "Always get a fresh batch after Harmony Day."
The man jabbed a finger toward the orange tent flap. "Wait in line like everyone else. Mr. Baek hands out the contracts. Don't speak unless spoken to. And don't waste his time. Got it?"
"I got it."
"Good. Now shut up."
The one-eyed man turned away. The others looked away, too. He was dismissed.
Ji-Won took a hesitant step, then another, and stood at the end of the silent line.
Mr. Baek. Contracts. Corpse Haulers.
He was here. There was no turning back. All he had to do now was wait.
Kang Ji-Won stood.
He stood at the end of the silent line, in the alley that reeked of stale beer and desperation.
What the hell am I doing?
There was no answer. So, he did the only thing he could: he waited.
The midnight air was starting to bite. He was only wearing a cheap t-shirt and a thin jacket. He felt the cold seep through the thin fabric, past his skin, and into his bones. Great. I'll freeze to death before I get a chance to die in a Gate.
The men (and one woman with a hacking cough) in front of him smoked. A cloud of cheap tobacco smoke hung in the air, mixing with the steam from a nearby sewer grate. Nobody spoke.
What was there to say? 'Hey, rough day?' Everyone here was here because all their days were rough.
Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty.
My battery... 4%... probably 3% by now. He resisted the urge to check his phone. What for? To see the time? It's not like I have anywhere else to be.
Finally, the orange plastic flap of the tent was pulled aside.
It wasn't Mr. Baek who came out. It was a pale man, maybe in his thirties, wearing a dirty tracksuit. The man staggered out, his eyes wide. He was clutching a small, grimy white Data-Chip in his hand.
He'd gotten a contract.
The man walked past the line. He brushed by Ji-Won without even seeing him. His eyes were vacant, staring at something Ji-Won couldn't see.
That's it. That's the future. A ghost holding a chip.
The line shuffled. One step forward.
Ji-Won's heart hammered. I'm closer now. One step closer to... what?
More minutes passed.
Someone else came out. Another went in.
The line shuffled. Another step.
The woman with the hacking cough who was directly in front of him coughed violently, spitting something dark onto the pavement. Then it was her turn. She disappeared behind the orange flap.
Now, Ji-Won was at the front.
It was just him and the filthy, greasy plastic curtain.
He could hear voices inside. A low murmur. The woman's voice, and then a man's, rough and quiet.
Then, silence.
The flap opened. The woman came out, clutching her own data-chip. She wasn't coughing. She just looked... flat. Like all the air had been let out of her.
The one-eyed man, who had stepped away to smoke another cigarette, was now back, standing behind Ji-Won. He blew smoke near Ji-Won's ear. "Your turn, kid. Don't keep Mr. Baek waiting."
Damn it.
Ji-Won felt his legs refuse to move. This is it. This is the moment. All I have to do is turn around and run. I can find another way. I can... I can what? Beg on the streets?
[550,000 Won.]
[2,000,000 Won.]
[72 Hours.]
The numbers were like fuel. They pushed his body forward.
He reached out a hand, which was shaking slightly now. Damn it, stop shaking. He grabbed the heavy, oily plastic flap. It was cold and damp.
He pushed it aside, and ducked to enter.
The first shock: the heat.
It was suffocatingly hot inside. A small propane heater was hissing in the corner, casting an orange glow on the plastic walls. The smell was a potent mix of instant ramyeon, old burnt coffee, and sweat.
The space was tiny. A folding camping table in the middle, two plastic stools, and a single, ruggedized, military-grade laptop open on the table.
And the man.
He wasn't a monster. He wasn't a muscle-bound gangster. He was... ordinary.
A man in his mid-forties, balding, wearing thick, cheap glasses. He had on an old fishing vest over a grimy t-shirt. He was hunched over the laptop, tapping rapidly at the keyboard.
This is Mr. Baek? He looks... like a convenience store manager.
Baek didn't look up. "Sit," he said, his voice a smoker's rasp.
There was one plastic stool opposite him. Ji-Won sat. It was wobbly.
Click. Clack. Click-clack-clack.
The sound of the keyboard was the only thing in the tent for a full minute. Mr. Baek stared intently at the screen.
Am I supposed to talk? The one-eyed man said not to talk...
Finally, Baek stopped typing. He let out a long sigh, as if he carried the heaviest burden in the world. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes.
He looked at Ji-Won from over the top of his glasses.
His eyes were small, sharp, and utterly devoid of any emotion. They had seen it all.
"Name," he said.
"Kang... Kang Ji-Won." Damn it, why is my voice shaking?
"Harmony Day." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Ji-Won nodded.
"Echoless."
Ji-Won nodded again.
Mr. Baek looked back at his screen. Click. Clack. "No priors. No combat training. No... nothing."
"I... I learn fast," Ji-Won said, hating himself for how weak it sounded.
Mr. Baek chuckled. A dry, papery sound. "Everyone 'learns fast.' The problem, Kang Ji-Won, is that the 'Gates' don't have a learning curve. You either survive, or you don't."
He leaned forward. The smell coming off him was strong. "Why are you here?"
"I need... money."
"Everyone needs money," Baek said, leaning back. "But the people who come to me... they're the people who are out of options. Are you out of options, Kang Ji-Won?"
[72 Hours.]
"Yes," Ji-Won said, and this time, his voice was steady. The ice of his despair had firmed his spine. "Yes, I am."
"Good." Baek nodded. "Honesty is the only thing I value. Because lies get people killed out here."
He tapped a few more keys. "No deposit, I take it? No up-front cash?"
Ji-Won shook his head. His 78,000 Won wouldn't even cover the cost of the damn heater.
"Of course not." Baek sighed. "'No-deposit' contract. That means special terms."
He turned fully to Ji-Won, his eyes gleaming in the heater-light.
"That means your first job... 80 percent of it is mine. For the 'risk.' For the 'equipment loan.' You get 20 percent. No negotiation."