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Park Jimin is the son of a mayor and a corporate heiress. His privilege makes him untouchable.
He’s 19 when it starts – a disease. Some say it’s a virus. Others, a bioweapon. Either way, it only kills the poor.
Jimin is 19, driving home alone in his car, when they announce it – all classes and offices are suspended for a week.
Jimin is 19, in his king-sized bed, when they announce it – the city is in lockdown. No school. No work. No pay.
Jimin is 19, in the comfort of his house stocked with food, when news spread – the government’s corruption, police brutality, murders, killings, theft.
The journalists go missing.
A week later, their bodies are found in a mansion, south of the country. All 34 of them.
Jimin is 19 when they suggest it. “A social point system,” the president said. “For our people. During times like this, we must come as one. Support the government and the government will support you.”
Applaud the government? A sack of rice. Giving money to the government? A position. Covering up for their crimes? Here’s an apartment. Every single action has a value. It’s the new currency. Criticize the government? Prison. Insult the president? Dead without a name.
Jimin is 20 when he dines with murderers and thieves. He can see the president from here. He wonders how he would look with a knife in his throat.
- 刻錄系統 -
Kim Taehyung is his friend. Well, was. Since he’s probably dead by now.
Kim Taehyung was his friend.
“I want to go to the stars, Jimin!” He would say. He’s a dreamer with a big boxy smile. A wanderer with a loud laugh. He fed off of Jimin’s travels and treasured everything Jimin gave him. And he wasn’t rich. His family wasn’t comfortable by any means but they were living.
When the virus spread, Jimin worried. Is Taehyung eating? Is he well? Were they given aid? Were they given food? Was he lying when he told Jimin he and his brother were fine? That they have enough supplies and Jimin shouldn’t worry.
Jimin scoffs. He probably was. Or maybe he wasn’t. Jimin doesn’t know. He probably never will. To this day, Jimin’s not quite sure which killed Taehyung first – the hunger or the bullet.
He turns back to his herb encrusted lamb and listens to every word they say.
- 刻錄系統 -
The government says the social point system is for everyone. But the rich was never part of “everyone.” Nor the powerful.
Here’s the thing about justice – it isn’t real. There is no justice. Justice is only for them and there will only be justice if it benefits them. And there will be no justice as long as they’re there. In their thrones smiling and making promises, coaxing poetry from poverty to empathize with the masses. And there is no justice. Because animals know not of justice.
But the first time Jimin meets him, he thinks, “ah, here is Justice.”
- 刻錄系統 -
His name is Min Yoongi. And he’s on the run from the police.
“Why are you doing this?” Jimin asks him. The blond man doesn’t spare him a glance. He’s too busy stabbing while the streets are on fire. He sees the police precinct in flames.
“Choi Haein,” he says. “Chief of this district’s police. Killed three foreigners. All of them were unarmed but he said they were “suspicious.” All of them were innocent.”
Jimin watches as the man writhes on the ground. Choi Haein has a foot on his neck and a gun to his head. Jimin feels no sympathy.
“You see, Park Jimin, when they kill, they call it justice. But when I kill, they call it murder.” A shot goes off. Neither of them flinch. “Tell me, is that fair?” he asks, finally sparing Jimin a glance. Sharp eyes piercing and Jimin thinks – Justice.
A black car rushes to them, door opening hurriedly. Before they drive away, Jimin speaks again. “Kim Taehyung,” he says. “He has a brother. In Changsin. Tell me which it was.”
Yoongi stares at him for a couple seconds before he nods. “I’d say don’t get yourself killed but they’d never kill you, would they?”
Yoongi doesn’t wait for an answer. Jimin watches as the car turns a sharp left before disappearing. Jimin stares as the precinct burns. The phrase “all cops are bastards” painted on the road.
He walks home.
- 刻錄系統 -
Jimin offers the boy with bambi eyes and black hair a ride. “To Itaewon,” the boy says when Jimin asks him where he’s going. He was going to walk to Itaewon. He was going to walk 8 kilometers because it’s the world of the rich and the privileged and if you have no car, you walk.
Jimin offers him a ride.
His name is Jeon Jungkook. He’s 16. Jimin meets him at one of the district checkpoints – a tent with blue men and big guns and no conscience. He’s a kid and he’s so young but so tired and afraid. He looks resigned as he stares at the tent filled with blue men and big guns and no fucking conscience.
Jimin offers him a ride.
Jeon Jungkook is 16.
He strips in Jimin’s car.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m used to it.”
There’s a knife in Jimin’s bedside table. It’s silver with Swarovski crystals in a red velvet box.
He wonders how the president is.
- 刻錄系統 -
It’s 2 weeks later when Min Yoongi contacts him again.
A small piece of paper with nothing but one word – “both.”
Jimin listens as his father sings praises about the president. The snowglobe Taehyung saved up for Jimin’s birthday sits lonely on his table.
He wonders how the president is.
- 刻錄系統 -
“You’re a fool if you think the government will change if you tell it to,” Yoongi tells him. They’re in a car with two other men – Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok. Rebels. Jimin feels safer here than in a room filled with policemen.
“The people in power. And the people who will be in power bought their thrones. And none of them care for us. You need to burn them down. Throw them out and upend the very system that allowed the likes of them to fester,” he says. Yoongi reaches for his gun as he opens the car window.
“You need a value. Morale. You need something that the people would follow. And people will follow. A saint can only take so much beating.” Yoongi aims the gun at the district checkpoint where Jimin met Jeon Jungkook. The one with blue men and big guns and still no conscience.
“You have morale. You have people. What else are you waiting for, Yoongi?”
“A catalyst.”
Jimin watches as Yoongi shoots. Something in the tent explodes, catching everything on fire. The four men watch as the flames swallow everything whole. Jimin thinks it’s a pretty view.
- 刻錄系統 -
The church is a fancy building designed by the town’s best engineers. Fine architecture lines its wall with paints of gold and silver and fancy statues. Pristine. Pure. Beautiful. A direct contrast to its people.
“Don’t get too close to the priest,” Jimin’s mother would say.
Jimin stares as the very same man preaches about the word of the Lord. He’s an old man and he doesn’t look very humble at all. Jimin can see the shining diamond ring on his finger from where he’s sitting. He wonders where the donations go. He wonders how many people his hands have touched. How many times were his abstinence forgotten?
“Don’t get too close to the priest,” his mother would say.
The old man continues to preach. Strong and proud in his resolve, confident in his words. Jimin counts how many times his father nods his head to the sermon. He wonders how people could be such hypocrites.
Outside, policemen arrest the homeless for having nowhere to go.
Jimin looks at his father. He wonders how people could be such hypocrites.
- 刻錄系統 -
They’re at another dinner. The country’s richest men and most powerful people in one place. He thinks Yoongi would love this.
“Yoongi says you have a pretty knife.”
Jimin looks at the approaching man. Tall. Handsome. Rich. The heir of Seoul’s richest family.
Jimin bows at him, “Kim Seokjin.”
The man smiles at him, “your knife?”
“Yoongi says you don’t have a catalyst.”
“Yet,” Seokjin says. “All Yoongi needs is a camera and a dead body”
“And where will you find one?”
Seokjin laughs. “Oh Jimin. There’s always a dead body. As long as they’re here, there will always be a dead body.”
The dining hall quiets down when the president arrives. They’re ushered to their seats in preparation for the dinner.
Before Seokjin leaves, he whispers, “the president has such a pretty neck, don’t you think?”
Jimin stares at the president. He’s an old man with darkening flaky skin and a weak left eye. He looks like he smells bad and there’s hives on his neck.
He does have a pretty neck.
You know what would look prettier on it?
- 刻錄系統 -
The catalyst comes three weeks later. In the form of a long list of names.
Go Hana, 3. Bae Yeji, 4. Kang Taehyun, 17. Choi Beomgyu, 18. Choi Soobin, 19. And many others that the government didn’t bother to name. Collateral damage, they said. Victims. Martyrs. Lives sacrificed for the war against the rebels. Gunshot wounds sustained in a raid. It’s their parents, they said. They had a weapon, they said. They resisted, they said.
It’s a lie. They were shot. Unarmed and pleading for their lives. They were killed. Murdered.
Collateral damage, they said.
Jimin sends the knife to Yoongi.
He packs to leave.
- 刻錄系統 -
Yoongi always said that justice isn’t real. It’s a lie. Nothing but false hope. Justice doesn’t exist especially in a world where the rich and the powerful and the money-hungry greedy fucking monsters rule.
But this — Jimin thinks, this is justice.
Justice for Kim Taehyung and 360,000 others like him. Justice for Jeon Jungkook and the 602 others like him. Justice for Choi Beomgyu and Kang Taehyun and the 12,000 – no, the 20,000 others like him. And the others we couldn’t count because there are too many – too fucking many to keep count.
This. This is justice. Justice for the poor and oppressed because they never cared and they will never care so Jimin does the same.
He watches as the world burns. The police are on fire and the checkpoints are dead. There are bullets and gunshot wounds embedded on their bodies and this is for them. This is for the hundreds of people who asked for food but were fed with bullets. The hundreds of people who asked for safety but robbed of their homes. The hundreds of people who wanted to be heard but were killed to silence. This is for them.
This is justice. It’s the gunshot wounds and the burning flesh of every single one of them who let us starve and suffer. Revenge on all the hands that touched and took and took and all the mouths that stuttered fake sympathies and condolences out of habit. This is for all of them and for their eyes who saw but their mouths refused to speak. This is for every single one who watched and watched in their homes filled with comfort and safety while each and every one of us were killed and assaulted and died and this –
And the world burns. The world burns as it should, because it should. Because finally, finally, all the anger is in flames and a new future shines from its ashes.
Jimin wonders how the president is.
The president is dead.