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Ji-Woon Hak thrived under the attention of others, energized by every eye that watched him and every tongue that spoke his name. Amidst the prestige, he had only one desire: more. Working at his family’s restaurant as a child, he would draw in business with knife-throwing spectacles. Gullible tourists gladly handed over their money to see part of the “traditional Korean experience”. His talent for knife-throwing was not the only thing that brought in customers, Ji-Woon was a natural with his voice and his father only nurtured his talent for singing. Ji-Woon’s father spent the restaurant’s earnings on dance lessons and vocal lessons for his son, pushing him to attain the fame he could never achieve.
Ji-Woon did not disappoint. After years of showing his abilities to nobodies at talent shows, he finally got his wish of a chance of stardom when Yun-Jin Lee, a producer at Mightee One Entertainment, recruited him into her training program. He was swept away as soon as possible to a dormitory in Seoul where, for fourteen hours a day, he was crafted into a star. Ji-Woon was not only taught how to move and sing, but how to carry himself with the right balance of confidence and modesty as well. Each detail was chiseled into him as if he were a statue.
Draining as the process was, it worked. Yun-Jin selected Ji-Woon to join the band NO SPIN, and with him, he brought raw new energy to their tracks that sparked almost immediate fame. Ji-Woon lived in a daze of interviews and adoration, and though the frenzied schedule exhausted his bandmates, he was invigorated by it. Each day was an affirmation that he was greater than the mediocrity society spewed out.
But one person can only take so much pressure. Fame or no fame, Ji-Woon and his bandmates were still drilled on being more than perfect. It may not have taken its toll on him as physically as it had his friends, but those around Ji-Woon could see the change. There was a different spark in his eyes. A spark that would set everything ablaze. Including them.
They screamed out his name as the fire spread through the studio. Smoke filled their lungs as they pounded on the window for him to free them, their escape blocked by fallen speakers. Yet, as he stood there, seemingly frozen in his spot as he stared at the heavy equipment. . .he backed away from them. Ji-Woon’s back soon faced them as he ignored their cries as he quickly made his escape.
To Ji-Woon world had become stale; the fame, the fortune, the attention, all of it was becoming background noise. It was old news, he needed something new in his life, and fate had granted him the change he desired. The death of his bandmates reinvigorated him and his new solo career. No longer was he just part of NO SPIN, now all the eyes would be on him, The Trickster. He rode on the attention his bandmates gave him, moving him into a prosperous career as a solo artist and producer; a wild child with a soft heart hidden beneath the glam.
Something, however, was growing within Ji-Woon; something akin to the embers of obsession. The last words his friends had called out had been his name. Their voices were the fuel that fanned the embers. He needed to hear those cries again, the feeling they sparked in him filled the empty cavity that the staleness had started to create.
But no one could see it, not even through his eyes, the gateway to the soul. A decade of being taught how to be perfect made it an effortless task to hide what had begun to burn within him.
The first time he killed it was at random, a spur of the moment. An open window. A fire escape. A bat to her skull. Gagged and bound, he played with her, dissecting her alive on her bed like a frog. But something was not right, there was no satisfaction in it. All Ji-Woon got from her was muffled cries and please, not the screams and wails he had craved.
But Ji-Woon learned and he adapted. He changed his tactics, from breaking into abduction. It wasn’t hard for him to find a secluded area to do his dirty work, far from where anyone would hear and soundproof enough to hide the cries he let ring from his victims. Each kill was recorded, each sound was utilized and hidden into the music that he produced. But he did not stop with just incorporating the wails of his victims into his music; Ji-Woon began to leave a trail of breadcrumbs with each murder, a mink boa from a photoshoot around a slashes throat, teeth plucked out to mimic the mouth of a boxer that had appeared in a recent music video.
But he was not garnering the amount of attention he wanted from it. So he struck closer to home. The idol turned his attention to a fan who had recently come to a VIP meeting with him, she was to be his next victim. He brutalized her, keeping her restrained as he beat her. The fan’s wails when he carved his blade through the flesh of her breasts as he slowly spelled out I HAVE SEEN GOD sent shivers down his spine. Ji-Woon waited patiently as she neared death before he struck again. He drove his fingers into her eye sockets gauging the soft and squishy orbs from their holes, vitreous fluids leaking from one of them as it ruptured within his palm. In their place, he pressed the diamond cufflinks he had been wearing down into now empty sockets. There was a second where he paused, only to simply wipe the precious stones clean
But nothing lasts forever. Violence quickly became Ji-Woon’s preferred media of art. His obsession with the cries of death left him a mental wreck, all his focus being on planning and committing the gruesome murders. This, of course, did not play out well in the eyes of the executives. Though he may not have had the largest cut in the company’s revenue, his fame and audience still played a major role in the continued success of the production company.
They were going to give him one last chance. A last chance to create his magnum opus. If not, he was done. He was going to be cut off. Ji-Woon would go back to being nothing but a dying spark of what had been a bright career.
He was incandescent.
Exhaustion was driving his mind in circles of brutal attacks and complete focus on producing a hit with Yun-Jin. But it would be done, it would be his best performance yet. They would all see. The performance would be like none they had ever seen. And it would be their last.
Animosity swarmed in his chest as he strode to the performance room where he was greeted by the filth that sought to throw him out like dirty rubbish. Behind him the door clicked shut, the lock quietly being done to provide some privacy.
The clicks of the heels of his shoes echoed as he walked up to the stage. As the music began, it played like he had started with Yun-Jin, but it slowly faded into a vile and grisely beat. A twirl on his feet hid the motion of drawing a throwing knife from its hidden spot. None had even seen it escape his fingers until it was already lodged into the neck of one of the trash, blood spraying out and coating the desk and floor. It took Ji-Woon no time to fill the room with the stench of death as the blades flew from the tips of his fingers effortlessly, impaling and slicing through soft flesh. The only one who was left untouched by the whirlwind of death was Yun-Jin. She had been the person to drag him out from the grime of the masses. She would be the true VIP of his greatest performance yet.
There was no pause in Ji-Woon’s wave of violence as a dark cloud formed on the floor of the room. Fiery yellow eyes turned to Yun-Jin. She now would have his full attention, and his her’s. She had frozen to her chair the entire time, watching in dreaded awe. He settled the razor tip of a bloodied throwing knife under her pretty chin, tilting her head up towards his face. Gore drenched his clear skin.
But that scared look on her face disappeared as a dark fog began to swallow the room, her lips pursing as she spat in his face just as she was consumed by the plume of inky darkness. A roar of pure rage crawled out Ji-Woon’s throat as he swiped at the empty chair as he too was swallowed in the cloud.
It was not heaven nor hell, nor anywhere in between. It was a land entirely of its own. A stage with thousands of eyes watching him. A stage with many sets. Hunting grounds to make his prey scream beautiful notes for all to hear. All he had to do was accept and the only death in his story would be the continued slaughter of his victims.
His stage is The Fog, and all eyes are on him.