Chapter Text
The storm raged outside, unleashing its furious rain and winds that disrupted the pine forest. Amidst this hostile background, a concrete monument stood with pride. A colossal circular building, its gigantic metal doors seemed to mock the nature around it.
Inside it, a room devoid of essence housed a young Korean man, his body engaged in a series of stretches resembling a silent dance, with precise and well-practiced movements. The room, echoing the minimalism of a prison, was a tangible reflection of isolation.
No matter where you looked, modern, minimalist architecture was all you saw, with no room for human warmth. The impersonal, plain white walls and light wood floor lent an almost clinical aesthetic. Everything, from the neatly arranged furniture to the absence of personal trinkets, spoke of a life solely focused on survival and obedience.
There was a smart TV in the room, contrasting with the overall atmosphere of the place, a luxury not all agents possessed, a special gift the man received for being top-tier in the agency. A reminder that if he performed well, they would indulge him with frivolous items and treats. The TV also served as a constant reminder that he needed to strive, it was the agency's way of saying "do well" by gifting him a window to an illusion of connection to the outside world.
The latest technology computer was also a gift. When he was still young and got his first missions, he needed to go to what the young agents called the "Olympus lab"— a large room filled with private cubicles separated from each other exactly two meters apart; each cubicle contained a desk with an Olympus computer, a rolling chair, and a printer.
They could only enter the room accompanied by a senior agent who would watch over their shoulder — a pure intimidation tactic since all the computers in that building were monitored and Olympus didn't need any agent watching them to know when one of them was straying or not.
The present was another instrument of connection to the outside, with a dual purpose — a link to a world that was growing increasingly distant and a means of accessing the knowledge necessary for his operations without needing to schedule an hour in the "lab", another threat for his good behavior and good results.
Of course, although no one had explicitly told him, the gift came with constant monitoring, and everything he did on it was watched by someone on another screen somewhere in the world, probably in another branch of the agency's. Not that he could do much even if he weren't constantly monitored; most websites were blocked for him, and even if they weren't, the various cameras around his small apartment recorded his every move, from every angle.
The room's wide windows, on the other hand, framed a view of a training ground surrounded by imposing trees. The scene, which at first glance might have seemed like a breath of fresh air, was a constant reminder of his solitude, in the same manner, his entertainment items were a perpetual reminder that he had to execute every mission flawlessly, as all those treats could easily be revoked. The tall, pointed pine trees that bent with the strong winds seemed like sentinels of a world to which he had restricted access, stretching for miles and miles.
At the height of his stretches, the agent was abruptly pulled out of his rhythm by the distant metallic sound of the mailbox hatch being manipulated, a subtle signal that a new delivery had been placed in his delivery box. The small metal box, securely affixed to the wall next to the door, contained his other means of connection to the outside world.
He paused, his muscles still stretched, as his senses adjusted to the sudden shift in focus. A chilling sensation, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, ran down his spine. He was well acquainted with the routine of these deliveries, but even then, he still felt nervous every time he thought about what could be the next one.
Leaving behind his fluid movements, he rose and approached the metal box. It was a clever device designed to deliver vital information without revealing the identity of those who placed items inside, a way to prevent lower-ranking agents from seeing the faces of higher-ranking ones, but also a way to prevent them from seeing the Rsaks.
The same concept applied to the windows, which were allowed only to Class S agents since they provided a view of the training field, allowing higher-hanking agents to observe practice ground. When Sunoo was still starting out, he could only see the faces of a select group of agents at his own level, a clever way for the company to prevent them from joining together and rebelling.
With a careful touch and deciding to stop reminiscing, he slid the box open, revealing a sealed envelope as impersonal as the box itself. The paleness of the paper was familiar, as was the sensation of the porose paper on his fingerprints. Without hesitation, he slid his nail under the seal and opened the envelope as he walked around the room, his bare feet silent against the floor.
Inside the envelope was a sheet with details for his mission and a badge. The mission description was direct and devoid of many details: infiltrate the Sim pack, a pack that had been growing within the Korean elite peculiarly over the past year, rapidly ascending with a particularly young leader.
The objective was straightforward but not simple. Inside the envelope were also various sheets with information about all the group members: names, ages, parents, and birth dates, but nothing more, which was unusual.
He usually received missions with detailed information about his objective, the fact that there was basically 0 important information on these documents indicated that they were likely protected by a heavy security system and personnel.
It was unusual, yes, and undoubtedly suspicious, especially considering the group's abnormal rise and the lack of information about the mission's ultimate goal.
They were taught since very early that they shouldn't ask questions. If they didn't receive information at the time, it means that they shouldn't receive it, and he grew up with it being drilled in his head. This idea never really stuck 100% with him, though. Not that he would verbalize his thoughts, but he still found it not only foolish but also senseless.
He held the badge between his fingers, feeling its cold, metallic weight. It was a token he was familiar with, and it served to unlock restricted access areas on his computer.
Every time a new mission approached, the agent received a badge like this one. The badge had a standardized design but was customized with his photo and code name, invariably the same in every mission, from the chosen font to the agency's watermark in the background. It is accompanied by written instructions: "Use this badge to access your computer fully. Everything you do will be recorded."
Furthermore, there were no further instructions in the envelope. This meant that he would have to chart his own path to the pack. This wasn't exactly his area of expertise. Normally, he was involved in more physical operations—robberies, assassinations—with information and planning already laid out, whether it was a fake job where all he had to do was show up for a pre-arranged interview, a party where he had to embody the role of a socialite, a ticket acquired by the company and handed to him, or even blind romantic dates with people whose names he would only discover the day before the supposed meeting. But that wasn't the case this time.
The last and only time he had to orchestrate his own infiltration from the start was in a dark case involving an organization called Damian. That only happened because the previous agents, three to be exact, had been killed and their information erased before reaching the agency, leading the case to be assigned to him.
What left the agent with a lingering sense of unease, however, was the absence of any mention of previous infiltration attempts in the entire file he had received, indicating that he had been the first choice for the mission.
With no other options, he put on the slippers lying in the corner of the room, as his exercise routine had been interrupted, and headed for the computer table. He pressed the power button, watching the device come to life soundless, with only a faint hum of internal ventilation breaking the room's silence.
The CPU was small, resembling an Apple model rather than a traditional computer, but it was exclusive company technology, so it had a specific slot for the badge. The agent inserted the card into the slot, hearing a click. A signal of acceptance echoed on his widescreen display, and soon his photo glowed on the monitor, below his code name, along with a message: "Welcome, Caesar. Card accepted, access granted."
Caesar was his codename, the only name he was called within the territory of Olympus.
He placed the few files he had received next to him on the table, even though the information was minimal.
He observed the files briefly before starting to type the names written on them on his computer, the 'click, click, click' of his keyboard echoing in the silent room.
Initially, searching for the names of the pack members online didn't yield many results, which was to be expected; if the information were easy to acquire, it would be in his files.
However, he had the opportunity to see various distinct images of said members, which helped him become familiar with their faces. And despite having little to no relevant information written about them, the pieces began to fit together in his mind dawning on what "wasn't" written.
In his computer, the agent opened a notepad — for security measures he wasn't permitted a pencil, so he had to write his opinions digitally. So without too much fanfare, he started taking notes.
The leader, Jaeyun, stood out as a central figure, a presence that shone in the spotlight. The other members seemed like shadows on the sidelines, discreet and elusive, only present when the leader was, indicating a discreet and reclusive lifestyle.
Jaeyun was the founder and CEO of SPES, an entertainment company that gained renown for debuting some famous actors and soloists in Korea over the past two years. The company started in a financially sound position, without debts or loans, which was uncommon in Korea, where entertainment companies were as much of a craze as the trading market in the West. In a market where thousands of people invested their money and dreams, often ending up in debt, a few were lucky and smart enough to succeed. Starting with a positive balance, albeit small, indicated that Jaeyun began with good financial capital, but not enough to take risky bets.
In its first year, SPES Entertainment debuted three actors and a soloist who played ballad-style music, artists who didn't require the massive investment needed for an idol group, for example. Whoever was scouting talents for the company deserved praise because all three actors became extremely popular names in just a few months and, within a year, they were landing lead roles in highly anticipated dramas. The money generated from this popularity seemed to have been invested in the stock market, and it appeared that Jaeyun had a keen eye for the market because the investments he made multiplied rapidly, and all the companies in which he became a shareholder took off, explaining the rapid and unchecked growth.
Aside from this, the fact that the alpha was particularly handsome helped with the company's popularity. He was like a sub-celebrity, and his photos tended to go viral on social media when he made public appearances, further boosting the company's popularity and stock. In the past six months, they had debuted a girl group based on a reality show, and the girl group was a total success, giving the company even more prominence among the public, which explained the pack's influence.
At first glance, there was nothing particularly interesting or relevant that he could detect. Jaeyun was popular, sure, but several other Korean CEOs were famous for their appearances. He had famous actors under his label, but many other companies did too, some of which had been in the market for many more years. Jaeyun could even entertain the idea that his employer— wherever might have hired Olympus— might be from a rival entertainment company, but with new companies popping up every day, it was hard to believe that was the case, besides that, as far as he was aware, the practice in this situations, when it happened, usually involved those companies paying for defamatory articles and media play, wich wasn't exactly his area.
There was virtually nothing else online about the pack, just small snippets of Jaeyun commenting briefly about them and some photos taken by paparazzi that went viral for various reasons, the main one being that they were all undoubtedly gorgeous, like in a "what the hell is going with all these pretty people in a single pack" gorgeous.
The only exception to the lack of information was Yang Jungwon, who had a brief modeling career until the age of 16 when he abruptly ceased to appear in any gig. Therefore, there were more solo photos of him online than the rest of the pack. Not that they were easy to find since he didn't seem particularly famous and posed for more indie magazines.
The agent didn't have to think too hard to figure out why his career had come to an end since 16 was usually the age when one's second gender was discovered. He and his parents probably knew what his class would be long before his 16th birthday since the body usually showed clear signs long before that. Still, it was in all likelihood a choice to extend the experience as far as it was safe, only to finally shatter the boy's dreams when it was no longer possible to postpone the inevitable.
The agent spent a few seconds staring at the boy's photo. The face staring back had graceful features, pale skin, and big, charming eyes. He wondered if he had cried when he realized his career was over or if he had merely accepted it with resignation.
This was another peculiarity of the pack: several Alphas, one Beta, and only one Omega. It wasn't particularly common to have Omegas in elite packs like the Sim pack, and the fact that there was more than one alpha in the same pack was exceedingly rare, almost a taboo. The forums online apparently had so many opinions about it that Reddit posts could gain thousands of comments in minutes.
Alphas usually fought for leadership, and their instincts often clashed in casual environments like work, for example. The tension within a pack should be much higher, and with an Omega in the mix, things should get even more complicated. But somehow, the pack seemed to make it work, and the agent was particularly intrigued by this notion— and there weren't many things in this world that could intrigue him.
Thinking about it obviously wouldn't help him get anywhere, so he tucked the information away in the back of his mind, like a pebble hidden behind his ear, and continued his research.
And then there was nothing.
No information about the school they had attended, whether they were in college, address information, nothing. No social media either. Necessity pushed him into the gray area of digital ethics. He knew that to learn more about the Sim pack, he would have to use his hacking skills. However, he tried to avoid direct access to SPES systems, knowing that a hasty attempt could arouse unwanted suspicion. Although he doubted anyone could trace him back with an Olimpo computer, they could become more cautious and reserved about their security.
So, he turned his attention to the modeling agency where Jungwon had worked, as credited in one of the few magazines he had worked for. The doors opened easily. Sunoo sifted through the records, his fingers typing with precision. That's when he found an old record that seemed to have been used for job tryout submissions, with basic data about the models.
The names of Jungwon's legal guardians were there, probably because he was still a minor at the time, a discovery he wasn't expecting. His eyes ran over the words, and surprise mixed with recognition: the names were familiar, albeit the mother didn't trigger any memories, the father was simply one of the candidates for the upcoming presidential election. A relatively new politician in the system, part of a popular extreme-left party, and the main opposition to the current president seeking reelection. The connection was so unexpected that the agent needed a moment to assimilate what was staring back at him.
With a touch of wit, he delved deeper, unearthing family pictures where Jungwon appeared at different stages of his life, old memories preserved on a long-forgotten Facebook profile that seemed to have belonged to his mother. It was a strange and unexpected connection, yet even with his abilities, his attempts to unearth more information were fruitless. The void stretched before him, an insurmountable barrier. He knew it was time to admit defeat; persevering in a dead-end wasn't wise. The new phase, however, took a form with which he was more familiar: even if he had no objections to digital work, infiltration was a territory where he had much more experience.
Now, the question was how he would do it.
He returned to the SPES website, and nothing significant stood out. There were photos of actors, pictures of attractive young individuals promoting auditions and music trailers, and some initial institutional text. There was even a job offer section with various positions, as expected, all the roles were directly related to the administration of artists, from creative areas to hair and makeup professionals. Nothing related or even hinted at an approach to the company's leader.
It was on the page of partner companies that he found his most promising lead: a website for an HR company that he didn't bother memorizing the name of, his suspicion coming based on the fact that companies the size of SPES didn't usually outsource their human resources. The agent scrutinized the HR company's website and started prodding.
The company's website opened, and the illuminated screen before the agent displayed a list of companies the HR company had previously worked for, big and renowned names, indicating that the cache there shouldn't be cheap. Among the names, SPES stood out.
He narrowed his eyes, thinking he had a lead.
He also knew it was safer to delve into the depths of an HR website than to venture into more heavily monitored territories like the website of one of the most financially successful packs in the past year, whether or not it was related to an entertainment company.
The hacking was relatively simple since the digital barriers were less robust. Information flowed to him like rivers converging into a delta. The website, designed to gather candidates, also contained valuable information from companies seeking new talent. And there, among the files, were the traces he was looking for: forms filled out by partner companies.
An exciting emotion ran through him when his eyes finally landed on the information: SPES application forms. A pattern emerged before him — job offers for personal bodyguards, which he found strange. In a company like SPES, hiring bodyguards was usually done by contracting an entire security company that could manage the security of a whole company, not through an external recruitment process with individual candidates.
Since this job offer wasn't indicated on the company's website, It is highly unlikely that there is any correlation to the SPES artists.
It was a stroke of luck that might lead to nothing, but it was his best shot so far. If the job offer were not directly related to the pack, he could continue his investigation from there and think of something else.
Without further ado, he searched his files for various resume templates he had saved, choosing one of the few he had in Korean. He thought for a moment about what identity to assume and, for fun, decided to use the name Kim Sun Woo, with the nickname Sunoo. His "birth" name. It's not like anyone could trace him from that, as for all intents and purposes, there were no records of his existence anywhere in the world.
He always enjoyed creating his fake identities as a joke, though he suspected that whoever was responsible for producing his fake records didn't find it as entertaining. Or maybe that person didn't care, Sunoo didn't know.
Sunoo efficiently created a resume with references that surpassed the norm, as was expected for becoming a bodyguard for a member of high society, similar to Sim's wolf pack. After completing this endeavor, he transferred the document into physical form through printing, along with a letter requesting the essential elements: a fictitious work activity record, a false identity, a forged birth certificate, a fake driver's license, and the acquisition of a South Korean passport.
He also requested the fabrication of corporate entities where he was presumed to have worked, along with the forging of recommendation letters and diplomas that aligned with the skills he highlighted in the resume. The list of requests also included sufficient monetary resources to support the rental of a modest accommodation for no less than six months.
Finally, the printed letter was inserted into an envelope that he retrieved from one of the drawers of his polished wooden desk. The envelope was sealed with a tape bearing the emblem of Olympus.
Having completed his task, he didn’t linger and quickly returned to the metal box beside his door, opening the hatch with familiarity. The slight noise was common to his ears.
He carefully placed the envelope inside and closed the small hatch, quickly stepping away. He was aware that, in just a few minutes, someone—specifically a Risak—would arrive to retrieve it, ensuring that his request reached the right hands.
It was a rule to avoid interaction with Risaks, and it was practically impossible to see them.
Sunoo, of course, was a special case.
But that didn't matter, and certain things in life are better forgotten, or in this case, ignored.