Chapter Text
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Heather Simmons sat on a worn wooden bench, the late afternoon sun warming her skin as she absently scratched beneath the chin of her cat, Ji. The fluffy orange tabby purred against her palm, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in her owner’s mind. The weight of her mounting veterinary debt pressed heavily on her shoulders. The surgery had saved Ji’s life, but it had left Heather drowning in bills she had no way to pay.
She exhaled sharply, rolling a soda cap between her fingers, watching as a few children played on the jungle gym nearby. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this mess. The vet had been kind, offering her a payment plan, but even that seemed impossible on her current salary.
“You have a beautiful cat.”
The voice cutting through the quiet in English startled her. Smooth, warm, undeniably pleasant. Heather turned her head and found a man standing beside her bench, dressed in a crisp suit that somehow looked too clean for the world around them. His dark hair was neatly styled, and he carried himself with an effortless kind of charm, his smile polished to perfection. He didn’t belong here, he was the kind of man who should be in an office, behind a desk with a view of the city skyline, not standing in a humble park, watching a woman fret over her financial ruin.
“Uh, thanks,” Heather replied hesitantly, instinctively pulling Ji closer to her chest.
The man crouched slightly, just enough to meet her eye level without invading her space. He extended a sleek, black briefcase and set it on the bench beside her. “Would you like to play a game?”
Heather narrowed her eyes. “I’m not interested in whatever scam you’re running.”
The man chuckled, shaking his head as if she had said something truly amusing. “No scam. Just a game.” He popped open the briefcase, and Heather felt her breath hitch as her gaze fell on neatly stacked piles of money. She swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the strap of her bag.
“What’s the catch?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
He reached into the briefcase, retrieving a set of folded paper tiles. “I'm sure you've played ddakji before, right?” he said simply. “Play a few rounds of ddakji with me, and each time you win, I'll pay you a 100,000 won.”
Heather eyed the paper tiles, suspicion lingering in her gaze. “And If you flip mine?”
The man’s smile widened, his eyes twinkling with something almost playful. “You will give me the exact same amount of money.”
Heathers face fell at that information. She didn’t have that kind of money anymore. “I uh, I don’t have that kind of cash laying around.” She admitted softly as the salesman shrugged with a wry grin on his face.
“Then how about you use your body to pay?” He said smoothly, his eyes crinkling up at the edges as if he’d just told the funniest joke.
That left Heather breathless, and not in the good way. She’d been approached for that kind of arrangement before and she’d always turned it down. “That’s not-“ she cut off as the man held up his hand.
“I'll take a 100 grand off per slap.” He said smoothly, his eyes never leaving her face.
Oh.
Heather let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re joking.”
He didn’t respond, he simply unfolded the two ddakji tiles, one red, one blue, and set them on the bench. He gestured toward them expectantly. “Would you like to play?”
Heather glanced at the money again, her heart pounding. 100 grand for flipping a paper tile? It sounded ridiculous. Too easy. But the way the man watched her, as if he already knew what she was going to say, made her pulse race with something she couldn’t quite name.
She exhaled slowly. “Fine.”
The man’s smile was approving as he handed her the red tile. He took the blue one, setting it on the ground in front of them before stepping back. “Your move.”
Heather mimicked his stance, gripping the red tile tightly. She inhaled sharply before snapping her wrist, sending the ddakji slamming down onto the blue one. It barely shifted.
Then the man took his tile and placed hers down before flipping it effortlessly. It was almost as if he’d done this thousands of times before.
There was a beat of silence before she felt the sharp sting of a hand against her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, heat blooming across her skin.
She hissed, more out of surprise than pain, touching her cheek with wide eyes. “What the hell?” She wasn’t expecting a slap that hard.
The man simply chuckled, unfazed. “Again?”
Heather clenched her jaw, her competitive streak igniting. She set up the tile again, this time focusing more on her form. She threw the tile. It barely moved while during the salesman’s turn he again flipped the red tile without an issue.
The slap came instantly, sharper this time.
Heather’s fingers curled into fists. Ji meowed softly beside her, seemingly concerned, but she ignored it. She hated losing.
Another attempt. Another slap. The man was patient, always smiling, never losing his temper. Heather, on the other hand, was fuming.
By the fourth round, her cheek burned, but so did her determination. She was going to win. She had to. She adjusted her grip, repositioned her stance, and took a deep breath. This time, when she snapped her wrist, the red tile landed with a sharp, resounding slap against the blue one, flipping it clean over.
Silence.
Then the man clapped his hands together, his smile widening in genuine amusement. “Well done.”
Heather let out a slow breath, her hands shaking slightly. She looked down at the money in her hand as he passed it over to her, then back at him. “So… that’s it?”
The man’s smile lingered as he watched Heather rub her sore cheek, her frustration clear in the way she clenched her jaw. The sting from his slaps still burned, but that wasn’t what bothered her most. It was the way he had remained so completely calm, unfazed , as if he knew she would take the bait.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You know,” he said, his voice smooth, almost casual, “there are other games like this where you can make even more. Come on, it must sound tempting.”
Heather let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “What, is this some kind of scam? A pyramid scheme?” She scoffed, shifting her weight. “Look, I need the money, but I’m not that desperate. At least not just yet. I can survive.”
The man’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, there was something almost amused in the way he looked at her. “Ms. Simmons, ” he said, and the way he said her name made something in her stomach twist. It was too familiar. Too knowing.
He continued, his voice still light but his words cutting like a blade. “Heather Simmons. Twenty-seven years old. You moved to Korea five years ago. Grew up in Oregon, raised by a single mother. Dropped out of college when your tuition loans became too much to handle.”
Heather’s entire body went rigid.
“You work as a barista at the Golden Grain, a job you picked up after your last one, working as an auditor for an import company, cut your hours.” His eyes flickered down, then back up. “You have a cat named Ji. Adopted him after finding him outside the cafe one night, half-starved.”
Heather’s breath hitched.
“You’re behind on rent. One month, if I’m not mistaken. Your landlord has already sent the first late payment notice. And as of this morning, you still owe 4.7 million won to the veterinary clinic that saved your cat’s life.”
Heather’s fingers curled into fists. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the blood rushing to her ears. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp, cracking slightly. “What business of yours is all that?”
The man merely smiled, unbothered by the tension rolling off her in waves. “We don’t have many spots left,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Just think about it.”
Heather didn’t move, still trying to process the fact that a total stranger had just listed off the worst details of her life like he had read them off a script.
The man reached into his pocket, retrieving a small card printed on neutral-colored paper. He extended it to her between two fingers.
She hesitated before taking it. The surface was lightly rough from the natural paper texture, with only three symbols printed in black: a circle, a triangle, and a square. On the back, there was a phone number.
“If you want more money,” the man said smoothly, “give us a call.”
Heather turned the card over in her fingers, her pulse still racing. The weight of the briefcase beside her felt heavier than it should have, a tangible promise of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand.
She glanced up, ready to ask a question, but the man was already walking away, hands in his pockets, whistling a soft tune.
Heather looked down at Ji, who blinked up at her with lazy contentment, completely unaware of the sinking feeling settling deep in her gut.
She turned the card over again.
And then she slipped it into her pocket.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Later that night, Heather sat at her tiny kitchen table staring at the crumpled vet bill spread out before her. The fluorescent kitchen light buzzed softly above, casting a dull glow over the numbers that seemed to taunt her. Even after she’d paid off a small chunk of it with her winnings, there was still a balance staring back at her, large enough that her stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Ji lay sprawled across the table beside the papers, his tail flicking lazily as he watched her. She reached out absentmindedly, running her fingers through his soft fur, but the comforting motion did little to ease the tightness in her chest. Her fingers twitched, the weight of the problem pressing down on her. And then she remembered.
The card.
She turned in her chair, reaching for her jacket where she’d left it slung over the back of the couch. Digging into the pocket, she pulled out the small card, turning it over between her fingers. The three symbols stared back at her. Circle. Triangle. Square. And on the back, the number.
She bit her lip.
It’s a bad idea.
The thought came almost instantly, a warning deep in her gut. But then her eyes flickered back to the bill on the table, the remaining balance glaring at her in unforgiving black ink.
She had no choice.
Grabbing her phone, she punched in the numbers with stiff fingers, lifting it to her ear before she could change her mind. The call rang only once before there was a click. A voice answered on the other end, smooth, detached, completely devoid of emotion.
“Hello, who is calling?”
Heather stiffened, caught off guard. The voice was in Korean, she recognized the language from years of attempting to learn the language, but her auditory processing disorder had made it hard to fully immerse herself in it. She scrambled to piece together a response, her tongue tripping over the words in her head.
“Hello, I was uh, given your business card earlier today,” she said cautiously in unsteady Korean, thankful that she can at least speak small phrases. There was a pause on the other end.
“Do you wish to participate in the game? If you wish to participate, please state your name and birthdate.”
Heather squeezed her eyes shut, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She didn’t know what she was agreeing to, not really. But she knew she needed the money.
“Heather Simmons.” she said finally, swallowing hard, hesitating before adding, “ June 21, 1993 .”
Another pause. She could hear the faint scratch of a pen, as if someone were writing down her information.
“Address.”
Her stomach twisted. They were asking a lot of questions, but it was too late to back out now. Taking a steadying breath, she recited her address, her voice quieter now, more uncertain.
There was a longer pause this time. She could hear faint murmuring in the background, other voices, distant and unintelligible. And then the voice returned.
“A vehicle will arrive at your location tomorrow at 2:00 AM. Be prepared. The passwords is; Red Light, Green Light.”
Heather’s grip on the phone tightened. “Wait- what do you mean? Where am I going? ”
There was no response. Only a click.
The line went dead.
Heather lowered the phone slowly, her fingers still wrapped around the card. A cold shiver ran down her spine, the finality of the call settling over her like a heavy blanket.
Ji let out a soft meow, nudging his head against her wrist as if sensing her unease. She exhaled shakily, setting the phone down on the table beside the bill.
Tomorrow at 2 AM.
She had no idea what she had just signed up for.
But she would find out soon enough.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The streets were eerily silent at 2 AM. The city, usually humming with late-night stragglers and the occasional honk of a car, felt unnervingly still. Heather stood just outside her apartment complex, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. A thin mist clung to the pavement, curling around the dim glow of the streetlights. The only sound was the faint buzz of a nearby neon sign flickering in and out of life.
Ji was safe. That was the one thing keeping her grounded. Her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Kim, had been more than willing to take him in for a few days. “Take all the time you need, dear, ” she had said, smiling warmly as she accepted the cat carrier. “I’ll make sure he’s well cared for.”
Heather had thanked her profusely, forcing a smile, but the pit in her stomach hadn’t lessened. She had no idea how long she would be gone. No idea what she was stepping into.
The low rumble of an engine cut through the silence.
Her pulse spiked as she turned toward the approaching vehicle, a sleek, black van, its headlights dimmed to a near glow. It moved smoothly, deliberately, before rolling to a stop directly in front of her. The tinted windows offered no hint of who, or what, was inside.
Heather swallowed hard, taking a cautious step forward as the passenger-side window lowered just enough to reveal a figure inside.
A masked guard.
The mask was an unsettling featureless slate, save for a small shape, a circle, stark against the black surface. The person beneath it sat motionless, clad in a pink uniform that left no part of their identity exposed.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, the guard spoke.
“Password.”
The voice was flat. Unyielding.
Heather’s fingers twitched inside her pockets. She had rehearsed this moment over and over again in her head, but now that she was here, standing in front of a van that felt far too much like a one-way ticket, doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve.
Still, she forced herself to speak. “Red light, green light.”
There was a brief pause, just long enough to make her stomach clench. Then, with a soft click, the back door of the van unlocked and slid open remotely.
Heather hesitated only a second before stepping forward, gripping the cool metal frame as she hoisted herself inside.
The first thing that hit her was the overwhelming scent of sterilized air, cold, clinical, like the inside of a hospital. The van’s interior was dimly lit, lined with a series of narrow seats bolted against the walls.
Every single one of them was occupied.
People sat slumped against the seats, their bodies eerily still. Their heads lolled against the van’s interior, mouths slightly open, as if caught in a deep, unnatural sleep.
Heather’s breath hitched.
The passengers were dressed normally; casual hoodies, worn jeans, sneakers. They looked like they had come from all walks of life. She scanned their faces quickly, her stomach knotting tighter with each one she took in. Some looked young, maybe even in their early twenties. Others were older, their lined faces hinting at years of hardship.
And then her eyes landed on him.
A man sitting toward the farthest end of the van, his long hair tied back into a loose half-up style, with a single braid trailing down the left side of his face. His expression was peaceful, his features sharp but relaxed, as though he had just fallen asleep due to exhaustion.
Something about him stuck with her, maybe it was the contrast of his face against the vulnerability of unconsciousness.
She didn’t have much time to dwell on it.
The moment she stepped fully inside and sat in a seat, the van door slid shut behind her with a smooth whir. She whipped her head up catching sight of the guard still sitting up front.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice steady despite the cold fear creeping up her spine.
The guard didn’t answer. Didn’t even acknowledge her.
Heather’s jaw tightened. “Hey, I-”
A faint hiss filled the air.
Her vision blurred almost immediately, her limbs growing heavy before she could fully process what was happening. A sharp dizziness took hold, her knees buckling into the seat as the van seemed to tilt sideways.
Heather’s hands shot out, grasping blindly for something, anything, to hold onto. But her muscles betrayed her, her fingers slipping uselessly against the smooth leather of the seats.
The last thing she saw before her eyes fluttered shut was the unmoving figure of the man with the braid, and the cold, expressionless mask of the guard watching her slump forward into darkness.