I panicked. My mind went white.
I scrambled backward, my feet squeaking against the floor. I kicked my legs out, desperate to get away, desperate to put any amount of distance between me and the monster standing right in front of me.
The masked man stood tall. He was a statue of darkness. In his hand, he held that cold, black metal tool. I had never seen one before today, but my instincts screamed at me. That thing was death. It was a machine made to stop hearts.
BANG!
The sound was louder than thunder. It was a crack that snapped the air in half. My ears rang with a high-pitched whistle. I think… I think he just killed the nice guy.
My back hit the wall with a hard thud. There was nowhere left to run.
I couldn't stop shaking. My hands, my legs, my teeth—everything was vibrating. Cold, sticky sweat ran down my neck. Terror didn't just fill me; it drowned me. It felt like heavy water filling up my lungs.
I haven't lived a single hour of comfort since I came to this city. Not one. It has been noise, and concrete, and angry faces.
Why?
The question burned in my gut. Why is this happening to me? I haven't done anything wrong. I haven't hurt a soul. I haven't stolen. I haven't lied. So why? Why? Damn it, why?
I was screaming these questions in my head, over and over, until my brain hurt. The fear must have been painted clearly on my face, twisting my features into something ugly and pathetic. I stared at the mask. The black holes where the eyes should be felt like they were sucking me in. I felt like this masked man could hear the screams inside my mind, tasting my terror like a sweet treat.
"What do you want from me?" I screamed out loud. My voice cracked. "Why did you hurt Mr. Nice Guy? Who are you?"
I screamed desperately, my throat raw. But he didn't even flinch. He didn't blink. He stood there like a stone.
"Don't worry, he won't die soon," he said.
His voice was calm. Smooth. It didn't sound like a killer's voice. That made it so much scarier. If he was screaming, I would understand. But he was casual. Like he was talking about the weather.
"I hit a spot that can be treated," he continued, gesturing vaguely with the smoking tool. "But he needs to be rushed to a hospital in the next hour. If not… well, the clock is ticking."
I looked at the masked man. He showed no sign of rushing. He wasn't moving a muscle to help.
"The hospital is fifteen minutes away from here," he said. He turned his head slowly, looking over at the girl.
She was on the ground, still crying on her father's chest. Her tears mixed with the red puddle growing underneath him. I saw the blood spreading. It soaked into his shirt. It spilled onto the floor. It was red, thick, and shiny. There was too much of it. It smelled like rusted metal and salt.
"Hey girl," the man called out. "You can save him if you rush now. You can save him... but I won't let you."
The cruelty in his voice was sharp. He was playing with her.
Then, he snapped his head back to me. He looked straight into my eyes. I felt pinned to the wall.
"But you," he said softly. "You can definitely save him."
I was still shivering. My knees knocked together. I was terrified, but a tiny spark lit up in my chest.
"How?" I gasped. "Please tell me, please! I want to save him, please!"
I fell forward. I bowed down at his feet, smashing my forehead against the floor. I made myself small. I curled up like a prey animal begging not to be slaughtered by a wolf. "I'll do anything."
"I believe that you are our god," he said.
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Wrong.
"The one who was hidden forcefully from us," he whispered. "The one taken from us nine years ago."
As he spoke, the air around him shifted. His whole personality changed. The composed, calm guy vanished in a blink. A violent, angry, burning man took his place. His muscles tensed. His grip on that metallic tool tightened until his knuckles turned white.
He lifted the weapon again. He pointed that weapon at the crying girl and the nice man on the other side of the room.
"I will ask you three questions," he said. His tone was serious now. heavy as lead. "I need to see if you really are that exact same god I was looking for, or just a fraud."
His voice went flat and cold. Dead cold.
"If you get any question wrong, both of them will die. I will kill them right in front of you."
He took a step closer to me.
"And then... I will do terrible things to her dead naked body. I will cut their bodies up like a butcher until nothing is left. Especially you."
He did not stutter. He was not joking. There was no laughter in his voice, only a dark promise.
I didn't understand everything he said. I didn't know what a 'butcher' was. Is that a monster? A machine? But the way he said it made my stomach churn. I knew these were terrifying things. Evil things. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to know.
And most of all... why is he calling me god?
I am just a kid. I am just a normal kid who scrapes his knees and gets hungry. Why hurt the nice guy? What does he want from me?
The world was spinning. The only thing I understood was the deal. It was simple. Brutal.
He will ask three questions.
If I fail, they die.
If I fail, the blood spreads.
I looked at them. The big-chested girl gave me money when I had nothing. That nice guy saved my life when I was lost. They gave me food when my belly was empty. They showed me kindness in a city of monsters.
And what did I give them? I only gave them suffering and pain. I brought this demon to their door.
I wanted to save their lives. I wanted to grab the girl and run away. I wanted to smash this man into the ground. I wanted to kill him.
But I couldn't. I was small. I was weak. I was helpless.
The only thing I could do was agree to this man's conditions. I had to play his sick game.
"I am ready," I said.
My voice was barely a whisper. I swallowed hard and tried to compose myself. I pushed myself up from the cold floor. I sat up straight. I tried to look confident. I tried to look like the 'god' he thought I was.
But I was shaking to my bones. My skeleton felt like it was rattling apart.
Still, I said it. "I am ready."
But wait.
Panic flared again. The questions.
The questions could be anything. I know nothing about this world. Absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.
I lived in an abandoned park in the middle of a deep, green forest. I have never seen anything beside that life. I know trees. I know rain. I know the sound of birds and the feeling of mud.
I don't know this city. I don't know these metal machines. I don't know the people here.
So how could I answer questions about things I have never seen or experienced?
I thought I was done. I thought my heart would stop right there. I thought we would all die today, stained red on this dirty floor.
But I never lost hope. Deep down, a tiny fire still burned. My mind was empty of thoughts, cleared by fear, except for that one fire—the fire to save our lives. I held onto it.
"I know you came from the abandoned park in the forest," he said, looking at me.
I froze.
"So," he continued, "I would not ask you any hard questions. I just hope that your father ADADA has taught you something useful."
My mind exploded. Questions went off like bombs in my head. Boom. Boom. Boom.
How does he know I came from that park? Who told him? How does he know my father? What else does he know about us? Did my father know this guy? Is my father part of this madness? Does he have anything to do with me being here?
The mystery was deep, but... I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It was like cool water on a burn.
He knew my condition. He knew where I came from.
If he knows I grew up in the forest, he won't ask me about the city. He won't ask me about complex things. He wouldn't ask a question I didn't know the answer to. That wouldn't make sense.
He wants to test me, not trick me. Right?
I felt a little relief. My shoulders dropped an inch. I dropped my guard. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
(I was completely wrong.)
He asked me something I knew nothing about.
He asked a question that a nine-year-old kid who lived his entire life among the trees and dirt could never, ever know.
The question was so wrong, so unfair, that I felt betrayed. I felt like I had been stabbed in the back by someone I never should have trusted. It was a trap. It was always a trap.
Knowing my condition...
Knowing my situation...
Knowing I have never seen and known anything beside forest...
He still asked a question completely out of my league.
He smiled. It was a creepy smile that stretched too wide across his face under the mask.
"So," he said, "here is the first question."
The room went silent. The only sound was the girl crying and the nice guy wheezing for air.
Then he asked:
"Who is the current President of South Korea?"