Lee Joon-hyun learned about the transfer on a Wednesday.
Not from a call.
Not from a visit.
From an email.
It arrived at 8:41 a.m., sandwiched between a meeting reminder that no longer applied to him and a system notification he didn't remember subscribing to.
SUBJECT:Internal Role Adjustment
He read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time, slower, as if speed were the problem.
Effective immediately, your responsibilities will be reassigned.You are requested to report to Temporary Operations, Level B, for transitional duties.Duration: Indefinite.
No explanation. No justification. No option to decline.
Lee looked around the office. Nothing had changed. Same desks. Same muted conversations. Same half-broken printer humming in the corner.
No one was looking at him.
That made it worse.
At 8:43, his phone vibrated.
REGISTERED CONTACT:This adjustment is for your benefit.
For your benefit.
He stood up.
Temporary Operations was not on the directory.
He found it by following a set of instructions that arrived one message at a time, each sent only after he'd completed the previous step.
Exit building.Proceed east.Wait.
He stood on the sidewalk for nearly ten minutes before a nondescript shuttle pulled up. No logo. No markings. The door slid open without a sound.
Inside, three other people sat silently.
None of them looked at him.
Lee took an empty seat and folded his hands in his lap, posture straight without meaning to. The shuttle moved.
No one spoke.
The windows were tinted just enough to blur landmarks. He recognized the general direction, not the details. It felt intentional.
They stopped underground.
The doors opened onto a concrete corridor lit by fluorescent strips that hummed faintly, like the building itself was alive and irritated about it.
A woman waited near the entrance. Late thirties. Hair pulled back. Tablet in hand.
"Mr. Lee," she said, eyes flicking to his face, then back to the screen. "Follow me."
She didn't introduce herself.
They walked past several closed doors, each marked only with a number. No names. No departments.
"This is not a demotion," she said without turning around. "It's a reallocation."
"Reallocation of what?" Lee asked.
"Utility," she replied.
They stopped at Door 17.
She tapped her tablet. The door unlocked.
Inside was a small room. Desk. Chair. Monitor. Nothing personal. Nothing movable.
"This is your station," she said. "You'll remain here during assigned hours."
"What will I be doing?" Lee asked.
She looked at him then, properly, for the first time.
"You'll be observing," she said. "And logging."
"Logging what?"
"Patterns," she replied. "Responses. Deviations."
She gestured to the monitor.
On the screen was a dashboard.
Names. ID numbers. Status indicators.
ACTIVELATEUNRESPONSIVE
Each entry pulsed faintly, updating in real time.
Lee's throat tightened.
"These are… people," he said.
"Yes," the woman replied. "Borrowers."
"What happens when someone turns unresponsive?" Lee asked.
She considered the question.
"Then they move closer to resolution," she said.
"And what does that mean?"
"That depends on how cooperative they become," she replied.
She tapped the tablet again.
"You'll flag irregularities," she continued. "Delayed replies. Emotional language. External contact attempts."
"External to what?" Lee asked.
"To us," she said.
Lee looked back at the screen. At the list of strangers whose lives were reduced to color-coded statuses.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
The woman shrugged. "As long as necessary."
She paused at the door.
"One more thing," she added. "This role requires discretion. Discussing your tasks outside this room would be… inefficient."
She left.
The door locked behind her.
The first hour passed slowly.
Lee sat still, hands resting on the desk, eyes tracking the dashboard. The system was intuitive in a way that unsettled him. You didn't need training to understand what it wanted.
Green was good.Yellow was concern.Red was failure.
At 9:37, the first entry shifted from yellow to red.
The name meant nothing to him.
A timer appeared next to it, counting upward.
Elapsed: 00:01
At 00:03, a prompt appeared on his screen.
ACTION REQUIRED:Flag for follow-up.
Lee stared at it.
His finger hovered over the mouse.
This wasn't force.
No one was watching him.
No voice told him what would happen if he didn't click.
But he knew.
He clicked.
The timer stopped.
The entry changed back to yellow.
A message appeared in the corner of the screen.
SYSTEM NOTE:Thank you for maintaining flow.
Lee leaned back slightly, breath shallow.
Flow.
At 10:12, it happened again.
Then again.
Each time, his hesitation shortened.
By noon, he no longer needed to think about it.
During the lunch break—if it could be called that—the door unlocked and a tray slid in through a slot near the floor. Plain food. Nutritionally adequate. Flavorless.
He ate mechanically, eyes never leaving the screen.
At 1:23 p.m., a familiar name appeared.
Lee's chest tightened.
LEE, JAEK MIN
Status: LATE
Elapsed: 00:00
Lee froze.
He hadn't known Jaek Min was here. In the system. On the board.
Of course he was.
This was where everyone ended up.
The timer began.
Elapsed: 00:01
A prompt appeared.
ACTION REQUIRED:Flag for follow-up.
Lee's pulse roared in his ears.
If he clicked, someone would intervene.
If he didn't—
He didn't know what happened when red stayed red.
He'd never been shown that part.
His hand trembled.
This wasn't about survival anymore.
This was about participation.
He thought of Min-ha. Of conditional status. Of safe zones.
Elapsed: 00:04
The prompt pulsed.
Lee clicked.
The timer stopped.
Jaek Min's status returned to yellow.
Lee slumped back in his chair, heart racing, sweat dampening his collar.
The screen updated.
SYSTEM NOTE:Transfer complete.
Transfer.
He stared at the words, understanding settling over him with cold precision.
This wasn't punishment for Lee.
It wasn't even control.
It was recruitment.
They weren't just shaping his life anymore.
They were moving him inside the system.
From subject—
to function.
At 5:00 p.m., the door unlocked.
The woman returned.
"You did well," she said, glancing at her tablet. "No errors."
Lee didn't answer.
"This assignment will continue tomorrow," she added. "Same hours."
He stood slowly.
"What happens if I refuse?" he asked.
She met his eyes, expression neutral.
"Then you'd become a variable again," she said. "And we've worked very hard to eliminate those."
He nodded once.
As he walked out, his phone vibrated.
REGISTERED CONTACT:Welcome to Temporary Operations.
Lee stepped into the shuttle, the door closing behind him.
Outside, the city moved on. People hurried. Lived. Chose things.
Lee watched them through the tinted glass, feeling something settle into place inside him.
A final understanding.
The system didn't just punish defiance.
It rewarded usefulness.
And usefulness was the most dangerous position of all.