Blood Money

2: The Middle

TRIGGER WARNING: guns, violence, death, suicide

"A NEW MORNING HAS RISEN. Please wake up, everyone. In ten minutes, head count will begin."

Son Jin-Ho ignored the announcement and pulled the blankets closer to him. It was much colder than usual, which was strange because they never use the aircon. And the lighting seemed off; too harsh and fluorescent. It was only when the ticking started, did Jin-Ho realise he was definitely not at home.

Then where was he?

He was fully awake now. Jin-Ho explored the tiny room, trying to remember what happened the day before. After the funeral, he called the number, and was given a location and a phrase to say to confirm his identity ("blood money"). That night, he was picked up, then he was knocked out. Regardless, he was kidnapped, and he had no idea where he was. For all he knew, he could have been on an uninhabited island somewhere. There were countless unnamed islands in Korea.

Jin-Ho opened a white cabinet. There hung a pink jumpsuit and black mask, with instructions on how to properly wear the attire. Quickly, he changed into the outfit, which fit him perfectly. He didn't want to think about how his kidnappers knew his exact measurements.

A sign beside the small mirror caught his eye. There were three rules stated on it:

1. Always wear your mask outside your room

2. Do not converse without permission

3. Do not leave your room without permission

At the corner of the room, Jin-Ho noticed a blinking red camera. A shiver ran down his spine. Why was he being monitored so closely? What happened if he broke the rules? Why was confidentiality so important? What was he even supposed to do? With so many questions, the whole thing gave him bad vibes.

When the countdown reached zero, there was a click, and the door unlocked. Jin-Ho stepped out tentatively and closed the door behind him. On the door was the number 301, and Jin-Ho guessed that was his number. Beside and opposite him were other people in pink jumpsuits. They could have been as nervous as him, but with the baggy jumpsuit and full-face mask, it was impossible to tell. Although, some doors had nobody standing in front of them. They were probably still inside their rooms.

Those who were outside were led away. As they were walking away, there was high pitch crackling. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed in the hallway. The sudden noise made many people flinch, Jin-Ho included, but he didn't know what the sound was.

They were brought to a large room and filed into orderly rows, facing a platform. It was dead quiet, and Jin-Ho's anxiety only increased. A person in all-black outfit, including a black patterned mask that was vastly different from Jin-Ho's own one, walked up to the platform.

"I am the Front Man." There was static, and he was obviously using a voice changer. "All of you have recently lost someone close to you, and have inherited their debt. This is your chance to earn money to pay off that debt. You will undergo basic training for two weeks, and at the end of it, you will be sorted into different ranks. The lowest rank, the workers, will each get 1 million. The next rank, the soldiers, will each get 10 million. And the highest rank, the managers, will each get 100 million. Of course, that is if you manage to complete the job. Prove your worth, and you will be paid handsomely."

That was a lot to take in. Grimly, Jin-Ho realised that to pay off his father's debt, he would have to become a manager. Was it possible? But he thought of Eun-Ha, and his resolve strengthened. He would do whatever it took to get that money.

○△□

The first week, they were taught how to use guns; how to assemble and disassemble the different parts; how to aim and shoot. Jin-Ho hadn't even enlisted in military service, having deferred his enlistment for as long as possible. At first, he completely missed the practice dummies. But after a while, he was able to shoot decently. He wasn't sure whether this was something to be proud of. Uneasiness settled over him; the Front Man still hadn't told them what their job was, although Jin-Ho was starting to get an idea.

That week, he learnt what gunshots sounded like; the crackling of fireworks.

○△□

On the last day of the first week, there was a shooting test. They were separated into groups of ten and brought into different rooms; five shooting booths adjacent to each other, with a practice dummy in each booth. Just Jin-Ho's luck, the Front Man was supervising their test.

"Two people in front of each booth. Wait for further instructions."

However, before they could even move, one of the dummies started trashing around, screaming and begging them to untie him. The other dummies slowly stirred as well, their pleads becoming increasingly louder and more desperate, a cacophony of sounds.

Everybody stood rooted to the ground. Jin-Ho was horrified, his breathing becoming erratic and rapid. He had an inkling about what the job would consist, but he so desperately hoped that he was wrong. Because this was the job; to kill.

A murderer. That was what he would become if he followed through. Then again, if he didn't, he'll just be murdered. He remembered the first day, people being killed simply because they were late to rollcall. If he died, who would protect his family?

Jin-Ho forced himself to walk up to the first booth; one step, then another. He picked up the gun and inspected it; six bullets. It felt heavier than he remembered.

The other booths were filled quickly; maybe they remembered that the Front Man was watching them, or maybe Jin-Ho didn't realise how quickly time passed by. He was staring straight ahead, trying to steady his breathing. He was glad there was a bag over the person's head, so it was easier to imagine that it was a practice dummy instead of a real person. One dummy, six bullets. Too many bullets just for one dummy. It seemed overkill. Maybe less bullets used will give him a better score? Jin-Ho aimed to use three bullets.

"Shoot."

Pulling the trigger twice, Jin-Ho braced himself for the recoil. The bullet fired, straight at the wall behind the dummy. Although he just learnt to shoot, Jin-Ho could tell he was missing on purpose. One more bullet. He moved the gun to a better position, and apologised silently. Then, he fired.

The bullet hit dead-on.

Jin-Ho put the gun down. His breathing was shallow, and he felt ill. He wanted to vomit. But the test was not done.

"First row, pick up your gun and turn around. Face the second row."

Hesitantly, they did so. They waited for his next instruction.

"Shoot."

There were yells as they tried to flee, but the door was locked. These were the people he spent a week with, even if they couldn't properly face each other. This time, Jin-Ho only fired one shot. It hit its mark perfectly.

○△□

There wasn't another weeding test after that, but those whose work was unsatisfactory were killed. Some killed themselves too, with the weapons they were taught to use. Jin-Ho was tempted, plagued by nightmares. Still, he pushed forward, motivated by the money. One day, he stopped flinching at the sound of gunfire.

○△□

"Congratulations, 47, 69, 123, 156, 207, 262, 290, 301, 390, 419. You have been chosen as managers."

Jin-Ho clenched his fists. He had made it. The numbers were called onto the platform, and each presented a black mask with a square printed on it. When the Front Man reached Jin-Ho, he paused.

"Even your names are similar," he muttered.

Jin-Ho didn't reply. Not like he had anything to say.

The Front Man shook his head slightly, as if getting rid of the thought. Then, he patted Jin-Ho's shoulder. "Number 301, you will be in charge of Sugar Honeycombs."