#124

For a second, Seojun’s heart skipped a beat, like a record skipping and landing on an eerie note. His stomach clenched, a knot of anxiety tightening with each passing moment. Through the dusty truck window, a face stared back at him… Camry’s face, or an unnervingly close copy.

#123

It was the dead of night. Inky darkness pressed against the windows like black tar, seeping through every crack of the rundown house—if you could even call it that.

#122

Johan straightened up from his hunched position over the low desk, his shoulders catching the faint, pale-blue hallway light that slipped through the cracked door like frost. The room was all sharp angles and harsh lines, shadows slicing through it like surgical blades, stripping it of any warmth or humanity.

#121

Seojun felt a sharp, electrifying thrill race down his spine, igniting every nerve. His heart pounded so loudly it felt like it might burst free. Sweat slicked his palms as he gripped his arm, desperate to quell the tremors wracking his body. The sensation was familiar. A dizzying rush that both exhilarated and terrified him. It was a feeling that could make him scream with excitement or tear the world apart just to savor its intensity. But freedom wasn’t his. Not yet.

#120

Seojun’s feet moved forward on their own, like a ghost had taken control of them, pulling him along without a care for what he wanted. The door creaked open, its rusty hinges groaning into the silence.

#119

The CCTV camera’s lens shone with an obsessively polished gleam, reflecting a pair of dark, pitch-black eyes. If the camera had been installed after the typhoon, that left a new troubling question:

#118

Seojun jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving as though he had just surfaced after being held underwater for far too long. His body convulsed, limbs thrashing wildly against the rough, dusty floor beneath him. Gradually, his senses returned, and with them came the disorienting realization that he had finally escaped the grasp of the past.

#117

Why was Seojun the only one bearing all the weight when there were two brains between them? The realization hit him like a stroke of genius, and he clapped his hands, a small swell of pride rising in his chest. Sure, the burlap sack and gloves muffled the sound, but he wasn’t about to let that ruin the moment.

#116

Seojun’s face stiffened at the Wizard’s teasing words. For once, he was actually grateful for the rough burlap sack hiding his expression. He never thought something so annoying could bring him comfort, but here he was, oddly relieved by it.

#115

The Wizard’s words clung to Seojun like a thick glaze of honey, sweet at first but quickly turning sour. “Lucky for you?” The words felt wrong. Seojun had never considered himself lucky, not even once in his entire existence.

#114

Seojun stared at the slightly crumpled last page of the journal in his hands, the creases and folds hinting at someone’s frustration, maybe even anger. But it wasn’t the condition of the paper that threw him off. It was the message written on it: a love confession.

#113

Do shared birthdays imply shared fates? Both of them seem to be severely cursed. Though the exact time was impossible to determine, Seojun couldn’t help but sigh at the tragic lives of S and T. Born on the same day, yet locked away, enduring one cruel experiment after another. His own misfortunes weren’t insignificant, but imagining what they went through made his chest tighten with horror. He shook his head, clicked his tongue, and forced himself to refocus on the remaining notes.
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