Chapter Seventeen: The Wire
Time: 12:03 AM
Location: Gyeongbokgung Station — Service Corridor Level B2
The underground corridor buzzed with fluorescent lights that had long outlived their prime. The stale air stank of old maintenance grease and cigarette smoke. It was the kind of place Seoul's glimmering tourist maps never showed.
Eunha crouched beside a rusted vending machine, pulling out a mini-recorder and a folded set of files from her coat lining. A micro-wire nestled in her ear. Hidden, but live.
Ji-hoon appeared from the far end of the corridor, dressed plain — a hoodie, baseball cap, and low shoulders that screamed invisibility.
> "Are you sure no one followed?" she whispered.
> "Checked the bus line and back alley. We're clear."
He added, "For now."
They walked to the end of the corridor where the floor vent had been removed, revealing a hollow crawlspace that Aura's former assistant had mentioned — a literal backchannel used for years to smuggle everything from stage drugs to contract duplicates.
This was how truths survived — in rot and dust, not press releases.
---
Inside the crawlspace, Ji-hoon unrolled a laminated sleeve. It held five things:
1. A burned SIM card, wrapped in foil.
2. A hotel access card — Room 1908, no brand, no logo.
3. A torn memoir page, ink faded, signed only with: "–J.S."
4. A coded USB drive labeled "H2-Red".
5. A photo — Sae-jin, again, but this time she's not in a hospital. She's in a performance hall, standing at the curtain's edge, eyes hollow.
> "When was this taken?" Eunha asked.
> "Last week," Ji-hoon said. "From someone inside Aura's 'Harmony Project.'"
Aura had gone underground. Rebranded their recovery program. Hidden it under a new wellness subsidiary that fronted as a retreat for "restructuring artists."
But Harmony was no retreat.
Eunha connected the USB drive to her portable scanner. A heartbeat passed. Then the screen lit up:
> [PROJECT BLACKSCREEN: Deployment Initiation | Sae-jin / Status: Stage 2 Conditioning]
Her mouth went dry.
> "Conditioning? You mean—"
> "She's not missing," Ji-hoon said. "She's being rewritten."
---
Suddenly, Eunha's earpiece crackled.
A static-laced voice broke in:
> "...Stop digging, Ms. Eunha. You have one more chance to walk away. After that, we control what the world remembers of you."
Eunha froze.
The signal wasn't coming from a nearby tower.
It was inside the corridor.
She turned. Ji-hoon did too.
A low beep. A tracking device buried beneath the vending machine.
They'd been made.
> "Run," Ji-hoon said, grabbing the USB.
They bolted, footsteps echoing like gunshots through the empty corridor, shadows twisting behind them. Somewhere above, an elevator dinged. Then boots. At least three sets.
Aura was done threatening.
Now they were hunting.